In Stone's Clasp (30 page)

Kevla was galvanized into action. She called on the fire within her and it flared so quickly and so powerfully she was startled by the intensity. It seemed as though the Maiden’s presence in this land had been dampening her powers, although they were not as completely blocked as Jareth’s had been. Kevla banked the deep heat and hastened to Jareth, catching him as he fell. He felt nearly as cold to her touch as the Ice Maiden herself, and had stopped shivering—something she recognized as a bad sign.

Kevla tore off his shirt, so thick with ice that it was stiff in her hands, then tugged off her
rhia
so there was no barrier between his nearly frozen flesh and her inner fire. She pressed herself into him, her breasts on his chest, her arms entwining him. His hair was thick with ice and she placed one hand at the back of his head. His skin, white and cold, pressed against her, and she closed her eyes and directed heat into his body.

He’s a Dancer. This would have killed an ordinary man. He can handle more heat than Altan could,
she thought, and with that thought, she increased her body’s warmth.

With a gasp and a deep shudder, Jareth moved. His arms closed about her slowly, awkwardly, and he pressed his face into her neck. Kevla’s eyes closed in relief. He was alive.

“M-Maiden?” he stammered.

“She’s gone,” Kevla whispered softly. She wondered if she would be able to enlist his aid in his recovery. “But she almost took you with her. Open to my warmth, Jareth. Take it inside you.”

She felt him nod against her, and Kevla again increased the heat. Slowly, she felt life coming back into his limbs and powerful torso. The cheek pressed against hers grew warm, and the trembling first increased, then subsided.

He was all right. She had brought him back. She should disentangle herself from him, put on her
rhia,
have him don his cloak. But she found she didn’t want to move.

Safe,
the Maiden had said, while clasped in Jareth’s arms.
I feel…safe.
Kevla understood what she had meant. She, too, felt almost unspeakably safe in Jareth’s strong, warm embrace. It had been a long, long time since Kevla had last felt safe. Not even with the Dragon had she been able to stop, to really rest, to put down her burdens even for a moment.

His arms slid slowly up her bare back, pressing her more securely into him, and she felt his body heave with an enormous sigh. While that trusting gesture made her want to stay within the circle of his arms even more, it also broke Kevla’s reverie.

They were far from done with their tasks. Gently, Kevla moved away from Jareth. He kept his eyes averted while she slipped quickly into her
rhia.
There was a warmth in Kevla’s cheeks that was not due to the inner fire which had burned so brightly a moment ago.

“Thank you,” Jareth said quietly.

Unable to help herself, she reached and touched his cheek, turning his face to look at her. “You did a great and kind thing, Jareth Vasalen. It was an honor to bear witness to it.”

He nodded, looking uncomfortable. A sudden wetness splashed on Kevla’s head and she looked up.

“It’s melting,” she said. “The castle is melting. We’ve got to get out of here—fast.”

Jareth stumbled to his feet and almost immediately fell hard on the ice. Kevla, too, fell, and he heard a crack and a grunt of pain as her elbow struck hard. There was about a finger’s breadth of water over the floor now, and the droplets were falling like rain. He heard a deep groan, and realized it was the blocks of ice that comprised the castle.

The sounds were joined by the exclamations of the men, who appeared to have been freed from the Ice Maiden’s spell by her death. They jabbered frantically and looked panicked.

“Come on!” cried Jareth. “This way! You’ve got to get out before the whole place comes down”

The men turned and one cried out, “Kevla!”

“Olar, follow us!” Kevla cried, and the men did so. They were all forced to move forward on their hands and knees; the ice coated with water was simply too slippery for anyone to stand. Kevla looked up nervously.

“The ceiling’s buckling,” she said.

“Keep going!”

The groaning noises increased and Jareth began to wonder if they’d get out before the ceiling and walls collapsed in on them.

He was not sorry for what he had done. The Maiden had at first represented everything that was evil to him about the winter that had strangled his land and killed his family. But he believed her when she said she would not deliberately kill women and children, and had actually felt a stab of pity as he saw her begin to comprehend the depth of the wrongs she had unknowingly perpetrated. When the impulse to make his offer had struck, he had honored it. He had not anticipated how risky the task would be, however; he doubted he would have survived had not Kevla immediately folded herself into his arms to take the cold into herself.

He shook away that memory; it was a distraction now. Scrambling and sliding, crawling as fast as they could in the rapidly melting ice palace, they were almost to the doors. Jareth looked up and saw that they were closed and had started to melt together. It would be almost impossible to force them open.

Kevla reached them before he did, and placed a hand on the doors. She closed her eyes to aid her concentration. Heat radiated from her, and Jareth saw that she was melting an opening just large enough for them to slide through. Anything larger, and the doors might have collapsed on top of them.

“Hurry!” Kevla cried over her shoulder. Jareth needed no urging. He followed her through the oval she had made, slipping on the wet surface, and then they were both outside. The other men followed, sliding down what was left of the stairs until they were on good, solid ground. All of them were soaked and shivering.

Behind them, the palace that had housed a maiden made of ice had fallen in on itself and was melting before their eyes. A pool of water started to seep outward. Kevla watched, unable to tear her gaze away.

“Kevla, turn around,” Jareth said.

She did. “The forest,” Kevla said, puzzled. “It’s gone.”

Jareth nodded. The landscape now looked nothing like the somber, black, icy realm they had fought their way through to reach the castle. It was gentle and rolling. The sky was clear and its normal shade of blue, no longer the strange red color. The trees, growing in clumps here and there rather than close together, looked completely different. Kevla glanced back to where the palace had been and saw only a stretch of white snow.

“Where’s the circle?” Jareth asked.

“The circle of ice we stepped through?” Kevla looked around. “I don’t see it anywhere.”

Their eyes met. “I think we’re back in Lamal,” Jareth said. “Look at the sky. And doesn’t it…feel different to you now?”

Kevla narrowed her brown eyes, thinking, and then nodded slowly. “You’re right. The ice circles take people into the Maiden’s realm. Or the Emperor’s realm I suppose I should say, since he created her. And now that she’s gone, we’re out of that place. Wherever, whatever it was.”

The young man who had called Kevla’s name now rushed up to her. She hugged him.

“Olar! I’m glad you’re all right.”

“What happened? Where are we? How is my sister?” the boy asked.

“Mylikki’s fine,” she reassured him. Jareth raised an eyebrow, realizing the connection. “She’s waiting for us.”

“Where?”

Kevla looked up at Jareth. “An excellent question,” she said. “Shouldn’t we be back with the Dragon and the others?” Kevla asked.

Jareth shook his head. “I have no idea how this all works, Kevla,” he said tiredly. “I just know that I’m glad we’re alive and the Maiden is gone.”

He started. How could he have forgotten…?

“And if she’s gone, then her grasp on the land is gone,” he said. Kevla looked deeply into his eyes and a slow smile spread across her beautiful face.

“Then call spring, Jareth,” she said softly.

He swallowed hard. To try this again, after so many failed attempts—but everything was different now. Everything was right. Still, he hesitated.

Kevla looked at him searchingly, then said something quietly to the boy, who nodded. Olar strode off through the snow to where the others were and they began to talk amongst themselves.

“Come on,” Kevla said. Jareth followed her until they had walked away from the group of men and the rolling hills and trees hid them from their eyes. He felt a wave of appreciation toward Kevla; she did not want him to feel as if he were on display.

Alone with the Flame Dancer, Jareth knelt on the snow and scraped it away until he could reach the frozen soil.

I’m afraid,
he thought.
I’m afraid it won’t work.

But there was no time to indulge his fear. Far too many people had suffered from this winter. It was time to end it.

He took a deep breath, feeling Kevla’s eyes upon him, and dug his fingers deeply into the soil.

The pent-up needs of the wounded, weary earth surged through his fingers, sang along his veins. He gasped with the sensation that rushed to flood him. While this moment, calling the season, had always been exhilarating, it had never felt like this. This time, the feelings were tenfold more powerful, more pleasurable, with a sharp delight that was almost pain. He felt the life stirring deep within the earth, felt the roots of countless flowers and trees and grasses stir to wakefulness and begin to take succor from the fertile soil. Whereas a few heartbeats before he had been kneeling in snow, now he knelt in mud that grew warmer by the moment. Grasses shot through the soil, tender and green and waving. Trees exploded into flower.

As if from a great distance away, he heard Kevla gasp. “Flooding!” he heard her say, and although he knew the word, it meant nothing to him.

Suddenly a warm hand clamped down on his. His eyes opened and he stared into Kevla’s wide, brown orbs. Her lips were parted slightly in a small circle of amazement.

Jareth’s concentration was utter, and Kevla was loath to disturb it. She watched in delight as the snow melted rapidly away and grasses began to cover the muddy expanse. Almost immediately, though, she realized something they should have thought about—probably would have thought about, had they not been exhausted and at the end of their strength.

Winter usually lasted three months. The Ice Maiden’s winter had lasted for a year. The beleaguered earth had received four times as much snow as usual, and now it was all melting at once. There would be massive flooding, and the damage the out of control waters would cause would be as disastrous as the winter itself had been.

Kevla recalled the Dragon telling her about dew, how it turned from water into mist with the warmth of the sun, and realized that she had to at least attempt to aid Jareth, to add her Fire powers to his Earth powers. So she reached and placed her hand over his.

She was completely unprepared for the wave of sensations that crashed over her.

She had never felt so…
alive.
The life force of the returning spring, delayed for so long and now being released by the Stone Dancer, was overwhelming. Her body tingled. Every sense was heightened. The sight of the blossoming growth was so clear to her it was almost sharp. Scents, rich and beautiful, combined into a heady elixir of fragrance so potent that she swayed as she filled her lungs in wild gasps. She could have sworn she
heard
the stretching, crackling sound of the buds opening, the grasses shooting forth their roots. And where her hand closed over Jareth’s, she sensed the tiny, down-soft hairs that finely coated the back, the very texture of his skin folds.

Her heart raced, slamming against her chest so hard that her body shook with each beat. How did he bear this exquisite joy? How did he bear to
not
experience it every moment?

Her gaze locked with his. She saw the very earth invigorate the Stone Dancer right before her eyes. His bare torso, thin, almost skeletal with nearly a year of malnourishment, was filling out. Wasted muscles grew strong again, the skin that covered them becoming supple and smooth. His face lost its familiar haggard appearance, becoming chiseled instead of angular and sharp.

His eyes seemed to see deeper into her than they ever had before; here, in this moment, caught up in the powerful bond with his element, Jareth was unguarded and completely open. He turned his hand in hers, so that they were palm to palm. Kevla entwined her fingers with his, gripping tightly. And when he suddenly pulled her to him with that strong hand and wrapped his other arm about her, she had already swayed toward him.

She turned her face up for his kiss, craving him as the growing things bursting through the soil craved sunlight and water. His lips on hers were warm and strong, almost bruising her, but she responded with an equal intensity. Kevla pressed into his body as she had earlier, but this time, the need was entirely her own. His arm tightened around her waist and her arms snaked around his neck.

It had caught him off guard. Weakened as he was, heartsore, emotions running rampant, Jareth was unprepared to handle the onslaught the awakening land thrust upon him. And when Kevla had touched him and he saw her eyes widen, he knew that she was feeling the same overpowering sensations as he.

He had been so empty, but now he felt like a chalice filled to overflowing. He saw the rush of need, of
life,
in Kevla’s soft brown eyes, and in a moment beyond thought he had pulled her to him.

She smelled of smoke and tasted of honey, and Jareth kissed her with a hunger that was knife-sharp. She was hot and supple in his arms, and he wanted to feel that long, lithe body against his. She tangled her fingers in his hair and tugged, and the slight twinge of pain only aroused him further.

The world had gone away for Kevla. Her senses were filled with this man, his taste, his touch, his scent of pine and loam, and all she wanted was to bring him closer, closer. At this moment she was so filled with desire that she knew it would not take much to—

She started and broke the kiss, pulling away slightly as memory and knowledge penetrated the red haze of passion roused by the life-filled earth.

She could not permit him to touch her like this, to give her body such pleasure. Could not permit
any
man to do so, for it would mean his death—

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She blinked at him, breathing heavily, still dazed from the kiss. “I—” she began.

“I’m so sorry, Kevla. That should never have happened.” The strong arms that had clasped her so close were now firmly pushing her away. Jareth swallowed hard. He didn’t meet her eyes. She saw that he was shaking and a thin sheen of sweat covered his chest. “I didn’t expect—I’ve done this before—felt something similar to this before—but it’s never been like this.”

“It’s all right,” said Kevla, quickly moving to sit away from him and compose herself. “I felt it too, when I put my hand on yours.”

“What I did was completely inappropriate and I hope you’ll forgive me.” He still did not look at her, and his face was pink.

“Of course. It was just the power of the earth coming through you, and then me, when I touched you.”

“Exactly.” He seemed relieved. “It won’t happen again.”

To her surprise, Kevla felt regret at the words. She knew that the feeling she had experienced was powerful, but she also knew that it had exposed a truth she had not seen before—that she cared for Jareth beyond what might be expected from their shared nature as Dancers. But of course, he didn’t. She had never met a man who exuded less desire for companionship than Jareth. He was still grieving for his wife, and besides, it would probably be a very bad idea for them to form any deeper attachment.

“It’s over and forgotten,” she said.

Jareth was mortified by what had happened. Kevla had only tried to help him by joining their powers, which had been an excellent idea. The snow that would have meant flooding all over the land was now evaporating around them as harmless mist, thanks to the union of Earth and Fire magics. He had taken advantage of her, pulling her to him like that.

And why in the world had he done it? He was quick to blame the flood of feeling that had swept over him for his actions, and truthfully, it had been staggering. But Jareth knew in his heart that he would not have felt compelled to pull another woman, say, Mylikki, into his arms in such a crude, lustful fashion. No, he was attracted to Kevla, and had been from the moment they had met. He had grown to admire her courage, her compassion and steadfastness; her soft strength that was steel—or blazing fire—when needed. And of course, the fact that she had an exquisite face and a supple, strong body didn’t help his restraint.

He cleared his throat, and looked around. His embarrassment shifted into a deep contentment as he beheld what he—no, he amended, what
they
—had wrought.

As if reading his thoughts, Kevla said softly, “Spring. It’s finally spring.”

They were both silent for a moment, taking in the change. Where before there had been an unrelieved blanket of white, now there was a riot of color. Green grasses, trees dotted with whispering leaves or bright white, pink or yellow blossoms, flowers of every color dancing in the newly formed meadows. He closed his eyes and inhaled as a soft, balmy breeze, redolent with scent, stirred his hair. In the distance, they heard the joyful whoops of delight from the Ice Maiden’s former slaves.