Beyond the High Road

17

Tanalasta lay in Rowen’s arms, aching and feverish, captivated by the sunlight filtering down through the twisted buckeye boughs above. Alusair was readying the surviving horses for departure, and one of the priests was overseeing Emperel’s burial. Tanalasta was so foggy-headed her thoughts kept running in circles. She held Emperel’s message satchel clutched to her breast and recalled dimly that she had to get it to Alaundo. It was a struggle to remember why-and she was too weak to struggle.

A steel gauntlet appeared above Tanalasta, floating in the air above her eyes. Taking it for an apparition-the hand of Iyachtu Xvim coming to pull her into his Bastion of Hate-she gasped and clutched at Rowen’s arm.

“Stay with me.” She pushed the message satchel into his hands. “Then take this to Alaundo. Tell him about the glyphs… and about Xanthon.”

“You are not that ill, Princess.” Rowen refused to accept the satchel.

The gauntlet drew closer, warming Tanalasta’s face and obstructing her view. She was too frightened to look away.

“Don’t argue.” Tanalasta tipped her chin back. “Kiss me. I want to die.”

“You are hardly dying, Princess.” Rowen sounded almost insulted. “And certainly not in my arms. Now hold still, and Seaburt will have you feeling better in a minute.”

“Seaburt?”

Tanalasta saw the thick wrist protruding from the collar of the glove, and it slowly came to her that the gauntlet was not the hand of Iyachtu Xvim. It was the symbol of Torm the True, Alusair’s favored god and the one revered by both priests in the company. Seaburt laid the glove upon Tanalasta’s forehead and uttered a quick prayer to his god, beseeching Torm to aid “this dutiful daughter of Cormyr.” Recalling her arguments with Vangerdahast and the king, Tanalasta worried that the Loyal Fury might not find her deserving of his magic and continued to press the satchel on Rowen. Her skin started to prickle with the familiar sensation of magic, then the glove grew cold and dry against her brow. Her head began to throb more fiercely than ever, and she let slip an involuntary groan.

“Have strength, Princess,” said Seaburt. With a month-old beard and black circles under his sunken eyes, the priest looked no better than Tanalasta felt. “Torm is drawing the fever out, but there will be some pain as it passes from your body.”

Some pain? Tanalasta would have screamed the question, had she the strength. It felt as though someone had cleaved her head with an axe. She closed her eyes, listened to her pulse drumming in her ears, and begged Chauntea for the strength to endure Torm’s cure. The throbbing only grew worse, and she thought her brain must be boiling inside her skull. She did her best to hold still, and finally the gauntlet grew warm and moist against her skin. The glove blossomed into white-hot light, turning the interior of her eyelids red and bright, and then a wave of cool relief spread down her entire body.

Tanalasta opened her eyes and found herself gazing up through the gauntlet’s veil of pearly brilliance. Seaburt’s jaws were clenched tight, his vacant stare fixed someplace far beyond the keep’s dilapidated walls. Beads of sweat rolled down his face, dripping out of his beard to splash against the searing gauntlet and hiss into nothingness. Tanalasta grew stronger. The fog vanished from her mind, and she no longer felt quite so queasy. She struggled to sit up, but Seaburt pressed her down and held her there until the glow faded completely from his gauntlet.

When the priest finally lifted the glove and took his hand from inside, his skin was red and puffy. “You’ll still be weak,” he said. “Drink all you can, and you’ll feel better.”

“I feel better already. Thank you.” Tanalasta sat up, then nearly blacked out when she tried to gather her legs beneath her. “Though I see what you mean about still being weak.”

A whistle sounded from across the bailey, where her sister stood waving at them from the gate. With Alusair stood all that remained of her company-the second priest, a dozen haggard knights, and fifteen sickly horses. Though the horses still had halters and reins, the poor beasts had been stripped of their saddles to lighten their burden.

“Time to go.” Rowen slipped an arm under Tanalasta’s arm and pulled her to her feet. “I’m sorry, but it looks like you’ll be walking. The horses are too weak to carry even you.”

As they approached Alusair and the others, Tanalasta eyed the languishing beasts with a sympathy born of her own haggard condition. “Why are we making these poor beasts come along at all?” she asked Alusair. “They’d have a better chance if we just left them to rest-and if not, at least they’d die in peace.”

“And how would that help our cause?” asked Alusair “If they die on the trail, we’ve lost nothing. If they recover, they’ll save us a good five or six days of walking.”

Alusair turned to lead the way out of the gate, but Tanalasta was too alarmed to follow. Saving five or six days would mean reaching Goblin Mountain well ahead of Rowen, and she had no illusions about what would follow if that happened. Alusair would have a war wizard teleport Tanalasta back to Arabel at once, and her parents, regarding any courtship with a Cormaeril more of a political disaster than Dauneth’s rejection, would see to it that Rowen never came within fifty miles of her.

Rowen offered a supporting hand. “What’s wrong? If you are too weak to walk, I’ll carry you.”

“No.” Tanalasta held him back until the others were a few paces ahead. “Rowen, you can’t leave me tomorrow.”

“But I must.” He made no effort to keep their conversation quiet. “Vangerdahast has no idea-“

“Vangerdahast will figure it out soon enough,” Tanalasta whispered. “Even if he doesn’t, Old Snoop is certainly capable of taking care of himself.”

Rowen cast a nervous glance at Seaburt’s back. “Perhaps we should talk about this later. You’re still weak.”

“No!” Tanalasta took his hands. “Rowen, you must know I have feelings for you-and that I hope you have feelings for me.”

“Of course.” He gave her a sly smile. “I didn’t think you were the kind of princess who kisses just any man who happens to be there when you decide to bait a ghazneth.”

Tanalasta did not return his smile. “I’m not, and you are avoiding my question.”

Rowen looked away. “You are above my station-but yes, I do see you more as a woman than a princess.”

Tanalasta furrowed her brow. “Am I to take that as a yes?” When Rowen nodded, she continued, “Then we can’t let Alusair separate us. You know what she’s trying to do.”

“I doubt we are all she’s concerned about.”

“Of course not,” said Tanalasta. “She’s also concerned that when the king hears of our affections, the weight of the crown may land on her head instead of mine.”

Rowen’s expression grew enigmatic. “And that fear is not well founded?”

Though Tanalasta sensed the pain in his question, she did not hesitate to answer honestly. He deserved that much. “Your family’s disgrace would cause a difficulty for the throne, yes. The loyal houses would see any favor shown you as an affront to their allegiance, and the neutral houses might take it to mean the throne has a short memory.”

“Then the king would have no choice in the matter,” Rowen surmised. “He would be forced to name Alusair his heir.”

Tanalasta shrugged. “It is not for us to predict the king. He can be a surprising man, and he knows that it’s better to retreat than to lose. Our chess games have taught him that.”

As Rowen considered this, Seaburt glanced back from the end of the line. “If the princess is too weak to walk…”

“The princess is strong enough to walk,” Tanalasta said. “Pay us no mind. We’ll ask if we need help.”

“Of course.” Seaburt cocked his brow and turned away. “I will be listening for your call.”

Experiencing a sudden dislike for the priest, Tanalasta glared at his back. When he was out of earshot, she took Rowen’s arm and started after the rest of the company.

“You know what will happen when we reach Goblin Mountain,” she said, speaking softly. “Alusair will do a sending, and five minutes later a dozen war wizards will arrive to whisk me back to Arabel.”

Rowen gave her a sidelong look. “And I should be sorry to see you safely back in the city?”

“Yes, if it means we’ll never see each other again.”

“Aren’t you exaggerating? I should be capable of finding my way to Arabel-and Suzail too, for that matter.”

“When? Between scouting patrols into the Anauroch and spying missions in the Dun Plain? My father and Vangerdahast will keep you so busy you won’t see a Cormyrean city until I am wed and fat with some other man’s child.”

Though Rowen remained unmoved, at least he showed the courtesy of wincing. “And if I disobeyed Alusair I’d spend the next ten years in Castle Crag’s dungeon instead-with no hope at all of redeeming my family name.”

The company began to fan out across the flat scrub-land, each man leading a horse more or less westward, laying a network of false trails before they turned south. Tanalasta remained silent for a time, knowing Rowen was right. She had no authority to countermand Alusair’s order, and Vangerdahast was certainly ruthless enough to have the scout locked away under the pretext of disobedience.

“You’re right, of course. I can’t ask you to defy Alusair.” Tanalasta kept her eyes on the ground as she spoke, watching the brush for snakes and other hazards. “So I will come with you.”

“What?” Rowen nearly shouted the question, drawing a curious-and rather condemning-glance from Seaburt. The ranger lowered his voice, then continued, “I’d like nothing better, but Alusair would never permit it.”

“Alusair can command you to leave, but she cannot command me to stay,” said Tanalasta. “She is not my master.”

“Please, Tanalasta-I can’t. Doing as you ask would make me the same as Gaspar and Xanthon.”

“You could never be the same as those two.”

“I would be, if I put my own desire above my oath as a Purple Dragon.” Rowen guided Tanalasta away from a red catclaw bush, pulling her safely beyond the striking range of a half-hidden pixie-viper. “We all have our duties. I am a scout, and my duty is to move swiftly and find Vangerdahast. You are the learned one, and your duty is to return to Arabel and inform the king of what you have discovered.”

“And I will,” said Tanalasta. “In your company.”

Rowen shook his head. “You will be safer with Alusair.”

“Really?” Tanalasta cast a doubtful glance at her sister’s sickly men. “I should think it would be easier for the ghazneths to find a large company of sick men than two people moving swiftly and stealthily?’

“Perhaps.” Rowen paused to think, then said, “That would be so if you were healthy, but with the fever, you are too weak.”

“The fever will improve. Seaburt said…”

Tanalasta let the sentence trail off as the significance of Rowen’s pause struck her. He had been there when Seaburt cured her, and he certainly should have heard what the priest had told her. She stumbled along two more steps, then stopped and whirled on the scout.

“You don’t want me to go with you.”

Rowen’s expression fell, and Tanalasta saw she had guessed correctly. She pulled her arm free and stumbled back.

Rowen stepped after her. “Please, Tanalasta, it’s not what you think. I have every confidence in your ability-“

Tanalasta stopped him with a raised hand, then lifted her chin and began to back away. “That is quite enough, Rowen. And you may address me as Princess Tanalasta, if that will make you feel more comfortable.”

A muffled patter drummed down out of the pines, reverberating down through the valley, bouncing from one slope to the other until Vangerdahast could not tell whether the sound came from ahead or behind. He reined Cadimus to a stop and raised his arm, and the Royal Excursionary Company clattered to a halt behind him. The air filled instantly with the swish and clank of wizards and dragoneers readying for battle. Over the past day and a half, the company had lost dozens of men and horses to orc ambushes and lightning-swift ghazneth strikes, and now even the dee-dee-dee of a chickadee could send them diving for cover.

Vangerdahast twisted around. “Will you be quiet back there?”

He glared until the company fell silent, then looked forward again. The valley was one of those serpentine canyons with a meandering ribbon of marshy floor and steep walls timbered in pines. He could see no more than fifty paces ahead, and to the sides not even that far. As the patter grew louder, the trees scattered it in every direction, and soon the drumming seemed to be coming from all around. Sometimes it sounded like hooves pounding grassy ground and sometimes like wings beating air.

Cadimus nickered and raised his nose to test the air, then a ginger mare galloped around the bend, chest lathered and eyes bulging, reins hanging loose, stirrups flapping empty. She came straight down the valley at a full run, barely seeming to notice Cadimus and Vangerdahast, or the entire Royal Excursionary Company behind them. Close on the mare’s tail came a streaking ghazneth, its wings a black crescent as it banked around the corner, its arms stretching for the flanks of the ginger mare.

Vangerdahast leveled a finger at the phantom and uttered a single word, sending a dozen bolts of golden magic to blast the dark thing from the sky. The impact hurled the ghazneth into the pines, snapping branches and ripping boughs. In the next instant, the valley erupted into a cacophony of thundering hooves and screaming voices as dragoneers and war wizards urged their mounts to the charge. If the Royal Excursionary Company had learned anything over the past two days, it was never to hesitate around a ghazneth. Vangerdahast wheeled Cadimus around just as quickly and started after the riderless mount.

Tanalasta’s horse had been a ginger mare.

The horse did not snort, nor whinny, nor even groan. It merely dropped to its knees and closed its eyes, then toppled over onto a thicket of smoke brush. Tanalasta watched as Alusair, dazed with exhaustion and a relapse of fever, idly yanked the beast’s reins and tried to continue walking. When the horse did not move, Alusair cursed its laziness and, without turning around, hauled harder on the reins.

Tanalasta said nothing, content to see someone else make a fool of herself for a change. The princess could not believe how she had misread Rowen’s emotions. Their kiss had certainly felt sincere enough, but she had read that men experienced such things more with their bodies than their hearts. Was that the root of her mistake? Perhaps she had mistaken simple lust for something more… permanent. The affection she sensed had been no more than a man’s normal carnal attraction, kept in check by Rowen’s honorable nature. The princess almost wished he had not been so virtuous. Had he used her, at least she would have been justified in her anger. As it was, all she could do was feel embarrassed and try to avoid him until he went off to find Vangerdahast.

Alusair finally stopped tugging on the reins and stumbled around to scowl at the motionless horse-the second that had died in only ten hours of walking. She muttered an inaudible curse, then looked to Tanalasta.

“You could have said something.”

Tanalasta spread her hands helplessly. “I thought it might get up.”

Alusair eyed her sourly, then called the rest of the company with a short whistle. As the troops gathered around, she pointed to the dead horse. “Let’s take off our helmets.”

The weary men groaned and reluctantly started removing the leather padding from inside their helmets. After the first horse died, they had spent nearly an hour burying it so the body would not attract vultures and betray their route, and no one was looking forward to repeating the experience-especially not with night fast approaching and another thirteen horses ready to follow the first two at any moment.

As Rowen kneeled to help the others, Tanalasta at first tried to avoid his eye-then realized she could not be so coy. With Alusair’s mind addled by fever and the rest of the company near collapse, a certain amount of responsibility for their safety fell to her.

Tanalasta caught Rowen by the arm. “Not you.” She pointed toward a hazy line of crooked shadow just below the western horizon. “That looks like a gulch to me. See if there’s a stream in it-and a safe campsite.”

“Wait a minute.” Alusair was so weak she barely had the strength to signal Rowen to stay put. “Tanalasta, you don’t give orders to my company.”

“I do when you are in no condition to see to its welfare.” Tanalasta met her sister’s gaze, which was more drained than angry, and waved at the surviving horses. “If we don’t water these creatures soon, we’ll have to bury them all by morning-and then we can start on your men.” She glanced meaningfully toward one warrior still struggling with his helmet’s chin strap.

“Princess Tanalasta is right.” Rowen’s comment drew a glassy-eyed scowl from Alusair, but he was not intimidated. “Had your wits been clear, you would have had me looking for water two hours ago-and not only for the horses.”

Alusair frowned, though her expression looked more pained than angry. “That may be, but I am still commander of this company.”

“Then you would do well to remember that and let Seaburt take care of your fever,” said Tanalasta.

Because Seaburt and his fellow priest could cast only enough curing spells each day to restore a third of the company to health, any one person could be healed only once every three days. Unfortunately-as Alusair had discovered while trapped in the goblin keep-the illness tended to recur on the second day, and Alusair had steadfastly refused to deprive anyone else by having a spell cast on her out of turn.

“I may not know the military,” said Tanalasta, still addressing Alusair, “but I do know leadership. As the great strategist Aosimn Truesilver wrote, ‘If a man must send troops into battle, then he owes it to them to be sober at the time.’”

Alusair scowled and started to argue, but Rowen cut her off. “Princess, you must let Seaburt see to your fever. Everyone will stand a better chance of returning alive if you do.”

Alusair looked from the ranger to the others. When they nodded their consensus, she sighed. “Very well. Rowen, go and see about that water. Everyone else-why isn’t that horse buried?”

The company began to scrape at the hard ground with their helmets. Seaburt took Alusair aside and began to prepare her for the spell-the last he would be able to cast until morning. Rowen started toward the western horizon, but stopped a dozen steps away and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the setting sun.

“Princess Tanalasta, I don’t see that gulch you were talking about. Would you be kind enough to show it to me?”

Frowning, Tanalasta went to his side and pointed at the hazy line. “It’s there. You can see the shadow.”

“Of course. I see it now.”

Tanalasta sensed Rowen watching her and turned to find him looking not toward the gulch, but into her eyes.

“Forgive the ruse,” he said. “I wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Tanalasta kept her voice cold. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I fear I have given you reason to think poorly of me.”

“Nonsense. You’ve been most valorous. The king shall hear of your service.” Tanalasta paused, then decided a demonstration of her magnanimity was in order. “In truth, I shouldn’t be surprised if you were granted that holding you desire.”

Rowen’s face fell. “Do you think that’s why I’m here? Because I am chasing after a piece of land?”

Tanalasta recoiled from the bitterness in his voice, then lowered her chin to a less regal height. “I know better than that. I only wanted you to know I wouldn’t hold my own foolishness against you.”

“Your foolishness, Princess?”

“Mine.” Tanalasta looked away. “I have been throwing myself at you like a festhall trollop, and you have been honorable enough not to accept my affections under false pretenses.” She gave Rowen a sideways glance, then added, “Though it would have been kinder to tell me at the start I was behaving like a fool.”

“How could I do that? It would have been a lie.” Rowen dared to grasp her hand-and when she pulled it away, dared to take it again. “If my feelings are different from yours, it is only because they are stronger. I have been stricken from the moment I saw you.”

Tanalasta was too stunned to pull her hand away. Once again, he was telling her what she longed to hear, but how could she believe him when his actions spoke otherwise? She shook her head.

“That can’t be true, or you would never leave me with Alusair-not when Vangerdahast has the resources of an entire kingdom to make certain we never see each other again.”

Rowen closed his eyes for a moment, then looked toward the horizon. “Perhaps that would be for the best.”

“What?” Tanalasta grabbed Rowen’s arm. “I will not be taken for an idiot. If you do not wish to court me, then have the courage to say so plainly. I’ve heard doubletalk all my life, and you really aren’t very good at it.”

Rowen’s eyes flashed at the slight. “I am speaking as plainly as I know how, Princess Tanalasta. My feelings are as sincere as they are powerful, but I am the son of a disgraced house. Any courtship of mine would only weaken the crown.”

Tanalasta experienced a sudden lifting of the heart as her irritation gave way to comprehension. She stood motionless for many moments, then finally began to see how deeply her harsh words had to have cut the ranger. She stepped closer and said, “Rowen, I’m sorry for the things I said to you. Now that you’ve explained your reservations, I see you have been honest-brutally honest, at least with yourself.”

“I’m sorry, Princess. It just wasn’t meant to be.”

Tanalasta cocked her brow. “Really? Then you are prepared to assert your judgment over that of the Goddess?”

“Of course not, but if you are speaking of your vision, how are we to know I am the one?”

“I know,” Tanalasta replied. “And so do you.”

Rowen looked torn and said nothing.

“Certainly, there will be those who resent my choice,” Tanalasta said, sensing an opportunity to win him over, “but that would be true no matter who I chose. If I picked a Silversword, the Emmarasks would be angry. If I picked an Emmarask, the Truesilvers would disapprove. If I picked a Truesilver, the Hawklins would gossip, and anyone I choose will be a slight to the Marliirs. In the end, I can only follow my heart and take the man I desire, one I know to be honest, loyal, and trustworthy-and that man, Rowen, is you.”

“Even if it costs you the crown?” he asked. “And though it does not, even if it costs you the loyalty of the great nobles?”

Tanalasta shrugged. “You are only one of the choices I have made that may cost me the throne-but they are my choices to make, and I am happy to live with the consequences.” She gave him a steady gaze. “If the crown is to rest on my head, having the strength of your character at my side will far outweigh the loss of a noble family’s shifting loyalties.”

Rowen considered this for a moment, then asked, “But how many of those families can one man be worth?” He shook his head. “Surely, not even half of them. It is well and good for a royal to make her own choices, but she must not be blind to the trouble that follows. People will think of me as no better than Aunadar Bleth, taking advantage of your good nature to restore my family’s standing-and the crown will be the weaker for it.”

“Is your opinion of me that low?” Tanalasta demanded. “Do you assume people think me capable of attracting only frauds and sycophants?”

Rowen’s face went white. “That’s not what I mean to-“

“What else could you mean? Perhaps it’s just as well we haven’t pursued this further.” Tanalasta pointed toward the horizon. “There is the gulch, Rowen. Go and see if it has any water for us.”

The mare neighed three sharp times and scraped at the ground, nearly crushing Vangerdahast’s foot when one of her hooves caught him across the instep. He cursed and jerked on the reins, forcing her head down below the height of his chest.

Owden Foley raised a restraining hand. “Gently, my friend. She has been through a lot.”

“And she will go through a lot more, if she doesn’t start making sense,” Vangerdahast growled. “Tell her that.”

Owden scowled his disapproval. “I don’t think-“

“Tell her,” Vangerdahast ordered. “Perhaps it will clear her thoughts.”

Owden sighed, but turned back to the horse and began to neigh and nicker. The horse’s ears flattened, and she fixed a single round eye on Vangerdahast’s face.

He narrowed his own eyes and raised his lip in a snarl. The mare looked away and began a quick succession of nickers, punctuated every now and then by a sharp whinny or a neighed question from Owden. When the conversation finally ended, Owden nodded and patted the beast’s neck reassuringly.

“Well?” Vangerdahast demanded.

“I coaxed a little more out of her, but horses don’t remember the same way we do.” Owden took the reins from Vangerdahast’s hands. “All she can tell us is that the ghazneths have been hunting her since ‘the dawn before the dawn.’”

“And?” Vangerdahast glared at the priest.

Owden slipped between him and the mare. “And that the princess is gone with ‘her stallion.’”

“Her stallion?” Vangerdahast fumed. “What, exactly, does she mean by that?”

The ‘gulch’ turned out to be a winding riverbed filled with more willows than water, but there was a tiny ribbon of creek meandering along beneath the bluffs on the far side, and Tanalasta could hear the horses sloshing through its silty currents, doing their best to slurp the rivulet dry. She was kneeling atop a slender tongue of high ground, churning a pile of rotting leaves into a small plot of dirt she was preparing for a faith planting. Though dead-tired from the day’s walk, the work kept her mind off Rowen, and it was well worth the effort to slow her whirling thoughts.

The princess was more disappointed in him than angry. She knew better than anyone what people thought of her. Many nobles-perhaps most-would accuse Rowen of taking advantage of her gullible nature. But they would think the same no matter who she chose. The only way to change their minds was to be patient and prove them wrong through good conduct, her own and that of her chosen. She was hurt not because Rowen had pointed out how people would perceive their relationship, but because he lacked faith in her to change their minds. If he did not trust her to succeed, how could she trust herself?

Tanalasta pulled a fist-sized stone from the ground and turned to set it aside at the edge of her plot, where she found a pair of soft-leathered ranger boots standing beside her. Biting back a cry of surprise, she placed the stone with the others, then spoke without looking up.

“Come to tell me I mustn’t think poorly of you?” Tanalasta crumpled a handful of decaying leaves between her hands, sprinkling them over the surface of her plot. “Or have you decided to chase that holding after all?”

“I suppose I deserve that.” Rowen kneeled beside her and began to work a handful of leaves into humus. “The truth is, I’ve come to apologize. I spoke like a narrow-minded popinjay.”

“I hope you don’t expect me to disagree.”

“No. When I said those things, I was being a coward. I was thinking only of myself-of how your favor would affect my reputation.”

“You said you were thinking of the crown,” Tanalasta reminded him.

Rowen shrugged. “Perhaps I was thinking of both-or perhaps I was not thinking at all. Either way, I was wrong. It is not my place to decide what is best for the crown. I pray you can forgive me.”

Tanalasta sank her fingers into the dirt, turning it over and churning the leaf-humus into the soil. As honest and humble as Rowen’s apology was, it did little to quell her anger. He had said nothing about having faith in her ability to win her subjects’ confidence, and what future could she have with a man who did not believe in her?

“Thank you for clarifying matters, Rowen.” Tanalasta’s voice was sarcastic. “I was afraid that in making a fool of myself, I had also conveyed to you the duties of my station.”

“Now you are twisting my words, Princess.” Rowen’s face was growing stormy. “I came here to say I agree with you. Why do you refuse to listen?”

“I have been listening.” Tanalasta started to suggest she had not liked what she heard, then thought better of such an acid remark and shook her head. “I don’t see the point in continuing this, Rowen. Maybe you should leave.”

Rowen stared at her in disbelief for a long time, then dumped the humus in his hands and stood. “If you wish.”

“It…” Recalling that dawn tomorrow would probably be the last time she ever saw him, Tanalasta almost said it wasn’t what she wanted-but what good would that do? He still didn’t believe in her. She summoned her resolve and said, “It is.”

Rowen turned to leave, then suddenly stopped. “No.”

More confused than upset, Tanalasta looked up. “No?”

The scout spun on his heel and pulled her to her feet. “The point, Tanalasta, is this.”

He kissed her hard, folding her into his arms so tightly that he lifted her off the ground. The princess was too astonished to be outraged. She had been imagining a moment like this almost since she met Rowen, and he chose now to take matters into his own hands? His timing was typically, wretchedly male-yet Tanalasta’s body responded just as fiercely as it had at the goblin keep. A sensation of joyous yearning shot through her from lips to loins, and she wondered how such a powerful feeling could be anything but a portent from the goddess. Before she knew it, her hands were at his waist, pulling him closer, and a feeling of sacred warmth flowed down through her body, dispelling her anger and draining her resolve. She longed to embrace the moment, to run her hands over his body and kindle their passion into full flame, but she could not release herself to carnal abandon yet-not while her mind remained so at odds with her heart.

Tanalasta slipped a hand between them and pushed against Rowen’s chest. The ranger kissed her more deeply, running one hand up to her breast and filling her with waves of seething pleasure. She closed her eyes for a single heartbeat, then bit his lip-a little harder than necessary to make him stop-and managed to push him away.

“Rowen!” Tanalasta’s voice had more passion and less anger in it than she would have liked. She gulped down a breath, then gasped, “What was the meaning of that?”

“I think you know.” Rowen touched a finger to his bleeding lip, then gave her a lean and hungry look. “I wasn’t thinking of the crown princess, but of the woman I’ve come to know and love.”

“Love?” The word did not feel as hollow as Tanalasta had expected-in fact, it felt all too comfortable. She eyed him warily. “You are the one who has been worried about the effect on the crown. What are we going to do about that?”

Rowen shrugged and shook his head. “I truly don’t know, and I can’t honestly say I care-as long as you protect me from Vangerdahast.” His tone was only half-joking. “I don’t fancy living out my life as a toad.”

Tanalasta looked at him a long time, giving her mind time to come to the same conclusion her heart had already reached. The princess knew him too well to believe the ranger had suddenly forgotten his oath to the crown. He had simply come to the same conclusion she had reached a long time ago.

Tanalasta smiled. “If you think I can protect you from Vangerdahast, you must be love-stricken!” She grabbed Rowen by the front of his cloak and pulled his face close to hers. “But I have read that a princess may kiss any toad she wishes.”

She licked the blood off his lip, then slipped her tongue into his mouth and gave him a long, burning kiss. He responded in kind, dipping her over backward and gently lowering her to the ground. Tanalasta pressed herself against him, reveling in the waves of desire shuddering through her body. His hands roamed over her shoulders and breasts at will, igniting little blossoms of heat wherever they went, and the last shadow of doubt vanished from her mind. Rowen was the man of her vision. She could tell by the way her flesh came alive at his touch, and she wanted never to be apart from him.

She pulled her lips away from his long enough to run a fevered line of kisses up his neck, then whispered, “Rowen

” She had to stop to catch her breath. “We need a plan.”

“I have one.”

He loosened her belt, then ran a hand up the bare skin beneath her tunic. She shivered in delight and let her eyes roll back, feeling as though she would black out from sheer pleasure.

“No…”

When Rowen’s hand hesitated, she grabbed his wrist through her tunic and guided his palm to her naked breast.

“I mean yes,” she gasped. “But what about the future?”

Rowen’s fingers grew still. “I still can’t take you with me.” He started to withdraw his hand-then stopped when Tanalasta clamped her elbow across his arm. A wanton smile came to his lips, but-somehow-he managed to keep his mind off his desire long enough to say, “There’s no telling how long it will take to find Vangerdahast, and-“

“And I must show the king what I’ve found as soon as possible-I know.” Tanalasta reached for his belt and began to fumble with the buckle. She was so nervous-or was it excited?-that her hands were trembling. “How do you get this thing off?”

“Just like yours.”

Rowen arched his back to give her a better angle, and the prong finally came out of the hole. Tanalasta grabbed the hem of his tunic and lifted it to his shoulders. Her stomach filled with butterflies, and she decided she was the luckiest princess in Faeriin. She leaned over and kissed her way up toward his neck.

Rowen moaned softly, then fell silent and still. For a moment, Tanalasta feared she had done something wrong-or, recalling her own trembling hands, thought perhaps he’d grown too excited too quickly (having read in Miriam Buttercake’s Treatise on Good Wifery that men sometimes suffered such disappointments), but that turned out not to be the case. As suddenly as he had fallen quiet, Rowen pulled her mouth to his and gave her a long, lingering kiss.

When he finished, he looked deeply into her eyes and said, “There is one thing that even kings and queens may not dictate, that only we may control.”

Tanalasta nodded eagerly. “I know.”

She started to pull her tunic off over her head, but Rowen caught her arm.

“No. I mean there is a way to stop them from keeping us apart-but only if you are sure about risking your crown.”

Tanalasta did not even hesitate. “I’m thirty-six years old. If I can’t make a decision by now, what kind of queen would I be anyway?”

Rowen smiled, then rolled to his knees and picked up the seed bag that lay beside the plot of ground she had been preparing. He pulled a single columbine seed from inside and placed it in his open palm. Tanalasta stared at the kernel for a long time. She was more nervous than ever, with her pulse rushing in her ears and her heart fluttering up into her throat.

Finally, she gathered her wits and asked, “The Seed Ceremony?”

Rowen nodded. “If you will have me.”

Tanalasta rose to her own knees. “Are you doing this for me-or for the realm?”

“Neither.” Rowen continued to hold the seed in his palm. “I am doing it for me.”

The rushing sound vanished from Tanalasta’s ears, and her heart settled back down into her chest where it belonged. “Good answer.”

She placed her palm over the seed in Rowen’s hand, and they began the invocation. “Bless us, O Chauntea, as we bless this seed, that all we nurture may grow healthy and strong.”

With their free hands, Tanalasta and Rowen dug a single small hole in the plot she had prepared, then the princess grabbed her waterskin and dampened the soil.

“We prepare this bed with love and joy,” Rowen said.

Together, they placed the seed in the hole and covered it with dirt.

Tanalasta began the next part. “In the name of Chauntea, let the roots of what we plant today grow deep…”

“And the stalk stand strong…”

“And the flower bloom in brilliance…”

“And the fruit prove abundant.”

They finished together, then poured more water the planting and kissed. This time, it was Rowen who pulled Tanalasta’s tunic over her head.