Chapter Four

Numair paused at the door into his rooms, resting a shaking hand on the doorframe. He could hear someone moving around in his chambers, and somehow he knew that it was Daine. Oh, Magelet, Magelet! What have I done to you?

She had been avoiding him for the last two days, going so far as to sleep in her old room in the Riders' barracks. He had never seen her like this. Since the full story miraculously had not leaked out to the castle gossips, the main rumors were that Daine and Numair had had a simple spat about him being too overbearing about her pregnancy. But Numair knew that it was something worse. He had hurt her; hurt her deep down to the core. The expression on her face in those rare moments that she looked at him wounded him worse than a sword slashing through his gut.

He knew how much he was hurting her, and yet he couldn't do anything to fix it. He had to keep scrying until he found what he was looking for—he had to.

Numair was about to go back to his workroom when the door to his chambers opened. He froze. Daine walked out, smoky brown curls tumbling about her pale face, a bundle of her belongings cradled in her arms. She's moving out . . . leaving me . . .

He must have made a sound, for she turned and glanced his way. For a moment their eyes met, and the depth of pain in her eyes shocked and scared him. His Magelet whirled and trotted down the corridor as fast as her large bundle would allow.

Numair stared at her retreating figure for what seemed like an eternity, sagging against the wall. Finally, he slowly turned and looked into his rooms. The bedroom looked bare without marks of Daine in it. He stared around the space, numb, not willing to believe that she had left him.

Numair turned and went along the corridor back to his workroom, hoping that scrying would keep his mind off of the tremendous ache in his heart, yet somehow knowing that it wouldn't.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Alanna trudged over the dusty pathway from the stables to the castle, thumbs hooked over her sword belt. Her short-cropped red hair was brushed back by the breeze, and Alanna bent her head against the wind. She sighed heavily, Daine's pale face etched in her mind. It made her angry that she hadn't been able to help the younger woman for the past two days; the Lioness hated feeling helpless. And she hadn't been able to speak to Numair at all either.

At least George was coming today. Or he was supposed to be. Alanna muttered under her breath in anger at husbands who only arrived when it was almost sunset.

She was almost up to the door into the castle when shouts from the main gate reached her ears. Alanna looked up, shaking hair out of her face, to see two mounted men and a packhorse entering the large courtyard as soldiers hailed them. One was tall and tanned, with bright hazel eyes.

Alanna leapt into a run, her heart singing in joy. They were used to being apart, as she had to go off to war, but to be torn away from him, by the king, of all people, had been almost too much for Alanna to bear.

The man caught sight of her, and he quickly dismounted, shoving his horse's reins into a nearby soldier's hands. A few steps more, and Alanna leapt into his arms. The man planted a firm kiss right on her lips, embracing her hard. Alanna's greeting was just as enthusiastic as his.

Finally, they came up for air, to the cheering and whooping of the men-at-arms. Alanna glanced around at their audience, grinning, and then looked into her husband's bright eyes. "Hello, George," she whispered.

Her once-thief husband grinned back. "My Lioness," he said, planting another kiss on her cheek. An arm around her shoulders, he wheeled her around and led her over to the other man, who had dismounted. He watched them approach, holding the reins of both his mount and the packhorse, grinning ear to ear.

"Alanna, this is my man-servant, Olin," George said, as they came to the man's feet. Alanna held out her hand, and the Lioness and the man clasped forearms, as she looked him over. He was taller than she by a few inches, with longer brown hair and clear amber eyes. He had a small nose and a mouth ready to smile. He stood with his feet braced, relaxed, yet Alanna could tell that he had the well-muscled body of a fighter. So this was the man who would be spying on Numair. He had the look of someone who could fade into a crowd at random, a good thing when he would be tailing a mage. Though by Numair's present state, Alanna didn't think that he would notice much of anything.

Olin released Alanna's arm and glanced around the large courtyard. His tawny eyes, though friendly, were cool and calculating. Alanna watched him warily as she reveled in the warmth of George's arms. Though the spy was on their side, Alanna knew that she should watch her back. Out of the whole spy network, she trusted very few people, with George and her adopted father Myles among them. And Daine.

Thinking of the girl who needed her help, Alanna twisted and looked up at her husband, lovingly tracing his features with her eyes. He bent his head and gently kissed her forehead. Alanna slowly closed her eyes as tingles ran through her body, and she felt George's arms tighten around her, drawing her closer. She wanted to bury her head in his chest and take him to their private rooms more than anything, but things needed to be taken care of.

She drew back and looked around at George's small entourage. Hostlers had come forward to take the horses, and George, seeing the direction of Alanna's gaze, waved one of them over. "Put Crescent next to Alanna's horse," he ordered. The hostler nodded and led George's gray gelding away, in the direction of the stables.

George and Alanna looked back at the group of people before them. George said loudly, "You all know where you'll be staying. Go on and settle in. Olin, come with us. You'll be in the room next to ours."

The spy nodded, and, clutching his bundle, followed Alanna and George as they crossed the courtyard. Alanna leaned her head against George's shoulder, all thoughts of Daine flowing out of her mind—for the moment, at least—as she felt her husband's loving warmth surround her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Numair slowly opened the door to the dark room. The only light came from the soft glowing of the scrying bowl sitting on the table in the middle. Numair, seeing that the water was clear, hurriedly shut the door and rushed over to the table. Not bothering to sit down, he wrapped his large hands around the bowl's silver-engraved sides and threw his Gift into the bowl, frantically searching with his mind for the image he wanted.

But silvery fog flooded the bowl, blocking out any glimpse of anything that made sense. Bright alien anger flooded his veins, blazing deep inside of him. Numair opened his mouth and screamed, a screeching wail that spiraled up into the yawning recesses of the room. He thrust his arm up, fingers spread, and let loose a bright lightning bolt of black and white magic that shrieked as it burned the air around him. The bolt seared up toward the ceiling, spinning out of control and spiraling back down to strike the swirling design of white sand spread on the cold stone floor. The crackling magic bled into the design, disappearing and wrenching at the core of Numair's soul, as if it was trying to suck his life out. But the mage didn't notice.

He collapsed against the table, his face contorting as he fought the fog overtaking his mind, blotting out all reasonable thought. Numair called up his Gift, and with alarm he sensed that it was in turmoil. There was barely any of it left. Vaguely he knew that he should stop doing magic for a while and let himself recuperate, but he couldn't stop scrying. He had to see. The fog sunk deep down inside of him, and Numair felt himself grow numb. It crept toward his center, where his Gift lived. Where Daine had a copper spring, Numair had a roaring river of black and silver, deep and strong and wild. But now it had drained down to nothing but a tiny trickle. A voice chimed from somewhere deep inside of Numair, and he knew that if the fog got to the river, he would die. Numbness spread through his body. He couldn't feel his legs or the floor beneath his feet. It spread up past his waist, and Numair began to panic.

Desperately, he groped for the jewelry hanging from his wrist. His shaking fingers wrapped around the round locket, and he hurriedly unclipped it and flipped it open. His dazed eyes lit on the portrait of his Magelet when she was sixteen. Magelet . . . Daine, Daine . . . I love you . . . Daine . . . He stroked the soft lock of her hair with his thumb, remembering how she looked at him when he tangled his fingers in her hair and her in his as they surged on waves of passion. The feeling of her lips, her caress, burst into his mind. DAINE! Magelet, please . . . I can't lose you . . . I have to live . . .

The fog slowly left his mind as he filled it with his burning thoughts of Daine, Daine . . . and their baby. Warmth flooded his body, burning in his veins. As soon as he had enough feeling back in his body to walk, Numair staggered to the door, wrenching it open and flying through, slamming it shut behind him. He fled, racing past the houses of the long-gone dead, rushing to get back to the sunlight, back to the open air, back to his Magelet, his Daine.

He stumbled through the corridors, clutching the locket in his hand. Finally, just before the corridor leading to their rooms, Numair stopped. All of the fog was gone. He shakily clipped the locket back onto the golden chain around his wrist and turned the corner, breathing deeply to compose himself. He entered his rooms and shut the door. As soon as it was locked, Numair threw himself on the bed, burying his head in his arms.

He hadn't noticed the dark shadow following him, peeling itself away from a dark crevice as the mage turned the corner. The figure watched him enter the room, and for a moment it stared at the closed door, then turned and went along the corridor, toward a certain jubilant couple's rooms.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Alanna buried her head in George's shoulder. He gently pushed her away, laughing. Alanna sighed, letting her eyes rove over him. The white sheets were wound around his lower body, and her gaze traveled up from the rumpled sheets, over his naked chest, and up to his laughing eyes. Her heart quivered with raging desire. Unable to keep it back any longer, she threw herself forward and hungrily pressed her lips to his. George groaned and dove into the hot sweetness of her mouth, half-rolling and pushing her down into the mattress, his hands exploring her curving naked body, caressing her in places that set her heart blazing. Alanna, fire coursing through her veins, arched her back, pressing her hot body to his, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him to her.

He pulled back, his eyes blazing with hot passion. She moaned, and he leaned forward and whispered gently in her ear, "Alanna. Lioness. I love you." His breath ran over the side of her face, sending hot tingles racing over her blazing skin.

"Oh, George." His face hovered barely half an inch above hers, the look in his eyes making her heart pound. She lifted her head and kissed him, her lips begging.

He pulled back again, but she kept her arms clasped around his neck.

"George, I love you," she whispered heatedly.

He groaned and half-rolled, straddling her hot body. "My Lioness . . ." He pressed his mouth to hers, his hands gloriously running over her burning skin. Alanna closed her eyes and let herself go, surging on waves of hot passion with the man she loved with her whole heart.

A sudden knock on the door brought them both back to cold, stark reality. George wrenched himself back and rolled out of bed, diving for his breeches. Alanna did the same, hurriedly yanking her shirt over her head and pulling on her breeches, stuffing her feet into her boots. "Come in!" she called, frantically trying to flatten her tousled hair.

"No!" George cried, but the door was already opening. Olin stepped into the room, his gaze landing immediately on George, who was struggling to pull his shirt on while at the same time groping for his boots. Alanna ran to her husband's aid while Olin politely averted his gaze. Alanna pulled the shirt down over George's head. As he flailed, his hand brushed her chest, and Alanna inadvertently trembled. George's gaze met hers, and the longing in his eyes matched the burning in hers.

She looked away as he tugged his boots on. The Lioness went over and sat in a chair by the window, keeping her gaze away from the bed. George pulled himself together, grabbed a chair, and dragged it over beside Alanna. He sat, his knee resting against hers, and finally looked at Olin.

The spy's sharp eyes had been roving over the rumpled bed sheets, but when George cleared his throat, Olin turned back and looked at the former king of thieves, a calm mask drawn over his face. Alanna took a deep breath and steadied herself, trying to ignore the fact that the touch of George's knee was making her heart tremble with longing. She gazed at the spy curiously; could he have gotten something on Numair so soon? He had only been in the castle for a few hours at the most.

"What did you see, Olin?" George asked quietly, "Here, sit down."

Olin plopped down in the chair that George had pulled over for him. "It took me a while to find Master Salmalín. He wasn't in his rooms, or in his workroom, or in the stables, or in Mistress Daine's rooms."

Not that we expected him to be, Alanna thought ruefully, resting her chin on her fist.

"After a bit, I decided to go back to his rooms, to search-"

"Oh, Goddess! Hold on," Alanna cut in sharply, angry with herself for being so stupid. She waved her hand around the room. Sheets of purple light stretched out in the corners and over the doors and windows. The magic would keep them from being overheard. "Go on."

Olin glanced around at the sheets of magic. Giving a tiny shrug, he continued, "I went back to search Master Numair's rooms. I was waiting to make sure that no one was coming by when he came bursting around the corner. I saw him clip something in his hand to something else on his wrist, and then he went into his room and slammed the door. The corridor he came out of was the one leading down into the underground of the castle."

Alanna's brows drew together. "Was he pale? Did he look frantic, or anything?"

Olin's eyes met hers. "He looked pale and shaky, like something had been chasing him."

She leaned back in her chair, thinking hard. Why would he be down in the underground rooms? There's the workrooms, the storerooms, the dungeons, the tombs . . . maybe he's started a new project? Because he didn't feel like his workroom was private enough? But Numair wouldn't try to keep that a secret from her, must less Daine. Unless it's something we would disapprove of . . . but Numair wouldn't do something like that. Unbidden, a thought of the necromancer from Galla who had been working for the Scanrans burst into her mind. Numair had been the main one to analyze the monsters they had caught . . . but Numair wouldn't try to recreate those monsters . . . I hope . . .

Alanna suddenly glanced up, aware of the two men's eyes on her. George's eyes were curious and slightly concerned. He took her hand. "Darlin', what do you think?"

She answered slowly, "I . . . don't know, George. But I don't think we should tell Daine yet."

George Cooper nodded. He turned to Olin. "Keep watching his rooms. Follow him wherever he goes, and if it's anywhere beyond where we told you, come immediately-"

"To you. I know, George."

George's eyes crinkled a bit, though his face was serious. "Good. You c'n go, Olin. Good work."

The spy nodded, got up and went out the door. As soon as it closed, George looked back at Alanna, and his face changed entirely. "Now, darlin', let's spend some time together afore that king of yours decides he needs us."

Grinning, he pulled her to her feet and kissed her. Burning heat raced from his lips through her body, which had been longing for his touch for so long. They fell back onto the bed, their hands scrambling at the other's clothing. For the next few moments, Alanna let her worries slip away and gave herself fully over to the man she loved most in the whole world.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Daine lay limp in the straw, her hands curled around her belly. Cloud stood a few feet away, munching at her hay on the floor. Daine felt empty, wrung out, like an old dusty rag.

Cloud, why would he do that? she asked her mare for the thousandth time.

Cloud wanted to sigh and to tell Daine to let her alone to finish her hay. But the horse knew that Daine needed her right now, so she didn't tell Daine off. Though she did want to tell the stork-man a thing or two, mainly about respect. I don't know, came the mare's reply.

Daine shoved her face into the straw, the heavy cloud of her despair surrounding her heart in its icy clutches. She wanted to find Numair and shake him, shake him so bad that he had to tell her what was wrong.

She slowly got to her feet, bracing herself against the wooden wall for support.

Where are you going? asked Cloud, looking at her with pricked ears.

I have to find Numair, Daine answered, a desperate look in her eyes. I have to find him and make him tell me . . .

She rushed out of the stall. Cloud stared after her and started to follow, but in her despair, Daine had slammed the stall door shut. There was a new lock on it that the mare didn't know how to open. Cloud sighed, then turned and kept eating her hay, trusting Daine to take care of herself.

Daine raced out of the stables and across the courtyard, slamming the heavy wooden door behind her as she rushed into the castle. She flew through the corridors and up toward Numair's rooms—what had once been their rooms. When she got to the door, Daine froze, her heart suddenly stopping, hand held halfway up to knock on the door. What am I doing

He betrayed me.

He hates me, and I have no idea why. What did I do to him? Is it me? Is it the baby? Oh, Nuummaaiiirrrr . . .

Her thoughts built into a screeching scream of despair in her head, and Daine sank to the floor as hopelessness sunk its icy claws into her exhausted heart. She leaned heavily against the wall, legs tucked underneath her, head bent, brown curls tumbling around her face, arms wrapped around her heaving chest as she sobbed quietly. Numair . . . Numair . . . Numair . . .

Oh, Numair, why?

Something moved inside of her. Daine froze, drawing in her breath in a heaving gasp. The baby. It's shifting!

Frantically, Daine shoved herself away from the wall, stretching out on the ground as the baby leapt into the shape of a wolf puppy. Daine dove after it, only getting a moment's breather before the baby shifted again. An octopus . . . that's a new one . . .

Rubbery, soft tentacles burst from Daine's lower half, but the baby was already shifting again.

It leapt from form to form, giving Daine hardly a second to change before it was whirling off into a new form. From giraffe to llama to squirrel to opossum to polar bear to whale to salamander the baby shifted, with Daine stirring up her magic in a fury to keep up with it. There was no respite, no rest between shifting. It was all the exhausted Daine could do to keep up.

Crawdad, lion, bear, snake, raccoon, elephant, emu, donkey, pig, capybara . . . Raw, bloody scratches tore across her legs as the force and speed of the shifting send her body scraping painfully across the cold stone floor. But Daine didn't notice. Darkness was intruding at the edges of her blurry vision, and it was all she could do to hold onto consciousness. If it didn't stop soon, the blackness would overtake her . . . but Daine couldn't think of that. She had to keep shifting. She had to.

If she stopped, the baby would die.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Numair cradled his head in his hands, his tattered robes spread across the bedspread. He had once shared this bed with Daine . . . ahh! Daine, Daine . . . I'm so sorry. If only he could tell her. If only he could tell her what he was doing, why he kept sneaking off. But I can't. She wouldn't understand. She'd think I'm shirking my duty to her . . .

Duty has nothing to do with it! I love her. I want to tell her. But if I have to leave . . . if I have to go to her, my . . .

Numair froze, his sharp ears picking up on a sound. There was a scraping coming from the other side of the door. Numair slowly rose off of the bed, struggling to make as little sound as possible. His dark green robes fell back down to hang around his knees as he strode angrily across the room. Black and silver fire flickered around one hand as he reached out with his other and opened the door, bracing himself for whatever was on the other side.

He wrenched open the door. His eyes landed on the wall across the corridor. No one was there . . . the thrashing sound came from his left, right beside the door. He glanced down.

"Daine!"

Numair fell to his knees beside her sweat soaked body. Her eyes were glassy, focused inward on some inner turmoil as her lower body flashed from shape to shape, barely holding one before going on to the next. Blood flowed freely from deep scrapes no matter what shape she held, and they were steadily growing longer as she changed.

What . . . the baby! He reached down and gripped her sweaty hand in his. No, no, no! What do I do . . . His eyes lit. He reached out and lay a hand on her lower body, which was now in the shape of a plump fish. Numair sent the spell shooting straight to Daine's core, straight to where the baby forced her through the torturing changes.

Their baby fell into a deep sleep, resuming human form. Daine's legs reappeared, and she lay still on the floor, her body limp and wet and bloody. He held her hand tight, gently brushing her hair away from her beloved face. It's been so long since I touched her, too long . . .

Her eyes grew brighter. Her gaze flicked around the corridor, finally flying up to land on his face. His heart hammered in his chest as he heard her whisper, "Numair . . ."

He stared down at her, eyes wide. Don't hate me . . . please don't hate me . . .

She let out a sob and wrenched herself up to him; Numair instinctively wrapped his arms around her. Daine, Daine! She clung to him, sobbing into his shoulder as he clutched her close, stroking her hair, reveling in her warmth.