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Praise for
ROBIN D. OWENS

“Owens takes…elements that made Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Darkover stories popular…

and turns out a romance that draws you in….”

—Locus magazine

“Owens has crafted a…successful science fantasy yarn with terrific world building.”

—Booklist on Heart Thief

“Readers of Owens’ earlier Celta titles, Heart Mate and Heart Thief, will enjoy revisiting this fantasy-like

world filled with paranormal talents.”

—Booklist on Heart Duel

“A new voice in romantic fantasy fiction has arrived and makes an outstanding debut. The alien world that talented newcomer Robin D. Owens has created is intricate, sensual and fascinating. I certainly would

welcome future trips to the Flair-driven planet of Celta.”

—Romantic Times

GUARDIAN OF HONOR
ROBIN D. OWENS

To Deidre, Diane and Mary-Theresa

For encouraging me to breathe life into old dreams

In Memoriam

Sonya Roberts

Acknowledgments:

The Usual Suspects: Kay Bergstrom (Cassie Miles),

Janet Lane, Sharon Mignerey (www.sharonmignerey.com),

Steven Moores, Judy Stringer, Anne Tupler,

Leslee Breene (www.lesleebreene.com),

Sue Hornick, Alice Kober, Teresa Luthye,

Peggy Waide (www.peggywaide.com), Giselle McKenzie.

My Webmistress: Lisa Craig (www.lisacraig.com)

Excerpts of all my work available at

www.robindowens.com or www.robinowens.com.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

1

Lladrana, early spring

When the Star Etalla glows bright and moves through the constellation Caen; when mists envelop the stone circle high atop Archer’s Mound; when the face of the Moon is hidden—then the walls between worlds are thin, and you may Summon saviors—or demons—from the Exotique Land. Send the Call. Choose well.

—Spring Prophecy

The rush of rain hit the stone pavement with hissing, tinny pings. Swordmarshall Thealia hurried through the Castle’s cloister walk, ignoring the silver fall outside the open, pointed arches. The incessant damp weather made her aging joints ache even under three layers of robes. She’d once loved to watch the rain. Once. Now she avoided looking at it, listening to it, and wished she could avoid smelling the miasma that rose from it.

She’d been called the tough realist, harping on the harsh facts of Lladrana’s desperate situation, demanding action—but she couldn’t face the rain anymore.

Dread gripped her. She’d just stopped at the map room. She knew it was obsessive, checking the status of the land every morning and evening, but she couldn’t help herself. She always hoped against hope that the tide of inhuman evil wasn’t creeping into her country. That morning especially she’d prayed something had changed, so the Marshalls wouldn’t have to risk the Summoning tonight.

A futile hope. She’d scanned the animated map of Lladrana, noting the breaks in the magical boundary set by her ancestors against the Dark. She’d counted each glowing white fence-pillar. Even as she had watched, two pillars had blackened and vanished. The loss was escalating and the new gap in the northern defenses stretched miles.

Fingers of the first taint of evil, the small nasty poisonous creatures signified by gray sludge, slogged to the border—and across. Stirrings of the more terrible horrors—slayers, renders, soul-suckers massed, ready to advance to the new breach. Chill fear had penetrated her bones.

Now with fumbling fingers Thealia drew the heavy key through the slits of her robes and stuck it into the iron keyhole of the thick wooden door made of grown tree trunks—sacred oaks ritually harvested in bygone times. The door opened smoothly, though she hadn’t said the spell or pushed her shoulder against it. The Knight Lord of the Marshalls must be inside. She wondered if he had brought his brother—his Shield—too.

Her lips thinned in irritation. She’d wanted a moment or two in the chamber to soak in the sense of serenity that lived nowhere else in Lladrana. He couldn’t appreciate the balm, even if he felt it.

Straightening her spine and shoulders, she set her steps carefully to glide with grace into the round stone Temple. The scent of rosemary and sage welcomed her.

Swordmarshall Reynardus paced the sanctuary, tall, broad-shouldered, the silver streak of hair at his right temple turned golden with age. Not even a small paunch softened the man. Lines bracketed his mouth. They had deepened over the past year as the Marshalls realized the ancient fence was failing and that they had no idea how to recharge the shielding posts, make new ones or lace the magical energy between them. Inhuman evil encroached upon Lladrana with sharp, monstrous teeth.

But didn’t evil always encroach? It was Thealia’s job to make sure the Marshalls guarded and defended Lladrana—even when the steps might be drastic and deadly to herself and others.

Reynardus frowned and stopped near the eastern point of the pentacle, his robe settled above the ankles of his metal boots.

“Tonight is the time.” His voice echoed through the stone room, sounding as sharp as his footsteps.

“All is ready.” Her gesture encompassed the freshly incised pentacle, the altar with the rainbow of glowing gemstone crystal chimes, the tools, the fruit and wine, the enormous silver gong. She hoped her quilted overdress concealed the shiver of apprehension that flowed along her spine like the touch of cold steel.

Reynardus scowled, thick black brows casting his dark eyes farther into shadow. “We will be using a great deal of energy for such a chancy enterprise, perhaps too much energy. Some of us may die.”

Thealia inclined her head and folded her hands at her waist. The peak of her coif made her nearly as tall as he, and she was more than equal in Power. She had the golden streaks of age and Power at both temples. “The Spring Song foretold that only a Summoning has acceptable odds of success in beating back the horrors and saving Lladrana. We must try despite personal danger,” she pointed out once again in their interminable discussion, wishing her more patient husband were here for this final preritual check of the spelldesign and equipment.

“I don’t like the idea of draining ourselves completely or setting our lives in the hands of a stranger,” Reynardus said.

Of course he didn’t. A Summoning would be conducted by all the Marshalls, and guided by her husband and herself—out of Reynardus’s control. The results too would be out of his control.

Reynardus tromped over to the white marble, blessing-carved fireplace that heated the room. He held his hands to the warmth and shot her a glance. “We are gifted with six opportunities to Summon Exotiques in the next two years. Why not wait?” he grumbled.

Thealia stiffened. Because they were desperate. Because it was their only hope. Because something needed to be done now! She’d argued so time and again. Thealia unclenched her teeth and managed a casual lift of her shoulders. “If you insist we wait, the rest of us will expect you to pay the price of such a gamble. We will want your Chevaliers dispersed to our lands to fight any slayers and renders that infiltrate our estates while we wait for your approval. Will you hazard your own domain until the next time for Summoning?”

He strode around the pentacle, his piercing gaze tracing the shining line of quicksilver. Clank. Clank. Clank. Clank.

No, he didn’t like anything out of his control. Or anyone. His treatment of his grown sons had demonstrated that to all of Lladrana. He’d tried to control them with money and with Power, to form their lives as he pleased—and had driven them both away.

He might not be able to bend the Summoned Exotique to his will either. Exotiques were notoriously strange and as unpredictable as they were powerful. Thealia cheered a little.

“We Summon an Exotique female, correct?” He rubbed his hands.

“So the Spring Song advised.” Thealia suppressed an urge to roll her eyes. He obviously thought women were more easily intimidated than men. She pursed her lips. He never should have married a spineless girl of the Chiladee family. Thealia had said so at the time. “Yes, a woman,” she said.

“Hrrumph. Hopefully someone who won’t want to return to their own world, like the last one did a century ago. Wasted effort.”

Thealia tapped her foot under her gown, counting beats until she could reply calmly. “Our chants and chimes and the gong will echo through her past to compel her. The pattern has been approved by we who rule, the Marshalls of the Castle.”

She paused for emphasis. “All the other communities in our society have agreed with this course—the Sorcerers and Sorceresses of the Tower, the City-and Townmasters, the Knights and Chevaliers of the Field, the Seamasters. Even the Cloister—the Friends of the Singer and the Song who guide us spiritually—advise this action.

“A fighting woman of the greatest magical power will answer our Call and be Summoned to Lladrana to take her place as a Marshall. She will stay and help us triumph against the Dark.”

“And not a female demon. There will be Testing?”

Thealia smiled coldly. “You made that a prerequisite of your cooperation, didn’t you?” And won that point. Her loss still stung. She would have much preferred to have communicated their needs and the rewards honestly to the Exotique. “Yes, Reynardus, she will be Tested thrice as soon as she appears. The pool is ready.” Thealia gestured to a large, square ritual bathing pool on the other side of the round chamber, beneath the lower points of the pentacle. “The next day she will undergo the Choosing ritual. Once she is Paired with a Lladranan by a blood-bond, we are sure she will stay.”

She watched as he spun on his heel and a spur scored the stone wall. He examined the chamber with one comprehensive glance. He’d seen and evaluated every detail of their preparations in that brief scan—part of his Power.

“Everything seems in order. I’ll take my place in the ritual tonight.” Without another word he exited the Temple.

She’d thought so all along, but she was glad to see him go.

The tinkling of time-chimes reminded her of the hour. She let her shoulders slump. The moment had come to prepare herself for the great ritual of Summoning, and the Testing afterward. She gazed wistfully at the blue velvet pads atop the low stone bench that half-circled the room, the pillows and rugs on the floor. She wanted to sit and close her eyes and steep her soul in the comforting, powerfully magical atmosphere. But the Marshalls would need every particle of that calm magic to Summon the one who would help them save Lladrana from the Dark.

Thealia closed, locked and bespelled the door behind her. She walked to a pointed arch of the cloister window that opened into the wet-slicked pavement and verdant grass courtyard, and forced herself to look at the pummeling rain.

As each drop clinked against the stone, a tiny scaled worm wriggled from it. Most of the worms sizzled to death in a puff of greasy stench when they reached lush grass. The few remaining burrowed into the earth, purpose and effect still unknown.

Thealia shuddered. She hated rain.

Colorado mountains, early spring

Alexa Fitzwalter slogged through the knee-deep snow, every step difficult. She’d thought she had survived the worst of her grief over the death of her best friend, a friend who was more like a sister, but here she was, doing something completely crazy. Following a dream, a song that compelled her to trek through the mountains at night. Dangerous and mad. She couldn’t explain her actions rationally, so it must be another aspect of mourning.

Yet she trudged on, knowing that although she couldn’t escape the hurt inside her, she could leave Denver and all her problems behind for the moment.

Such sad thoughts on such a cold, perfect night. The soft feathery snowflakes were as heartbreaking as the sharp, pristine air she drew into her lungs. A night that spoke of mystery and life and challenge, if you dared to take it, shape it, live it.

Just that easily the image of her friend Sophie was back in Alexa’s thoughts—Sophie who had been the sister and only family Alexa had ever had. Sophie laughing and dancing through the snow-crystal laden air, whisking sparkles of ice around her in a shimmering aura.

Sophie had been bold and vibrant; Alexa deep and brooding. But they’d both been risk-takers. Who else would be crazy enough to start up a law firm right out of school, trusting themselves and each other to make it work; knowing that they were both alone in the world with no family and no family money to cushion the start of a business? They had only themselves and their friendship to depend upon. But it had been enough.

Then Sophie died in a car accident.

Alexa’s face chilled as tears froze on her skin. No use wiping them away since others would follow.

She stopped and adjusted her fanny pack, panting through her mouth, sending puffs of white vapor into the air. The cold made the inside of her nose crackle. She squinted up the hill—no sign of a track, but she’d hiked this area often enough to know where she was going. Odd that she was drawn to this point, never a favorite.

It was just one more crazy thing, part and parcel of the dreams and the auditory hallucinations. Alexa had been hearing things that weren’t there, that no one else heard. Not instructions from God—she was no Joan of Arc—but a stream of rising and falling vocal music. Ripples of a chime that brought rainbow colors to her mind. And the gong. The gong haunted her.

It had sounded first, then the chime, then the chants. They had alternated and mixed. First the gong had been muffled as if echoing from a great distance. Then the sound had sharpened, become insistent, reverberating in her dreams until she woke. Awake, the memory of it would ring through her, shattering her thoughts all day.

Finally the sound in her mind had forced her into her car and led her here.

Obviously she wasn’t coping as well as she’d thought with Sophie’s death.

Sophie would have expected Alexa to handle the situation better, to be more flexible. Vital, ebullient Sophie would want her to live, not simply exist in a world temporarily bleak. She would expect Alexa to adapt again as she had so often when her life ruptured. Instead, Alexa followed a song.

The sky was so black as to be eternal, with sparks of light pinpointing lost dreams. The gauzy veil of the Milky Way draped across the bowl of night was so beautiful as to make her soul ache with longing—to be a star, to be the sky, to be a night goddess.

By the time Alexa reached the summit the snowflakes had stopped. Brilliant white peaks encircled her, as if all the starshine in the universe coated them. She lifted her gaze to the stars again and pinpricks of light dazzled her eyes through the tears.

When she blinked them away, she saw the silver net descending, coalescing into a solid silver arch before her. She couldn’t move a muscle. Her in-caught breath was so quick and big that she doubled over, coughing.

The gong sounded, the chimes tinkled a scale. The arch settled.

Her heart thudded fast and she heard her own gasps. She wanted to run, but before she could lift her feet, the beauty of the arch and the stream of music coming from it soothed the ragged edges of her mourning. The sheer relief at having her hurt gone made Alexa stay.

Reality or illusion? If she waited would it fade like all dreams?

Hunched, Alexa saw the shiver of rippling silver in the arch. Silver flowing like mercury, then parted to send a stream of voices lifted in music to her, along with a sparkling rainbow.

Now there were words, heard more in her head and her heart than with her ears, affecting her, feeling real, especially since the chants weren’t songs of exaltation but pleas. “Help us. Come to us. We need you here as no one there ever will.”

Alexa straightened and her throat tightened at the truth. No one needed her here.

The music enveloped, the gong enchanted, the words invited. She could only stand and stare, bemused. It went on and on until she couldn’t feel her feet, and her fingers hooked around the straps of her pack, numbed.

“Come to us.” Warmth and light and sound tugged at her.

She brushed a hand down the silver arch. It was warm to her touch. Planting a hand against it, she pushed. It was solid.

“Come to us.”

The delicate scent of spring blossoms and renewal drew her to the rainbow. Most appealing of all was the small bud of hope that unfurled within her, the hope that she could help. She could find a place of her own where she was valued, where she fit.

At her back was the cold, friendless night.

Alexa stepped through the arch. Rainbow crystals bathed her and sunk into her skin to shimmer like glitter all along her nerves. Her loose hat fell off. Her fine hair lifted straight out from her head. She’d look like a brown dandelion. She threw back her head and laughed at the joyful effervescence. Hope and excitement flowed through her. She flung out her arms and twirled into a dance.

The monster attacked.

Big, twice as big as she. Black hairy bristles all over its body. Long fangs. Claws sliced, shredding her down coat, releasing a flurry of feathers into whistling winds.

Fear jolted her. She screamed but heard no sound. A paw-hand sporting foot-long gleaming claws slashed at her head. She ducked, but its hair brushed her face raw.

Move! How? She had no weight.

She rammed her own arms up against the beast. They stung with shock, but the blow propelled her and the monster apart.

Another clawed swipe. Her pack loosened and vanished. Her gloves whipped off in the wind. Better her stuff than her.

Alexa saw an opening. Escape!

It was a bright hole with rainbow traces. Panting in terror, she kicked with all her might, connected with the monster, ducked, rolled, spun, struggled to the hole and plunged into it feet-first. The last thing she saw was a huge red mouth and teeth dripping yellow spit. She didn’t know if the beast growled in fury or tried to bite her head off. Or both.

The hole sucked her through.

And into a maelstrom of sound. A full orchestra rose in triumphant crescendo.

A flash swept across her vision—a pentacle? She landed hard in the center, on a pavement of multicolored stones. The groan rattling from her teeth echoed.

Solid. Real. The music faded to a background murmur.

She looked up. People in rich robes stared at her. She was among humans. She closed her eyes in gratitude.

When she opened them she was circled by swords.

“This is our savior? The one we risked our lives for? It’s puny. And ugly,” Reynardus said.

Thealia stared in shock at the small being in the pentagram’s center. It was partially feathered, something she’d never seen before. Never anticipated. A female avian.

The chanting, gong and Summoning had gone well up to a point. Thealia had been sure they’d lured their Exotique fighter, caught her—the spirit and Power of her had sung through the connection. They’d lost her in the doorway, but only for a few seconds.

Looking at the entity, so different from the woman she’d anticipated, Thealia felt her blood drain from her face until her lips felt cold and stiff. There must be some way to save the situation.

Reynardus sneered down his nose at her. “This is the ‘fighting woman of the greatest magical Power’ you promised, Swordmarshall Thealia. Those were your words, were they not?”

If he said so, they were. His Power included a perfect memory.

He didn’t wait for an answer. “Just as I thought. Wasted effort. The Power we used to bring this thing here will keep us all drained for days. This is a disaster.” He dropped his sword and turned.

“Stop!” ordered the Medica. She was a healer, not a Marshall, but they listened. “You’ve already broken the link between us, but don’t break the circle. And do you, Knight Lord Swordmarshall Reynardus, think small is weak? What of this?” She opened her hand and blew away a protective sphere. The glowing starlike atomball floated free. She flicked it to Reynardus.

Reflexively his ivory baton appeared in his hand and tipped the ball away, sent it spinning across the circle.

Thealia’s wasn’t the only gasp. A loose atomball, and the whole circle of Marshalls depleted from the Summoning! She froze with horror as it sped to her husband, Partis. He didn’t have the Power to hold it even at full strength. His round face showed only minor strain as he caught the ball on the tip of his staff.

“I believe this is the first Test for the Exotique,” Partis said, “to measure her Power.” He tossed the ball directly to the small female rising to her feet.

Alexa wanted to believe she dreamed, but the physical sensations were all too real for her to ignore. She wondered—

Shit! The little star the strangers played keep-away with came straight at her! She ducked, held out her right hand, and the ball smacked into her palm with stinging force. It burned and sent rivulets of heat pouring through her veins, up her arm. And here she’d followed a song to help. Look where it got her. Somewhere else.

She gritted her teeth and bore the pain from the searing star.

Pretty nice tricks these people had. She had no intention of being “monkey in the middle”—and she knew by the tone of his words that the big guy with broad shoulders considered her something like a monkey. He swaggered with arrogance even standing still.

Holding the light made her dizzy, but when it finally cooled she loosened her fingers and dropped it. A golden walnut clattered to the floor and rolled away with a clatter.

The circle of people stared at her, some with their mouths open. She tried to suppress her shuddering, wishing it was from the lingering cold of the Colorado night, but she knew it was from adrenaline pumping through her. She fought to gather her wits, sure the fantastic events would continue to move at the speed of light—or magic. She must be ready and think on her feet, as she had so often done during her childhood in foster homes.

Alexa had concluded that they’d brought her here—the big silver gong shining within the circle was sufficient evidence of that. With the pentacle she was in, their circle, and another on the floor that they stood within, magic seemed to be the method they’d used.

Inhaling deeply, Alexa studied them. They were all taller than she. She lifted a shoulder. Nothing new. Everyone was taller than she.

They looked suntanned—a light golden brown—and all had black hair, though the tints and highlights weren’t the same, nor was the thickness. Even the man with the most lines on his face had a full head of hair. No male-pattern baldness here. In fact, they all had streaks in their hair—silver or gold, over their left or right temple, or both. That was the oddest thing about them and she sensed it was significant.

Every one of them emitted a low note, something that she seemed to hear with her mind, vibrating her eardrum from the inside. Together their notes wove into a strong melody. She shook her head, but the song remained, as did the background music.

They stared at her with dark eyes. They were almost Asian, but the structure of their features was subtly different—a very beautiful people.

Alexa gazed back at them, conscious as never before of her pale skin, light brown hair and green eyes. She shifted awkwardly—knowing one side of her face was red and raw made her feel even more scruffy.

The elegance of their velvet robes adorned with fancy gold or silver braidwork looked too impractical for any activity other than magic. Each wore heraldry embroidered above their hearts. Or on their left side, Alexa amended. She didn’t know where their hearts were. She recognized a coat of arms when she saw one, even if she didn’t know what it meant. She figured these beings must be of high status.

They seemed to be grouped in pairs, two wearing emerald green, two sapphire blue, and so on around the circle—usually a man-woman pairing.

Most held their swords pointed at her chest, as if she were a threat. The big man wearing rust red turned to the angular woman—Alexa had decided they were the most important two.

He made another snide comment. Probably about her.

She looked down at herself and winced. She appeared to be molting. One side of her coat spilled feathers, some more drifted across the rest of her clothing, and with every breath a few separated to float around her. Her long jacket was dead.

She shed her coat and dropped her fanny pack. A mutter ran around the circle. Alexa raised her eyebrows at the big guy who glared at her, staring at her right hand.

Alexa folded her coat. Feathers puffed out. She flexed her fingers. Her right hand was pinkened, but didn’t hurt as much as her face. Her down vest ripped when she moved. It, too, had tears. She realized the beast’s swipe with the tips of its claws had come close to killing her. More adrenaline kicked in. She’d been very, very lucky. Particularly since she sensed the monster had been waiting for her.

With unsteady hands Alexa took off her vest and laid it on her coat, then stood in sweater and jeans.

The people spoke amongst themselves. The small round man ran a stick along glowing gemstone crystals arranged in a rainbow—the chime—and the sound shivered through Alexa. She jerked, sensing she was trapped here.

A pattern of tinkling chimes followed, each one affecting Alexa. At one, her balance tipped and she strained to keep upright, another sent her heart pounding loud enough for her to hear its rush in her ears. On and on the glasses rang as if testing every one of her reflexes, plucking at her organs.

It ended just before Alexa fell to her knees. Her body was coated with a cold sweat. She gritted her teeth and stiffened her spine. Posturing and attitude was all she had, and everything that counted in this game of strategy, as in all power games. Whatever safety, status and position she had in this world—in this time?—depended on this first confrontation.

The circle opened and a woman a few inches taller than Alexa left it, crossing to the edge of the circular room, to the gray stone wall. The woman was dressed differently than the others. No chain mail gleamed beneath her robe. This lady wore no armor. She wore a robe of dark red, with a coat of arms over her left breast, but in the center of her chest was a big white cross. Not hard to deduce that she was a doctor.

Alexa was profoundly glad that the woman was moving away from her. She shook out her arms and legs, steadied her breathing. No one else in the circle moved. They all watched the doctor and Alexa. And waited.

The healer unfolded a fur on a wide padded stone bench near a fluted pillar and murmured something soft and lilting. She picked up a bundle and proceeded straight across the room. To an altar.

Alexa looked wildly around. Everyone had sharp weapons. A fist of dread squeezed her stomach. Surely they weren’t going to sacrifice a living thing. She couldn’t stand that. She’d have to stop it—somehow.

She hoped it wasn’t a dog. She would totally freak if it was a dog.

Breath strangled in her throat. What if they were going to sacrifice her?

The doctor stepped into the light cast by the chandeliers’ wheels and Alexa saw it was worse than a dog.

It was a baby.

Face impassive, eyes hooded, the healer showed the naked infant to Alexa. It was a little girl of about one year old. Short black-and-silver hair was ruffled into tufts. The little one grinned at Alexa.

She moved to block the way to the altar.

The doctor glided across the room in front of Alexa to a square of blue polished marble.

Alexa didn’t see the pool until the baby splashed into it.

2

Alexa had thought the dark pool was a slab of polished blue marble. Horror ripped through her as she ran to save the child.

There were six steps down. She slipped on the first and toppled into the pool, dog-paddling to keep her head up.

It wasn’t water, but thick, like syrup. The liquid sliced fire into a raw blister on her foot, burned the tender quick of a fingernail she’d broken that morning. The pain in the cuts was bad, but worse on her scraped face, and now she felt scratches on her torso from the beast. The fluid even affected her bruises. Every ache seemed to be an open wound eaten by acid. It crawled from the edge of a bruise to burn hotter as it reached the center of the hurt. Alexa’s breath came in anguished gasps. Her mind reeled.

She saw the little girl near the bottom of the far side of the pool. Alexa plunged into the liquid to reach the child, in too much pain to even prepare herself with a deep breath.

The fluid closed over her head. Tensing, she opened her eyes. And saw perfectly. She dove for the baby and grabbed her, pulled her from the pool. Staggered out.

A scream rose from her throat at the sight of the limp little body. She didn’t know what to do. She looked at the doctor. Though tears ran down the woman’s face, she stood with folded hands.

Alexa shifted from foot to foot in endless agony for a few seconds before wiping the baby’s eyes, then pushed her finger into the girl’s mouth, checking for obstructions, feeling if the child’s tongue blocked the air passage.

She turned the baby over, grabbed hard when the infant slipped. Alexa patted her back. Thumped a little harder. Nothing.

Alexa cradled the baby and whirled to the people who stood on the other side of the room. She thought she cried, What kind of fiends are you to do this! But what came from her mouth was, “Shit. SHIT!”

Her frantic gaze scanned the room. The hole to Colorado was gone, though that wouldn’t have done much good.

She didn’t know where the door to the room was, what was outside, or if there were other people. The baby’s only hope was those who’d already harmed her. So Alexa tried once more.

“Help!” she screamed. “Help her!”

A second later the doctor tore the child from her grasp. Alexa slipped and hit the floor hard. Again.

The healer pressed the infant to her breast and crooned a spell. Pulsing green light bathed them. An instant later the baby coughed, then screeched.

Alexa had never heard anything so sweet in her life, but she wondered what was going on. What were their intentions?

Growling drowned out the baby’s cries. A man with a raised knife flashing in the dim light hurled himself at Alexa. She cringed and rolled, muscles protesting in new agony. Mad fury slammed into her, from him, her attacker. Again she fought to get her breath. She rolled, couldn’t make it to her feet, was stranded on her back. He snarled, angling the knife.

His face twisted. In his eyes she saw revulsion, bone-deep hatred because she was different. Never to be trusted. Only to be slain.

She flung up her arms. Her soaked clothes constricted. Liquid trickled onto her skin and stung. The room spun, and a sea of emotions from everyone inundated her. Something in her mind broke free.

Her cry matched his. A weapon flew into her open hand. Unnecessary. With fear and panic, with her mind, she slammed her assailant across the room. She heard him hit the wall with a thud, then slither to the floor.

Oh God! Oh God, she’d hurt a man using her will alone!

She lurched to her knees, planted a foot, then another, and rocked to her feet. A couple of women moved to the still man, one wailing. Everyone else watched her.

Alexa bared her teeth at them. She’d never done such a thing in her life, but she now acted totally on instinct. This night was beyond belief. Beyond anything she’d ever imagined.

That she might have killed a man with the sheer force of her mind shattered the last rational belief she’d ever held. Nothing was the same. Nothing was right. Nothing was reasonable. Only primal intuition could save her.

She hefted the weight in her hand, considered what she held. It was a stick about two feet long and three inches thick, made of something like ivory and capped at each end with gold. One end was pointed, the other straight. Carved figures of knights fighting monsters covered the staff. It looked far too big to be a wand, but she’d bet anything that it was a magical tool. She slid it through her hands, enjoying the texture, though she sensed a nasty tingle of energy. Finding a button, she pressed it. A little brass hook with a blunt end popped from the side, as if it was there to hang the stick from a belt loop.

A shout attracted her attention. When she looked up, everyone was staring at her, as always.

Alexa raised the short staff.

The smallest man opened his mouth and began a chant. His melodious voice was the richest she’d ever heard, set in a soothing cadence. The others joined in, and though the music didn’t sound the same here in the round church of wherever, Alexa knew it was that which had drawn her to this dreadful place. She could almost see the small man’s voice as the stream of yellow in the rainbow that had compelled her into the arch. The big, mean guy’s voice was jerky with some emotion, and his intentions didn’t quite match the others, but Alexa felt he was the bright red, fluctuating band. The angular lady was indigo.

As he sang, the small man gestured, and the others slid their swords into sheaths. The leader’s staff burned with a yellow flame at the tip. He set it aside and it stood by itself.

Alexa blinked. She was too exhausted and wrung out to goggle. The indigo woman stepped forward, raising her hands to her shoulders, palms outward. Another gesture Alexa understood.

She turned her back on them to check on the baby. Instead of the doctor, a teenaged girl held the child. The girl watched Alexa with huge eyes.

The baby was bundled warmly in a thick fleece blanket. Alexa motioned to her. “Is she all right?”

The youngster seemed to understand what Alexa said. She nodded. Alexa wondered if that meant agreement.

She hooked the stick in a belt loop of her jeans and pointed from the baby to herself and held out her arms. “Give her to me.”

Wariness crept into the girl’s gaze.

“Give her to me!” Alexa demanded.

The girl’s glance slid from Alexa to the circle of people behind her. Whatever she saw reassured her. Carefully, she held out the baby.

Alexa cradled the child, pliant but live, in her arms. She flipped the corner of the blanket from the baby’s face. Sleepy brown eyes gazed up at her. A little smile emitted a bubble of drool. Alexa sighed. She put her finger to each small fist in turn and smiled back when the baby clasped it, then the tiny girl snuggled against her and shut her eyes.

“Marwey,” the teenager said.

Alexa looked up.

The girl pointed to herself. “Marwey.”

“Alexa,” Alexa said.

“Al-yek-ah,” Marwey pronounced.

Alexa shrugged.

Marwey pointed to the baby. “Nyja.” The girl gestured to the indigo lady, “Marshall Sabre Thealia.” Then Marwey indicated the big guy. “Dom Marshall Sabre Reynardus.” Finally, Marwey inclined her head to the short, round man. “Marshall Boucilier Partis.”

All right. Alexa deduced that Thealia and the short man, Partis—probably her husband—had one title and the big jerk had two. Figured.

The healer came up and held out her arms for the baby.

Alexa clutched her closer.

The doctor said something that sounded gentle.

Alexa patted the baby. “Is she going to be all right?” Alexa emphasized the rising inflection of a question and raised her eyebrows, hoping such signals would get her meaning across.

“Ayes.” The healer nodded vigorously, smiling.

Slowly Alexa handed the infant over.

The doctor unwrapped the baby and freed her arms and legs so Alexa could see them whole and moving. The baby girl’s face screwed up and she cried. The healer shushed her and turned.

“Wait!” Alexa said.

The healer looked over her shoulder.

Alexa pointed to the shadows where the man she’d sent flying had lain. “Is he going to be all right?” Her stomach clutched as she waited for an answer.

In broad pantomime the doctor lifted her shoulders high and dropped them, frowned. Then she bobbed her head at Alexa, said something to Marwey and took the baby away.

Alexa’s chest constricted. She’d considered the baby her only friend in this place. And how absurd was that?

Hard bootsteps striding in her direction made her pivot. Reynardus, scowling and muttering under his breath, marched to her. Again she felt fury—this man’s fury—batter at her. Alexa shuddered.

The little round man, Partis, hurried forward and stepped in front of her, forestalling Reynardus. Once again Partis held his staff with yellow fire flickering at the top. Facing the others, he said a few sentences.

Raising his voice, Reynardus argued. With a motion, wind whipped around him, the nobles’ robes flapped, Alexa’s clothes plastered cold and wet to her skin. To Alexa’s surprise, Partis stood his ground. Thealia came and stood next to him, raised her hand and stilled the air. Alexa’s vision sharpened—she saw the energy fields of the man and woman. His was yellow and hers as indigo as her stream in the rainbow. They flowed together as if becoming a single entity, and the whole aura pulsed stronger—and malachite green. Their Songs melded into a lovely pattern.

Finally, Reynardus stepped around the couple and flung out his hand in demand to Alexa. Alexa jutted a hip, put her hand on it, and raised her eyebrows. She’d dealt with plenty of arrogant attorneys. She smiled with all her teeth. She could be a predator too. The memory of the sound as the man she’d fought hit the wall tugged at her and nausea rose. She pushed it aside. Pushed all thought aside. She had to be strong, show no fear, if she was to win the respect she needed to be safe.

The big jerk, Reynardus, barked an order at her. Gestured.

Alexa didn’t get it. She widened her stance and set her hands on her hips, just noticing that her clothes had dried. She angled her chin up. God, she’d crash when the adrenaline stopped, but she was jazzed now. The ends of her hair lifted. Heat and energy throbbed along her skin, silky with power.

He growled, his eyes narrowed in frustration. With wide movements he tapped the empty sheath along his right side. He pointed to the stick she’d hooked to her jeans. He snapped his fingers, opened a broad, calloused palm.

Alexa smiled. “No!” She put her hand on the short staff under the pointed tip and angled it forward, curved her fingers around it.

She heard the grinding of his teeth as he repeated his actions.

“No!” she shouted. Grinned. “What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand?”

“Ttho!” Marwey said from a little beside and behind Alexa.

When Alexa slid her gaze to Marwey, the girl continued. “No—ttho!” She smiled sweetly as if she too enjoyed thwarting Reynardus. “No—ttho!”

Alexa turned back to the big guy. “Ttho! What part of ‘ttho’ don’t you understand?”

Thealia bit off some words. Then she spouted what could only be instructions, gesturing. Alexa watched closely, but only understood that the lady wanted someone to go and get something.

A massive man, even bigger than Reynardus, clomped over. He scanned Alexa up and down. She returned his stare. He snorted, took some huge gloves—gauntlets?—from his belt, pulled them on and went in the same direction as the doctor. Squinting, Alexa finally saw the door in the shadows, huge and pointed.

After he left, the others talked among themselves. The words hummed in the room like the low-level buzz of bees on a summer afternoon.

Alexa unhooked the stick, pushed the hook into the short staff and took time to compose herself. Though the others watched her, no one was threatening. She loosened her muscles and kept upright. So many emotions and reactions to the night’s adventures tumbled through her that she kept a hard clamp on them and tried to use pure observation and reason. She glanced around the room while keeping an eye out for any more danger, holding the stick ready.

The chamber, round and very large, was made of white stone. All the furnishings appeared to be the very best any world could provide. Around half the room ran a built-in stone bench with padded seats, jewel-toned large pillows and rugs around its base. Colorful tapestries of pastoral scenes alternated with bright banners showing coats of arms. Windows were set high in the wall, about two stories up, and were as pointed as the door.

The altar was in the same quadrant as the pentacle and draped in maroon velvet, with a white lace over-panel. It held the bright rainbow of crystals—could they be huge precious stones?—the chime stick, two knives, a large smoking incense burner and two goblets, one of silver and one of gold.

Alexa was just wondering if she dared explore when the door creaked open and the huge man walked in. The scent of a damp, cold night wafted in with him, along with the hint of a smokey fire. The humid mixture of odors wasn’t one Alexa would smell in Colorado. Her emotions threatened to break through the barrier she had erected. She couldn’t let go! She couldn’t afford to be seen as weak or vulnerable. She bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

The massive guy stopped in front of Thealia. He held a rolled bundle—Alexa studied it and exhaled in relief—nothing living or newly dead was in it.

They talked a moment, then Thealia directed the others. They all formed a half-circle facing Alexa. Reynardus, still glowering, was the end of the half-moon to her left.

The huge man entered the half-circle and laid his bundle on the floor before Alexa. Just bending from the waist put him eye level with her. He stared at her as he unrolled the cloth. It clinked a little, made sounds of wood and metal and glass. The cloth was made of quilted felt, and she could see seams between pockets. The man flipped back the top flap.

Alexa reflexively retreated a step. The others murmured.

Before her were four rows of ten pockets. Most showed the top of a stick like the one she held. All looked old and valuable and powerful. Imbued with magic.

Thealia glided up, and the huge man took her former place in the half-circle. She gestured expansively to the sticks. “Batons,” she said. Or something close enough for Alexa to understand it. Batons. Were they the same as magic wands? What could they do? What did they signify? The healer hadn’t worn one. Nor did Marwey. But everyone else did.

“Deshouse,” Thealia said, making the same sweep with her hand. When Alexa didn’t move, the lady frowned. She walked down the long row and indicated each pocket with one toe of an elegant slipper, as if demonstrating the word choose.

Alexa got distracted by the slipper, peeking out and showing a narrow foot, then retreating under Thealia’s skirts. It was pointed and looked to have jewels set in a pattern like a flower—

“Alyeka, deshouse!”

Mind wandering. Not surprising after all she’d been through. Still, the evening of adventure and discovery wasn’t over. Alexa stiffened her spine and narrowed her eyes to see the batons better. She pressed her lips together as she concentrated, believing she could see faint outlines of energy. But how did she choose? By the attractiveness? The color and the jewels that appealed to her? By the “aura”? By smell? A couple of them were polished wood. Should she touch them?

No. Definitely not touch each one. Who knew what sort of electrical, magical, whatever, charge she might receive?

Still she felt as if she was coming to the end of her strength. If she needed to choose, she would. A smooth wand of dark green jade caught her eye. It looked slightly thinner than the others. Her fingers would close easier around it. The top was finished in tarnished bronze in the shape of flames, round at the bottom, pointed at the tips. Just below the metal was a small tube of a transparent material, glass or crystal, circling the jade. Now, that was interesting. What could the tube hold? Blood? She was definitely letting her imagination run away with her. There was another clear tube at the bottom of the staff.

Each time her tired eyes traveled up and down the myriad sticks, they lingered on the jade baton.

Alexa took a step forward and everyone hushed. She thought if she squatted she wouldn’t find the energy to stand again, so she bent forward to scrutinize the wand. She couldn’t see anything in the tube. She nibbled at her lip. When she looked up, she met the glare of Reynardus. Awkwardly she tossed him his baton.

He grunted as he caught it. Ran his hands up and down it as if checking for new nicks. Then he sniffed it and scowled at her. His eyes seemed to sink into the deep shadows of his sockets until they were lost except for a gleam of distaste.

Well, she probably had sweated on the thing. Or transferred some of the liquid from the pool to it. Still, sniffing seemed incredibly rude. She sent him a pointed glance and sniffed at him as if he were the inadequate one.

He muttered something under his breath.

“Sanctuaire!” reproved Thealia.

He shut his mouth, but Alexa thought he still cursed.

Minute trembling began in her calves and Alexa took the warning that she was at the end of her endurance. She slipped the jade wand from its pocket.

It blazed like a green candle, parts of it becoming translucent and beautiful.

The others sighed. She heard whispers of approval. Alexa blinked as she looked at the flame atop her new possession—her only possession besides her small fanny pack and clothes—Push that thought aside. The little sculpture glowed with copper and bronze flames, as if new. They seemed to flicker inside the metal too. Small white sparks flew from the tip of the longest flame.

Wow.

Seeing movement inside the upper tube, she brought it closer to examine. Mercury, also known as quicksilver. Mysterious and fascinating.

Thealia clapped her hands sharply. Alexa looked at her. She touched her chest with elegant fingers. “Marshall Sabre Thealia.” She repeated Marwey’s introductions. Thealia curved her hand over Partis’s shoulder. “Marshall Boucilier Partis.” Thealia inclined her head toward Reynardus. “Dom Marshall Sabre Reynardus.”

Thealia nodded and waved at Alexa. “Marshall Alyeka.”

Oh boy. Alexa hung on tighter to her stick—baton. She couldn’t assimilate much more.

Thealia launched into a little speech with lots of gestures. She indicated the circle of Marshalls, the pentacle, goblets and gong. She hummed a snatch of the music, pantomimed Alexa whooshing down onto the floor. Then she clasped her hands and bowed to Alexa.

“Marwey?” Thealia gestured to Marwey and mimed talking, then indicated her head, Marwey’s, and Alexa’s. Alexa didn’t like the idea forming in her mind.

The young girl, shorter and slighter than Alexa, slowly lifted thin arms. Marwey curled her palms around Thealia’s face. They seemed to commune. Marwey stepped back.

Sure enough, Thealia indicated Marwey should do the same with Alexa.

There was a long pause as Alexa considered. She studied the girl, who looked young and innocent and good. When Alexa half-shut her eyelids she could see a bright aqua aura around Marwey. For some reason it reassured her. Like evil would show big black smears? Maybe. Maybe. Her instincts seemed to be guiding her well enough tonight.

Alexa jerked a nod.

Marwey eyed Alexa’s baton.

Alexa sighed and dropped her hands to her sides.

Marwey came close enough that Alexa could smell her scent—girlish and floral, perhaps a prettily fragranced soap. Marwey put her warm hands against Alexa’s face and the image came of soap in the shape of a seashell and the color of moss.

Alexa flinched as butterfly wings brushed her mind. Marwey’s eyes grew big. She shuddered and jumped back.

She swayed and others crowded around her, leaving Alexa standing alone.

Marwey licked her lips. “Leyu exotique,” she said.

Alexa tried to translate. This time “exotique” sounded almost familiar. “Exotique.” French? French for “exotic”? A French-based language? She didn’t do well with languages. She was doomed.

The girl curtseyed to Alexa. “Bar,” she said clearly. “You…haff…passed…the bar.”

Bar? Alexa and Sophie had passed the Colorado bar a couple of months ago.

Marwey made a frustrated noise. “No. You…haff…crossed…le bar.”

That sounded even stranger, but again a little familiar. Alexa shook her head, hoping to straighten out her jumbled thoughts. Crossed—passed…

This had been a test? All this stuff—the monster, the star-ball, the baby, the killer with the knife…had been a test?

Fury built in her, radiating from her belly to the soles of her feet and the top of her head. Again her hair stood straight out from her scalp. She shifted from foot to foot. She’d never been so angry. The baton in her hand began to hum cheerfully. Tiny figures incised in the jade that she hadn’t noticed before glowed and almost moved. Looking at the staff meant she looked at her arm—and the golden aura streaked with red crackling from it.

Alexa angled the baton but didn’t point it. Slowly she turned and, step by step, she looked at each person in the half-circle before her.

Too much. It was too damn much. Alexa whirled to the top nobles—Reynardus with the ivory baton and Thealia.

“This was a test?” she bellowed. The tapestries on the walls shivered. Alexa grinned. She turned back to the pool and pointed her baton, wondering what would happen if she sent a bolt of energy to it. She couldn’t find the urge to care.

“Ttho!” Thealia jumped in front of Alexa. Locked gazes with her. “Ttho.”

Alexa’s nostrils flared.

Partis pulled Thealia aside and took her place. He was protecting his wife. He spoke to Alexa, his voice rising and falling in beautiful lilting notes. She ignored the words—as she thought he meant her to—and listened to the tone, the rhythms, the cadences. Warm yellow light pulsed from him.

The craziness of it all hit Alexa. She was a Marshall. But they all wore swords. And armor.

She wasn’t a savior.

Hell, they had wanted Joan of Arc.

“I think everyone except Partis and I should leave,” Thealia said.

Reynardus snorted and swept her a mocking bow. “As you will, Swordmarshall Thealia.”

Thealia lifted her chin a bit. “Our mission was a success. We now have a powerful new Marshall. With her aid, the plague of evil invading Lladrana will be stopped.”

“You think so?”

“You doubt the Spring Song?” His constant arguing wore on her nerves. She looked him straight in the eyes. “One of the requisites for a Marshall is appropriate visits to the Caves of Melody and a trance with the Singer and the Song. Reynardus, how long has it been since you have undertaken an individual Song Quest to tell of your path?” She knew, but wanted to hear him say it aloud.

A vein throbbed in his temple. “Are you challenging me for the leadership of the Marshalls?”

“I’m saying that I’ve received several Song Quests in the past decade, and most recently when the third fencepost vanished.”

She waited a beat. He didn’t speak. “When was the last time you consulted the Singer and the Song?” she repeated.

He paced with sharp-sounding steps to where his cloak lay. Whirling it around him, he replied. “I’ve been.”

“When you were first confirmed as a Marshall. Before you even knew whether you were a Sword or a Shield,” she pointed out. “Have you been other times?” she ended quietly. He had this coming, but it wasn’t an easy thing to do—to force a Marshall to carry out his duty by shaming him.

“I’ll go to the Singer and endure the Song Quest.” He forced the words through clenched teeth as he clasped the brooch at the throat of his cloak shut. “Tomorrow.” He stared at each one of the Marshalls, lip curling. “I trust you will temper our new little Exotique and make sure she is amenable and Paired by the time I return.” Reynardus spun on his heel, then swept to the threshold and out into the portico in a dramatic exit.

Thealia caught the slamming door with her power and let it gently swing shut.

She turned to face the Exotique—Alyeka, Thealia corrected herself—and found the young woman still shooting out angry energy. Thealia glanced at the huge crystal points at the end of each rafter. Thank the Song such energy could be stored and harvested later.

Partis looked at the girl with his usual compassion. “She’s not happy with us,” he murmured.

“Who would be, enduring such Tests?” Marwey spoke up—out of her place.

Thealia frowned at her and the teenager faded back from the Marshalls. Then Thealia scanned the rest of her companions.

“What went wrong with Defau? He wasn’t supposed to try to kill her. He was only to test her courage.”

“Why ask, when we all know?” Shieldmarshall Faith said, rubbing her hands up and down her arms as if she were cold and didn’t have the strength for a warming spell. Her skin showed an underlying pallor. “He hates Exotiques beyond reason. A flaw we didn’t know and he didn’t reveal. Perhaps he didn’t know himself.” Faith glanced at Alexa. “She is odder than I anticipated. Her coloring—the ebb and flow of her Power, the rhythm of it.” Faith shook her head. “I don’t know whether to be repulsed or fascinated.”

“Obviously Defau was repulsed,” Thealia said dryly.

Faith’s eyes clouded and she tilted her head as if straining to use her Power. “His lifepulse is thready. I doubt he will live.”

“We all knew there could be casualties among us,” Thealia said. She felt the weight of their gazes.

“And you sent Reynardus away,” Armsmaster Swordmarshall Mace said. His wife and Shield set her hand on his arm and squeezed. He shut his mouth.

Thealia passed a hand across her eyes, caught small beads of perspiration. “You only say what everyone thinks.” She looked at them all. “We can’t afford to have a negative influence in our Circle. We lost her for a moment. We could have lost her for good. Reynardus has challenged every step we took. I listened to the Spring Song and underwent a personal Song Quest.” She nodded to a couple of friends. “So did some others of us. Reynardus won’t listen to the Spring Song or believe our personal Song Quests.” She shrugged. “He’s always been a man who will only trust what he himself knows to be true—what he sees, or touches or perceives. Let him undergo trance with the Singer and hear his own Song. I only wish his results would be different and more hopeful than the rest of ours have been.” Others nodded.

“Marshall Alyeka is about to fall into the pool again,” Mace said. “Who knows what immersion in jerir twice in one night would do to her?”

Thealia hadn’t seen any movement in her peripheral vision, but when she faced the woman, Alexa was swaying.

Straightening her shoulders, Thealia said, “Let’s finish this business. Those who want to stay, can. Partis, call in all the unmated noblemen and women.”

Marwey tensed as Partis went to the gong and hit three notes around the rim.

“Marwey?”

The teenager pressed her lips together. “You’re including Chevalier Raston?”

Empathy for the girl’s attraction to the knight touched Thealia. “I must,” she said gently. “Alyeka must be able to choose from everyone eligible. Including Raston. Including you. The Song knows there isn’t a good choice of quality available bedmates, just those courtiers usually here at the Castle and the Chevaliers assigned to us.” She clicked her tongue. “I don’t think our widespread call for a mate for an Exotique was taken seriously.”

Marwey’s mouth set; she looked strained about the eyes.

“And,” Thealia said gently, “if Alyeka chooses a bedmate tonight she won’t have to go through the formal Choosing and Blood-Bond Pairing ritual tomorrow. You’ve been the closest to her of us all. Surely you’d like to spare her that wrenching experience.”

Marwey grimaced and dropped her gaze. “Yes.”

“You’ve been linked to her to experience her world and help us communicate. Do you think she will want you or Raston?”

The teenager narrowed her eyes, recollecting and exploring her brief bond with the Exotique. Marwey shivered again. A dimple peeped from her cheek. “She likes men only. And older ones than Raston.” Then Marwey sobered and glanced around the group of Marshalls. “Her world is completely different! They don’t even believe Power exists!” She blinked rapidly. “I can’t tolerate the glimpses of her world. I hope she can fit in here. ’Cause she can help us, a lot. She will make new fenceposts for us. I felt it.” She pressed both hands to her chest.

They looked skeptically at her. She drew herself up to her full height—almost as tall as the Exotique. “I have not come into my full range or aspects of my Power, but I know what I know,” she said with dignity, and walked to the bench beside the door and sat.

“Teenagers,” Mace sighed.

“They can be dramatic,” Faith agreed. “But Marwey is the only one who’s linked with our new Marshall, and the Exotique chose the Jade Baton of Honor.”

There was silence as they all thought of the ancient legends of blazing energy woven around the Jade Baton of Honor.

The gong sounded as the door opened and people trooped in.