A Magic King (8 page)

In short, all was peaceful as the innkeeper bustled forward. He spoke in a language Jane didn't recognize, but true to the spell, Daken's words came clearly to her as English. From his half of the conversation, she gathered he was haggling over the price of a room and dinner.

Jane wandered to the fire, extending her hands to the warmth while she studied the people. They looked humanoid. They had short, squat bodies with dark skin and black eyes. Definitely human-like, except for some reason, they reminded her of small burrowing animals. They appeared quiet and alert, small and earthy. Both Jane and Daken towered over these people, and she felt the urge to sit down to feel less like a giant. She settled into a booth, and Daken soon joined her. They hadn't spoken since the return of her memory, and from all appearances, he was perfectly content with the status quo.

A few minutes later, the woman placed two thick bowls of stew and a loaf of black bread in front of them. Daken dug in with a vengeance. Jane too, tucked into her meal, surprised at how very hungry she was and how very, very good the food was. Even the black bread was tasty, if a bit hard. Then the woman returned, dropping two mugs of thick black liquid in front of them. It looked like her favorite type of coffee, except it was cold and crumpled green leaves floated on top.

She picked up the mug and sniffed. It had a faint herbal scent, like expensive shampoo. "What's this?"

"Pinnan."

"Uh, yeah. Do you think they have some water? I'm not—"

"Drink it." His words weren't loud or angry, but they held the definite tone of command. Jane sighed, knowing better than to argue with a man in a Macho Mood. She hefted her mug, took a deep breath, then sipped at her drink.

To her shock, it tasted great. Sort of like cocoa and rum mixed with water, as if that were possible. It wasn't carbonated, but it still tingled as it went down. It refreshed like water, tasted like chocolate, and wet her insides like a much needed lubricant. She drained the mug.

"Wow! This is wonderful!"

Daken didn't respond. He didn't speak until after he'd finished his second bowl of stew. "I've gotten us a room for the night. It's too late for a bath, but the mistress can clean your clothes by morning."

Jane looked down at her costume. It was certainly worse for wear, but after this morning's escapade at the stream, it was relatively clean. "No, thanks. But if you can afford it, I would like some new clothes." The mistress and the girl both wore loose-fitting tunics. She wondered if she looked as ridiculous to them as she felt.

"The clothes they have here won't fit you. Wait until Bosuny."

Jane nodded and kept her tongue. She'd been watching Daken pay the innkeeper. Up until that moment, she'd held out some vain hope that her U.S. dollars would be of some value here. But the coins Daken used were nothing like her money, and she didn't want to expose her alienness by trying to use her credit card with holographic ID photo.

That meant she was living off of Daken. Completely and totally. And the thought of that dependence scared her more than the black panther. With sudden resolve, she decided to live as cheaply as possible. Intending to show him just how amenable she could be, she glanced up and said sweetly, "One room will be fine."

"They didn't have any more." His voice was curt, as though he were insulted that she thought they ought to have two rooms.

"No... I mean, whatever arrangements you make are fine. I'm happy to sleep on the floor if you like."

"There's a bed." He practically growled into his pinnan.

"That's fine," she repeated, wondering how she'd managed to insult him while trying to show how flexible she could be. Truth was, she didn't really care what the arrangements were. They'd been sleeping next to each other on the ground since she arrived in this crazy world. What difference did it make inside or outside?

Unless, perhaps, he meant they'd be in the same bed? Her spine tingled at the thought, and she looked down, staring awkwardly at her food.

"As soon as you're done, ready yourself for bed. I'll be up later."

She looked at him, completely at a loss. When her brother had been like this, she'd just stayed clear. So she nodded her understanding to Daken and didn't say a word.

"Don't open the door to anyone but me," Daken continued, pointing his spoon at her like a sword.

She felt her eyes widen in alarm. "You don't think we're safe here?"

He shrugged, then waved for another bowl of stew. "There are thieves everywhere. It never hurts to be cautious."

She nodded. He was being the imperious lord, ordering her around like a child. But given that she knew nothing of this world, his advice was probably for the best. She finished her meal, sopping up the last of her stew with the black bread and feeling like a regular Renaissance serf without a knife or fork. Then, she gave the mistress a warm smile and went to the room.

It was sparsely furnished with one chair, a table with a basin of tepid water, and a bed barely large enough for two small people. She washed up, shook out her short hair, then lay down.

She didn't want to think about Daken joining her. She didn't want to imagine him settling into the bed next to her, the heat from his body merging into hers, his breath tickling the fine hairs of her back. But lying in the dark on a straw tick bed, she could hardly think of anything else.

Her eyes drifted closed, and she dozed in and out of fantasies that were both satisfying and infinitely frustrating. But she was comfortable with them, having dreamed the same dreams in various combinations since she first met Daken.

Forget Daken, she told herself sternly. She was tired. Still, she didn't actually sleep until she felt his weight settle against her.

* * *

"
Squak! Squakawk!"

Jane sat bolt upright in bed, her head pounding from all the noise. Beside her, Daken muttered something in his sleep, then settled back into his low, rumbling snore. Rubbing her eyes, Jane slid out from bed, stumbled to the window, and threw open the shutters. Then she cringed from the light and covered her ears against the clatter.

It would seem last night's sleepy village had woken up to what must be market day in the front courtyard. She recognized just over half the animals milling about and only some of the wares loudly pushed by hawkers in a strange, lilting language.

She glanced back at Daken. He lay sprawled across the mattress. Her belly and right leg tingled with remembered warmth, and she knew he had slept holding her, his arm resting casually across her belly, one leg draped neatly over hers.

Odd how even with all the cluttered emotions, arguments, and growing secrets between them, their sleep time was still as comfortable as that first night he had told her about the stars. Even last night in a bed. It had felt so natural, so wonderful, so... she swallowed hard... erotic.

Too bad he'd made his opinion on that subject perfectly clear. Sex was fine if it happened as part of a medical procedure, but she clearly wasn't what he wanted as a recreational bed partner. No man was that restrained unless he was completely uninterested.

With that depressing thought, Jane pulled the chair up to the window and settled down to watch the show. What better way to learn about this strange world than to watch the comings and goings in the courtyard outside her window?

* * *

Daken woke to an odd sense of loneliness. Jane had left their bed. Turning, he saw her perched half in and half out of the window, the morning sun dancing in her short curls, her face a mixture of delight and confusion as she gazed at the courtyard. As always, she wore her bizarre clothes that covered all, yet left nothing to the imagination. Yesterday, she had asked for some new clothes, and he had lied about being unable to find any here. An outright lie, and he a King no less. But the thought of her changing out of her delightful attire left him surly.

He was fortunate the inn had only one room or he might have lied twice just to keep her with him.

Oh Jane, his little fool. Since she was completely absorbed with the scene out the window, he had the luxury of studying her at some length. What was it about her that drew him so deeply? She wasn't exactly beautiful. He had known women far more stunning in every way; women who used their charms to set men on fire. The bard who sold him the language spell had been such a woman. Yet once she left his lands, he had thought less about her than about his boots.

Perhaps the Father intended Jane as his wife. Daken was King now, and he should continue his parents' lineage, not only for his name, but because Chigan needed more healers. It would be irresponsible to allow his healing seed to die out.

Daken grinned at the idea of getting Jane with his child. The image of her body, ripe and heavy with his babe, set his groin tightening with hunger. He had stayed apart from her because she was ill, and he could not take advantage of a lackwit. But his blood still burned with desire every time he looked at her.

He no longer cared that she was a peasant and he a King. His parents and brother were gone. They could not object to the mismatch. He would marry Jane despite the gossip. The look of gratitude in her eyes would more than make up for any social discomfort.

Bosuny would be an excellent place to woo the naive girl. She would be confused and frightened by the large city and would naturally turn to him for guidance. It would take little effort to have her melting in his arms as she had in the stream.

They would marry in the city, and then he could return home triumphant with not only an army to defend his lands, but a wife to grace his bed and bear his children.

Sometimes, he thought, grinning into his pillow, life could be very, very good.

* * *

"Have you ever been to Bosuny before?"

"Every year when I was young, we went for the Grand Fair. The last time was nine years ago when I was introduced to the Elven Lord."

Jane nearly choked on the hard buttered bread that was her breakfast. "An Elven Lord?"

"Yes. He nurtures the land. My family and the other kings owe allegiance to him. Bosuny is his capitol."

"Elven lord," she repeated, still not quite believing the title, even knowing that whatever the word was in his language, it translated to "elf' in English. "You mean, like a little guy with pointy ears, a thick beard, and a green cap?" Or was that a leprechaun?

"No," he said with obvious confusion. "A tall, slim man with silvery hair and no beard. The dwarves have the pointy ears and thick beards."

"And sing hi-ho all day, no doubt." She didn't know if she was being sarcastic or not. The whole thing was too incredible to believe.

"I do not know what they sing. They mine precious metals in the dark ridges to the southeast. Their craft is highly prized."

She nodded weakly, feeling the blood drain from her face. "Of course, I should have known." She hadn't really been transported through space to another planet. She'd just disappeared into a fantasy creation of Earth archetypes. Or maybe it was just a fairy tale come to life. "Don't they worry about dragons?"

"The big lizards that breathe fire? I don't know. I have heard of them, but never seen one. You needn't be afraid. There are no dragons in Bosuny."

Jane choked back a hysterical laugh. "Of course. They're too big to feed, even in a city. Do they hoard gems?"

"So they say, but I think it is just children's tales."

Jane giggled. Not a normal giggle, but a high-pitched nervous noise that made her sound like a sick hyena.

"Jane? Are you well?"

"Just fine," she whispered, afraid to say more for fear she'd go completely berserk.

He continued to study her, so she kept her face blank while she forced herself to swallow her bread. Apparently satisfied that she was not about to self-destruct in front of him, Daken gobbled the last of his bread and pushed away from the table. "Come. I've found us a ride to Bosuny."

"A ride?" The thought of not having to walk down miles of road broke her out of her suppressed hysterics.

"Yes. A fur merchant is carrying his wares to market. We will drive one of his wagons."

"No more walking?" She wiggled her bruised and blistered toes, delighted at the thought of a prolonged rest.

Much later, after her backside was black and blue from the wagon bench, she wondered if walking might be better. Or riding, though she'd never ridden a horse in her life. That thought led her to another question that had hovered in the back of her mind since this morning.

Just before Daken had risen, she'd seen a clearly wealthy youth rush in on a tall, shaggy steed, stop for breakfast, then ride off. He was exactly how she'd pictured Daken in his younger days—a handsome young man dashing about with speed and flair.

Then it struck her that Daken was on foot.

Now, bouncing painfully on a buckboard, Jane got the courage to ask the potentially insulting question. "Daken, how come you don't have a horse? I mean you're a King and all. I'd think you'd travel in style."

Daken was driving a covered wagon, just like on a vid about the open prairie, except the horses were more of those squat, shaggy things that smelled like a garbage dump in summer. But even with her complete ignorance about horses, she could see Daken stiffen, unnecessarily jarring the horses, which caused them to hit a rather large rut, which in turn jostled Jane painfully on their bench seat.