The Lord of Illusion - 3 (32 page)

“There is something…” He shook his head, stray tendrils of pale curls sweeping his forehead.

Perhaps Drystan’s curse had been revealed to him as brought about by the scepters. Camille did not know what caused hers, but until she found out the truth of it, she could not be sure that loving him would not cause him harm. “You have volunteered to hold the golden scepter, even though you lack the magic to wield it. You will be tested with elven magic. Do you not see the pattern here? You will die like all the others.”

“Camille—”

“If I love you, you will die.”

Drystan gently squeezed her shoulders, stared deeply into her eyes. “I see you believe that as surely as I once believed I was touched by evil. But there may be another answer, Camille. For it always comes down to the scepters, does it not?”

“I… I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Drystan dropped his hands and put some distance between them. She felt oddly bereft, for she had grown used to having him as close to her as possible.

They stood there for a time; the only sound a soft whisper as the clouds undulated about them.

“No change,” murmured Drystan, “but I have been close to you for some time now. It is possible our bond has become strong enough to withstand separation.”

Camille did not know what he meant by that, but watched him think, her heart rising with hope. Drystan was the smartest man she had ever known. If anyone could manage to uncover the truth of her curse, he would.

“If you had not told me about the deaths of your loved ones, I might not have put this together. But you are right; there have been too many coincidences for me not to question… especially after today when I touched the golden scepter.” He withdrew it from his pocket, and unwrapped it. Camille took a step back. “Let us try an experiment, shall we?”

She shook her head. “That scepter is too dangerous, Drystan. Please put it away.”

“You must trust me, my love. It is worth some risk to discover the truth of your supposed curse, is it not? For I do not think you will allow yourself to love me until I do.”

“I would rather not love you, than put your life at risk.”

Drystan wrapped his bare hand about the golden scepter. “And I would rather die than live without your love.”

Camille held her breath. Despite her nightmares, he still did not shatter into a thousand fragments, or burst into a ball of flame.

“I do not think I could have done this a few weeks ago,” he mused. “I thought I was just developing my powers, but now I have to wonder.” He held out his other bare hand. “Touch me, my love.”

Camille had promised Lady Cecily she would be brave. Her hand trembled, but she held it up and stepped forward. How many times had she seen the scepter kill? How many times had she felt the promise of evil from it as Roden of Dreamhame used it to threaten and cajole? But if Drystan had been brave enough to touch it, she could do no less than hold him while he did so.

At least if the scepter turned on him and he died, Camille would go with him.

She clasped his warm fingers.

“Ahh,” breathed Drystan. He closed his eyes and threw his head back. “I can feel the power now. I can hear it sing to me.” He lowered his head, his golden eyes now glowing as brilliantly as the moon in front of them. “Look around you, Camille.”

She did as he asked, astonished to see the illusion he had crafted for her now sparkling with clarity. The edges of the clouds now appeared sharp and defined. The moon as real as the one that hovered in the true sky. Stars sparkled in the heavens, and lights twinkled below their feet through the breaks in the clouds. She could pick out the glowing flames that marked Firehame Palace far below.

“I do not understand,” she breathed. “How can my touch affect your magic? I have none.”

“Which is why it never occurred to me that you affected mine. I had thought my magic worked only for you, because my love for you made my will stronger. But when I think on it now, I always managed to craft a spell when you were near. And even stronger ones when I touched your bare skin. You do not just hold the key to opening the door to Elfhame, Camille. You
are
the key.”

Her heart raced. Could it be possible? Could she hold no magic of her own, but be the catalyst for others’ magic? “You are saying that the longer I am close to someone, the more I affect their powers. And that touching me increases the effect twofold?”

Drystan loosened his hold. “Let go of my hand.”

Her fingers dropped to clutch at her skirts. The glow dimmed in his eyes, although his illusion still held strong.

“I cannot feel the power of the scepter anymore,” he said, his handsome face alight with the joy of discovery. “Although I believe the effects of your gift take longer to fade once you have influenced them.”

“Gift?” blurted Camille. “You call it a gift? If not for me, Rufus and Laura would not have shown enough magic to threaten Roden. Lady Pembridge would not have been able to craft a dragon strong enough to fight Roden’s.”

Drystan wrapped up the scepter and pushed it back into his pocket, his face now creased with concern. “You did not kill them, Camille. Roden did.” He picked up her hands and brought them to his lips. “Many have suffered and died at the hands of the elven lords, and so will many more, until we free England from their rule. And without you, we would never be able to do that. Don’t you see? We can now wield all seven scepters to open the doorway.”

To be able to help in such a significant way… then her curse would indeed be a gift. Or at least, she would finally be able to use it as such. “Do you believe this curse can allow others to wield a scepter?”

“It is a logical assumption.”

And Camille suddenly realized something else. With her help, Drystan would be protected from any harmful magical backlash when the scepters were joined. Instead of being his doom, she might be his only salvation.

Her legs gave way beneath her, and she collapsed into a puddle of skirts and cloud, Drystan following to kneel in front of her, bringing her hands again to his lips. Her eyes, those strange multicolored eyes, with all the colors of each sovereignty… no, each scepter, within them. They were not just some strange accident of birth. They held meaning. A connection with each of the scepters’ powers.

“Can it be possible,” she whispered, “that I can truly love you without bringing you harm?”

He kissed the back of her hands. “I promise you, Camille. Your love will not kill me, but the lack of it surely will.”

His words pierced her soul.

He dropped her hands and leaned forward, his mouth covering hers, blanketing all thought. His hands swept through her hair, and Camille felt it tumble down her back and over her shoulders. The world shuddered, and it took her several moments to recognize the sound of thunder. Her soft bed of cloud began to sway, and Drystan pulled away from her, sat back on his haunches.

A roof of white cut off the glow of the moon, sheltering them and casting Drystan’s face in shadow as rain began to fall from the higher clouds above them. Camille could smell the fresh moisture, could hear the gentle patter of the drops atop their roof, and marveled at Drystan’s illusion.

Clouds formed fantastical shapes around their shelter, protecting them from the glistening curtain of rain. Flowers from the garden of Elfhame spiraled from a bud and grew into brilliant blossoms. An English rose bloomed, a hint of red within the petals. Sprays of white buttercups and pansies and marigolds—and other flowers she could not identify—shimmered with opalescent color. White swans entwined their necks around each other, and pairs of doves flew across the fluffy ceiling. Gemstones sparkled within the creations, casting specks of glitter on her satin skirts.

She looked up into Drystan’s golden eyes, at the half smile curving his lips.

“Love me, Camille.”

She let out a rush of breath. “It has been so very hard to stop from loving you, Drystan.” And leaned back into the soft whiteness, holding out her arms to him.

His smile spread, changing his already handsome face to near poignantly beautiful. Her brave, bookish, brilliant Drystan. He had saved her life in more ways than one.

He lowered his body over hers and gently smoothed the hair back from her forehead, kissed her brow and then her lips, with a confidence and reverence that shook her to the core. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling impatiently on his velvet coat.

He laughed, a low raspy sound, and his clothing disappeared, and she felt the smooth heat of his skin beneath her palms. His shoulders bunched with muscle, velvety rounds of steel, and she swept her hands down and across his back, marveling at the new contours she felt.

Drystan traced a path from her mouth to her chin, down to lick the smooth hollow of her throat, before continuing his parade of kisses to one shoulder. Then the other. His mouth moved lower, down to her bodice, and the fabric disappeared at his touch. He still held his body above hers, and she wished he would make her entire dress disappear, and press himself against her, so she could feel the silky heat of all of his skin.

But Drystan had other ideas.

He kissed her left breast, starting at a circle from the outside and taking his sweet time to reach the peak of her nipple. By the time his warm lips touched one, she had built up such anticipation that she cried out from the shiver that went through her when he opened his mouth and suckled. He repeated the same torture on her right breast, until she arched against him.

“Drystan. Please.”

But he would not be rushed. His mouth moved down to her waist, fabric fading, until her entire upper half lay naked to his gaze.

Drystan took a moment to stare at her. He did not need to say the words. His eyes told her he thought her beautiful.

He leaned down once more, fabric fading as he kissed her stomach, then each hip, Camille now trembling with desire.

She could not remember a time before Drystan. A time when love was not a glorious sharing of tenderness and sensibility.

He kissed her thighs, her knees, her calves… until she finally lay naked beneath him, on a bed of clouds amid falling rain. Tendrils of white swirled up to cover his back, his legs, encasing them in a cocoon of pale mist, hiding and revealing a flash of skin, a curve of waist.

Drystan gently spread her legs, his eyes glazed with passion, the pupils large and black.

Camille’s breath hitched.

He kissed a path back up her inner thighs, mumbling nonsense words of love, until he reached her core and the syllables stopped, and she could feel nothing but his mouth, his tongue, stroking and caressing, building her anticipation higher. And higher.

Until she cried his name again and again.

In one elegant sweep of motion, he drew her upward, his mouth stopping her cries, his hands on her back. He pressed her closer to him, cradling her chest against his, until she sat atop his kneeling body, her legs draped over his thighs.

Mist swirled about his angular cheekbones, across the rugged contours of his chest. He swept her ivory hair over her shoulders, while she explored his chest, the smooth expanse of it, the muscles that rippled with her every touch.

His hands slid off her shoulders and all the way down her back, until his big hands wrapped around her cheeks. And he pulled her bottom closer. She felt the velvet skin of his desire touch her throbbing center.

Camille ran her hands up his shoulders, cupping his neck, her thumbs playing with the lobes of his pointed ears. He stared into her eyes, waiting.

“Now,” she pleaded.

He lifted her up, and then ever so slowly down, sliding his velvet heat into her wet core.

He growled something inarticulate, a vow, a promise, an exclamation. Then squeezed his fingers, driving her in deeper and deeper, until Camille threw her arms about his shoulders and buried her face in his hair. He smelled of spice and the indefinable scent of Drystan.

She could only hold on while he rocked her in a gentle rhythm that swept her away, narrowed her concentration to the feel of him inside of her. To her body’s awareness of the smooth friction he created against her nub as he pressed her tightly to him. His elven strength allowed him to hold her sure and strong for a length of time that stretched to infinity.

Sometime during that glorious joining, Camille threw back her head, Drystan leaning down to suckle her neck. He did not build their desire to a frantic peak. He did not struggle and pull them toward their pleasure. Instead, when it came, it washed over them at the same time like a gentle wave, Drystan moaning against the pulse in her neck, Camille sighing with openmouthed delight.

When his tremors eased, Drystan pulled away from her neck, his mouth sweeping a kiss across her own.

“I love you,” she said. With conviction. With wonder.

“I have waited long and long to hear you say that.” He hugged her gently to him, still rigid inside of her, and Camille wished they could stay joined like this forever.

But Drystan frowned, ran his fingers down her shoulder. “Allow it to strengthen you tomorrow, my love. For I fear we will both have need of it.”

Fourteen

A pounding awoke Camille the next morning. She lay in the bed of the burgundy guest room, tangled within Drystan’s arms and legs. She had fallen asleep on a bed of clouds, Drystan reciting poetry in her ear, and wondered that his magic had brought them both to her chamber. And felt supremely grateful for it.

Another knock at her door, and she sat up, blinking in the gloomy light. It felt as if she had barely slept a few hours. Her gaze narrowed at the clock styled with flaming torches that sat on the mantle. It was hours before dawn, when the company planned to ride to the Seven Corners of Hell.

Whoever stood on the other side was obviously too impatient to wait for her to answer it, for it flew open.

“Drystan?” called Giles.

Camille yelped and drew the covers over her as Drystan’s foster father entered the room.

“Ha,” said the older man, strolling over to the bed. “I knew I would find you here. Get up, Son. We have a bit of a problem.” And then rather belatedly to Camille, “My apologies, dearest Camille, for barging in on you like this. But as I said—”

“We have a problem,” finished Drystan, sitting up and blinking at Giles. “What is wrong?”

“Our plans have been discovered. Bless Lord North and his distrustful nature. Even his spies have spies.” A muffled boom shook the walls of the palace, and Giles scowled. “It has already begun. We must fly. Now.” He tossed a bundle of buckskin on the bed.

Drystan leapt from the bed in one fluid movement, pulling on the buckskin breeches before his feet barely touched the floor. “Camille, did Cecily bring you a riding outfit?”

She blinked at the pile of clothing the lady brought her last evening, now draped over the top of a satin couch. “I am not sure.”

Giles halted in midstep, threw a startled glance at Drystan. “You are bringing her?”

Drystan nodded.

“You were going to leave me here?” huffed Camille.

Drystan pulled his shirt over broad shoulders, and shrugged. “I wanted to keep you safe. And besides, you would have been of little help.”

“And what has changed overnight?” demanded Giles.

“We made an astonishing discovery, Father.” Drystan grunted the words as he pulled on his leather boots. “It appears that Camille carries more than just the key to opening the door to Elfhame.”

Another boom shook the walls, rattling the crystals in the chandelier.

Giles glanced up, and then toward the door to the hall, his feet shifting restlessly. “What do you mean?”

“She
is
the key.”

“Dammit, Drystan.”

“It is difficult to explain. She has no magic, but she is a catalyst for it. Watch.” He withdrew the scepter from the pocket of his discarded velvet coat. It lay quietly within his hand, until he reached out with his other and clasped her shoulder. Camille still felt astonished when she saw the scepter immediately begin to glow as Drystan called to the magic within it. He created an illusion of a golden unicorn, complete with horn and flowing mane and tail. The creature tossed its head, pawed the marble floor with a clopping sound.

Giles’s human green eyes widened to almost elven proportion, glancing from unicorn to scepter to Camille. “Can you do the same for the other scepters?”

“I do not know. I-I did not know I had such an ability until Drystan discovered the truth of it.” She clutched the covers more tightly. “I do not feel the magic. I feel… nothing.”

A great roar of sound swelled, and a force shook the palace. Water pounded the glass of the window, threatening to break it in, briefly extinguishing the glow of fire that covered the outside walls. But Dominic must have rallied his magic, for soon the liquid cleared and yellow flames danced around the ledge once again.

Giles spun on his heel. “Cecily. She will be out there, helping Dominic—hurry, both of you!”

Camille sprang from the bed, mentally blessed Lady Cecily when she discovered a brushed woolen riding coat and skirt, both of sturdy design, and a quilted petticoat. Drystan helped her finish dressing, his fingers gentle and calm, despite the increasing noise of battle. He wore no gloves, and insisted she do the same, tying the string of a rabbit muff to her waistband in case she needed to keep her hands warm.

He buckled on her sword belt and tugged her toward the door.

“Drystan? The unicorn?”

Those golden eyes glanced at his creation, and with a flick of the scepter, the illusion disappeared. “I am not used to this,” he muttered.

“If we send the elven lords home, you will not have to get accustomed to it.”

They entered the hall.

“That is some consolation,” he replied, before grabbing her hand and urging her into a fast walk. “However, it would be helpful if I knew more about Roden of Dreamhame’s magic. I am sure there is some spell that would allow us to reach our destination faster, but damn if I can think of a way. I can will only the most basic illusions.”

“Perhaps we could fly on the back of a cloud?”

“We weren’t really up in the sky.” His brow furrowed for a moment, then cleared. “Besides, it would be too slow.”

The interior walls of the palace lacked their usual fiery decorations. The fountains lay empty, the chandeliers dark, the walls but blackened stone. Servants scurried about with candles in hand, on tasks for their masters that Camille could only guess at. Soldiers lined the main entrance, but Drystan took the back one, through the kitchens that reminded Camille too strongly of Dreamhame’s, and past another knot of soldiers guarding the doorway.

Wilhelmina detached herself from the group, gave Drystan a nod, and Camille a startled glance. Alexander joined his wife’s side, his mouth curling into a smile as the duke addressed Drystan. “Couldn’t leave her behind, eh?”

“We need her.”

Alexander raised a brow, but his wife only shrugged. “The rest are outside. We have deployed enough soldiers to distract Breden of Dewhame for a while, and his daughter—Lady Cecily, has managed a defense that should exhaust him for a time. We must leave now.”

She spun on her heel, and they followed the tall woman outside into the courtyard. The fiery walls of the palace still lit the area, and Camille gaped at the chaos. Seaweed hung from wall and window, blanketing the yellow fire with occasional dark splotches. Fish flopped on the ground, soldiers using the butts of their muskets to stun them. Piles of loose brick lay alongside sea anemones and translucent jellyfish, and when Camille raised her eyes, she saw that several portions of the palace towers had crumbled.

“Did the elven lord dump the entire ocean on Firehame?”

“Just a few waves,” replied Alexander, who stood on her other side. “Lady Cecily managed to repel most of it.”

“I must speak with Dominic,” said Drystan.

“He is right in front of you… ah, but I forget.” The duke raised his voice. “Lady Joscelyn, these two need gemstones.”

The lavender-eyed woman appeared in front of them out of thin air, making Camille start. Unlike Wilhelmina, who wore breeches and a sword, Lady Joscelyn wore a riding outfit much like Camille’s, but of a darker color that made the silver sparkles in her white hair appear to glow in contrast. Joscelyn carried the lavender scepter in one hand, and opened her other to reveal two amethyst stones.

“Take them,” she said, holding out her palm. “They will allow you to see past the spell of hiding we have placed on the dragons, and make you a part of it.”

“Will the spell truly hold against the elven lords?” asked Drystan as he took a stone.

“We are not sure. But are we sure of anything, when it comes to this fey magic that has altered our world? The ring of youth Dominic wears was crafted by three elven lords wielding scepters, and therefore has the power to fool just one. We hope the same holds true when half-breeds attempt the casting. Oh, do not fear, Camille, the stone will not harm you.”

Camille fought down the urge to tell her she did not fear the stone. She just did not wish to see what it would reveal. But she took the gem, and the moment she held it, her sight was opened to Lady Cecily, Dominic, and Joscelyn’s creations.

Like Lady Joscelyn, they appeared out of thin air. The dragons’ blue scales shimmered in the firelight, the beasts more than twice as large as the golden one Drystan had created. They also looked fiercer, with the horny faces of some water monsters. They smelled like metal and smoke. And five of them milling about in a circle, occasionally snapping at each other’s tails, or belching a stream of fire, made Camille’s legs go weak at the thought of mounting one of them.

Her last adventure aboard a dragon’s back had not ended well.

General Dominic Raikes and his Lady Cassandra had already mounted one of the dragons, and the beast kept stomping its legs, impatiently scanning the dark sky. Dominic held his black scepter aloft, his face wan and his dark eyes narrowed in concentration, apparently still using his magic to defend the palace. His wife held him about the waist, and Camille feared Dominic would fall over if not for her support.

Lady Cecily and Giles also sat atop a beast, and it appeared that Giles did the same service for his wife that Cassandra did for her husband. Lady Cecily’s scepter glowed a brilliant blue, and a whirlwind of water beyond the castle walls seemed to dance with her every movement. Giles supported her as she swayed, turning briefly to make an impatient gesture at them, the green mark on his face lurid in the firelight.

“Have the other elven lords joined Breden’s attack?” asked Camille as Drystan led her toward Dominic’s dragon. She had to raise her voice as they neared the circle of beasts, for they made a racket with their stomping and hissing.

Alexander shook his head, brown battle braids dancing against his angular elven cheekbones. He raised his voice to a near-shout to reply. “No. Which concerns us, for they know of our plans.”

Camille wondered if their attempt to open the door to Elfhame was indeed futile, if the elven lords did not even bother to stop them.

“My father,” continued Alexander, “is reinforcing the protective fire around the palace, and Lady Cecily is controlling the beasts and helping Dominic defend us against another assault. And they are both still weary from Breden’s surprise attack. They tried to protect the humans in our army—and Breden’s, against the magical forces the elven lord summoned. Breden of Dewhame does not care if humans are slaughtered in this war.”

Drystan halted near Dominic’s mount, careful to maintain a good distance from the lethal claws and fluttering wingtips. He threw back his head, waves of white hair nearly reaching the bottom of his back with the gesture, and shouted, “Dominic Raikes. I must speak with you.”

Camille noticed that Samson and Lady Joscelyn had mounted their beast, and the eagerness to fly had it stomping and clawing up cobblestones as well.

“He will never hear you over this din,” said Alexander. “Whatever you need to say can wait until we reach Seven Corners. We must fly.” He turned to join his wife on their dragon, the beast growing still as he approached. Camille watched with interest as he used the dragon’s long tail to climb up onto its backside, his skill as a sword-dancer apparent in his graceful moves.

“This is too important,” growled Drystan.

Camille squeezed his hand. “We are not even sure what to tell him, for we do not know if this strange ability of mine will work on the other scepters. Perhaps it would be best if we found out now.”

“What do you—?”

Camille released his hand, gathered all the courage and elven agility she possessed, and leaped upon the tail of Dominic’s dragon. The beast rolled an enormous blue eye at her and stilled his appendage, allowing her to run up the scales of it like a set of stairs. Rickety and irregular stairs, to be sure. But she managed the feat, albeit a bit breathlessly, and crossed the dragon’s back to where Dominic and Lady Cassandra sat.

“What is it?” asked Cassandra.

Camille crouched. “Drystan can wield the golden scepter.”

Lady Cassandra’s brown eyes widened. “He developed the power overnight?”

“No. Drystan discovered that I am apparently some sort of strengthener of magic.”

At her words, Dominic turned to look at her, his midnight eyes dull with fatigue, but his seamed face alight with interest. His chest rose and fell with small rapid movements, and judging by his haggard appearance, Camille realized she had done the right thing. The half-breed would never make this journey without her help. The use of his magic to protect Firehame had drained him, and his body no longer held the resilience of a young man. He had to assert too much of his will to call on his magic, and his strength already threatened to desert him.

“I do not know if this ability will work on others,” she said. “But I would like to try.”

Dominic shrugged wearily.

Camille reached out her bare hand. Lady Cassandra eyed it as if it were a striking snake, but she allowed Camille to touch her husband’s shoulder.

Dominic trembled beneath her touch, a man near total exhaustion. And he continued to tremble.

“You feel nothing?” she asked, her throat tight with disappointment.

“Touch the hand that holds the scepter,” said Drystan’s voice behind her, and she turned to see his handsome, most welcome face. “The effect is most powerful skin to skin. And put some will behind it, Camille. Is that not what you did with Lady Pembridge and the children?”