A Magic King Read online

  It was the oddest sensation. The fireflies escaped the bag and tickled her palm, buzzing against her skin before zipping away to her hero. No, not fireflies. Static. As though they'd caught electrical sparks between their palms.

  Then one tiny point of energy found her wound, sliding right in and up her bloodstream. She jerked, but he held her fast, keeping their hands pressed together.

  Bit by bit, the static wormed its way in, swarming through her wrist, creeping up her arm until she trembled with the horror of it. He said something, crooning nonsense syllables meant to reassure her, but she couldn't focus.

  Then suddenly it burst on her. It was as though the energy dancing up her arm hit a major artery and went straight for her brain. She screamed as her vision faded into a wash of white. Her thoughts spun in the dizzying vortex of energy that swarmed through her mind.

  From somewhere above her, she heard his grunt of surprise, but she was still dealing with the reeling, pounding electricity throbbing through her consciousness. In the end, she gave herself up to it, letting it flood her senses on the wildest sensory trip virtual reality sci-fi had yet to create.

  Then it faded, and she was left sweetly energized, her thoughts sparkling like Christmas lights gone berserk. "Wow! That's better than coffee. Even my coffee!"

  Her hero still sat on her, his expression dazed and confused. "That was unusually intense," he said, his voice hushed and lyrical.

  "Intense? It was great! What was that stuff? And how come you're suddenly speaking English?"

  He looked down, his face slowly spreading into a Hollywood sex god smile. "I'm not. That's what that was."

  Jane blinked. "You've lost me."

  "You are right with me. My companions are never lost." He sounded vaguely insulted.

  She struggled onto her elbows, propping herself up so she could peer into his dreamy eyes. Unfortunately, he immediately lifted himself off of her, politely settling onto the grass beside her.

  "I don't mean physically lost like geographically. I mean—"

  "I know, woman," he cut in. "I was testing the magic. Language is a tricky thing, and we're supposed to be able to understand each other completely."

  "Huh?"

  "That was a spell. Permanent. I am sorry I used it on you, but it was necessary." From his expression, it was clear he meant "waste" it on her.

  "Well, excuuuse me." She rubbed her hand, staring at the fleshy part, now completely healed over.

  "No need to apologize," he said. She peered at him, wondering if he was teasing or serious. "I needed to know if it worked."

  Jane took a deep breath and tried to sort through the confusion while keeping panic at bay. "You mean, we're both talking in our own language, but I hear English and you hear... uh—"

  "Svenetrins."

  Jane sat up. "Really? So I'll always understand sene—Svenet—"

  "Svenetrins. And no. It's a personal spell between two people. You will only understand me. And I, you."

  "Oh." Then she shrugged. "Still, that's better than a secret decoder ring. Where'd you get it?" She tried to act casual as though magic sheep guts were normal.

  He looked at her oddly. "A bard sold it to me for thirty doleens."

  "Thirty doleens?" What were doleens?

  "I know. Exorbitant. But she was... entertaining. And she had the most stunning blond hair, like the color of sunlight on Nansar's pond." His eyes grew abstract as he focused on some pleasant memory, and Jane felt the first stirring of annoyance.

  "A little hair dye, and they all go on a testosterone high," she grumbled. Then she stood up, moving slowly in case the dizzies came back. "Well, this has been fun, but would you mind if I borrowed your phone? Preferably without working video." She self-consciously tugged at her mousy brown locks, matted now with bits of grass.

  He stared at her, his face registering disappointment. "The spell must not have worked well. I don't understand your words."

  "Oh. I need a phone." She mimed putting a cell to her ear. "Or a computer. Actually a computer would be better. Then I can hook into the University Net and get a lock on the damage." She looked around, studying the meadow as her memories slowly jumbled into a strange order. "Exactly how did I get here? In fact, where is here? The last thing I remember is the library."

  Her gaze was caught by a strange purple flower, and she approached it slowly. It was a pretty thing, with some spiked petals, some curved. They dotted the meadow grass the way the letter "i" dotted a printed page. She'd never seen one before. Never, ever in a whole childhood of helping her father, a botanist.

  "What is this?"

  "The mansara flower? It's a common plant. They're all over the place."

  "Uh-huh. And that?" She pointed to one of the tall trees lining the meadow. Its bark was like smooth concrete, and its leaves looked like a marijuana plant.

  "An oant tree."

  "Right." Jane turned slowly, anger building within her like a Georgia heat wave. She put her fists on her hips and fixed her hero with her ice queen glare. "Okay, I want to know just where I am, and how do I get from here to Boston."

  "Boston?"

  "Big city. Streets that used to be cow paths."

  Blank. His face was completely blank. She bit her lip and started pacing off her energy.

  "I didn't ask before. Denial, I guess. But it's over now. Tell me what's going on." She waited for him to speak, but all he did was settle more comfortably on the grass and give her his complete attention. It was as if he were studying her, and that only increased the burn within her. Still, she took a deep breath and decided to start slowly.

  "Where am I?"

  "The Plains of Eacost, south of the Great Forest."

  She stared at him, worrying her lower lip until it started to feel bruised and swollen. Then suddenly her spirits lightened. "I'm sorry." She was proud of how level her voice sounded. "Your secret decoder gizmo isn't working right."

  "It's working perfectly. You are on the Plains of Eacost, south—"

  "South of the Great Forest. I heard." Still, she shook her head, wondering if her ears were clogged.

  "What is the last thing you remember?" he asked.

  "I..." She thought back, finding her mind slow and difficult. She remembered her morning shower. The power had been cut again during the night and domestic energy was on lowest priority, so the water had been ice cold. Her memories leaped forward through a normal work day. Then she'd put on her costume intending to go to the party just after stopping at the library.

  Glancing down, she groaned in real horror. Yes, she was indeed pacing agitatedly in front of her computer hero still wearing a billowing cape, a leotard with a huge bat outline on her breasts, black leggings, and neon orange sneakers—she hadn't been able to afford the stylish boots.

  Of course, she realized as she peered closer at her hero, he was in costume too. Sort of an eighteenth-century pirate outfit. Soft flowing shirt, dagger sheathed in the belt of his leather breeches. He even wore the softest pair of boots she'd seen in her life. And to complete the outfit, a huge, two-handed, bastard sword lay strapped on his back. It didn't look in the least bit fake either.

  She stared at it until he brought her back to the present.

  "Are you hungry?" he asked.

  "I was working in the library."

  He must have taken that as a "no" because he reached into his pack and pulled out what looked like beef jerky. Thank heaven he didn't offer her any because the very sight of it made her think of dried caterpillar. Rather than watch him eat it, she went back to her confusing memories.

  "I had to reload a system. The last brown-out zapped everything, but I can't remember anything after that."

  "I came upon you two nights ago," he said between bites. "You were lying face down, so cold I thought you were dead."

  Jane stared at him. "I was just lying there? In the grass?"

  He nodded.

  "How the hell did I get there?" she yelled.

  He shifted nervou
sly, his broad shoulders rippling as he moved. "I don't know," he said, his eyes dark with sympathy.

  She took a deep breath, trying to recall the zen-calming chant she'd told her friend was stupid. "This is too bizarre. It's like one of those bad comic books when..." Her voice trailed off, a sick feeling churning in her gut. Comic books often showed some innocent bystander sucked into a vortex, transported across space and time as a result of the villain's manipulations. Usually the nameless slob died before the next page.

  She glanced at her hero, wondering if he could possibly be the product of another planet or dimension. He looked human. She clenched her fists, ordering herself to stop being silly. She had not stepped into a comic book. She was simply disoriented.

  "What day is it?"

  "Forty-third day, Warming season, Thirteenth year of the Seef."

  Her knees wobbled, but she persevered, determined to face the truth. "What..." She couldn't say it. She cleared her throat and tried again. "What planet?"

  He hesitated only a second. "Urta."

  Her knees went out. Her legs went out. In fact, her whole body and brain went out to lunch. She fell to the ground, landing hard on her tush.

  She didn't see him move, but suddenly he was beside her, his large hands warm on her shoulders. Instinctively, she asked for the one thing that always made everything easier to handle.

  "Chocolate?"

  He deftly pressed the beef jerky into her hands.

  She moaned, but decided anything was better than thinking. Grabbing the brown stick, she closed her eyes and bit.

  She was wrong. There was something worse than facing reality. And she was chewing it.

  Gagging, she spit it out on the ground, simultaneously reaching for his water bag to wash the taste out of her mouth.

  "Ugh! What is that stuff?"

  He opened his mouth, but she raised her hand to stop him. "No. Don't tell me. I don't want to know. Ugh." She took another swig. "Have you got any toothpaste?" At his blank look she tried again. "Something to clean your teeth?"

  His eyes widened. "You clean your teeth?"

  "No, I like foul breath, a brown smile, and pain when I chew. Of course I—" She cut off her words at his stunned expression. "You don't clean your teeth?" From his whitewash smile, she'd have guessed they were plastic coated.

  "Of course I clean my teeth. I am a king." He sounded insulted. As her emotions seesawed between outrage and hysteria, he rooted through his pack and came up with a box of brown powder.

  "What's that?"

  "Tooth powder."

  At her hesitant expression, he dipped his finger in the powder, rubbed it along his teeth, then spit. The stream of expectorant looked totally gross, but he offered it to her and flashed his poster boy smile. It was either try it or be totally rude to the man who had probably saved her life.

  Difficult decision.

  Finally, she imitated him and nearly gagged. It felt like rubbing sandpaper across her teeth and tasted about as appetizing. She spit, managing a weak smile.

  "Vile?" he asked.

  She nodded. They both drank some water.

  Then he turned to her, his expression curious, if a little wary. "Where do you come from where tooth powder is not a chore?"

  "Boston. The United States. And it's not powder, it's a..." She gave him a vapid smile as though she were in a commercial. "A minty, fresh gel." He looked at her like she was moldy spaghetti. She sighed. "Oh, never mind."

  "I don't know about Bos-ton. Or the U—"

  "United States. And what do you mean you don't know about it? Everybody knows about the U.S. Those we haven't annoyed are actively trying to terrorize us. There isn't a soul on the planet that doesn't know about us." She stopped talking, once again feeling sick to her stomach. "That's the problem, isn't it? I'm not on Earth anymore."

  Her companion was silent, oddly accepting of her strange comments. "I don't know."

  She stared at him. His sexy body was relaxed, his expression calm. Everything she wasn't. And that really annoyed her. Her fragile mental health broke, and she rounded on him in fury. "You don't know? Well, that does me a whole lot of good. I'm lost. I've got five bucks, no food, I'm talking to every woman's fantasy, and I'm in a stupid comic book costume!" She towered over him, shaking with frustration and fear, and all he did was gaze back at her, the gold in his eyes sparkling in the sunlight.

  "My name is Daken," he said softly. "King Daken of the house of Chigan. I am pleased you think me every woman's fantasy."

  She stared at him. "So glad I could be of service," she said dryly. Then she collapsed back onto the ground and dropped her head into her hands.

  * * *

  Daken sighed, then reached out to her, wishing he could do more for her as he absently brushed her short curls from her face. "I don't know how to help you," he said softly. Her fear was like a tidal wave, swamping his thoughts. He could feel her frustration like a raving beast, and it left him feeling very exposed.

  He had to leave. His people were dying, and his first priority was to them. But even knowing that, he felt horrible guilt at abandoning this woman when she was at her most vulnerable.

  He clenched his jaw. He had done his duty. He healed her, even used his very expensive language spell. He couldn't afford to waste any more time or resources on her. But still, he stayed.

  She stood, pacing back and forth in front of him, rubbing her arms as though she were cold. He would have offered her his jacket, but he knew she didn't feel chill. Her movements betrayed her fear. And that she didn't often feel afraid.

  "You can remember nothing else?" he asked.

  She shook her head. "It's all a blur."

  Healing her would be a mistake. His healer skills would absorb her terror like a sponge, and then he'd spend the next hour steadying the trembling in his own limbs. Against his will, he found himself in front of her, gradually enfolding her in his arms, giving her what comfort he could.

  She was stiff against him, fighting herself more than him. He could tell she wanted to drop into his arms, but her pride kept her away. He waited, demanding nothing of her until she decided. Then to his joy, she softened against him, melting into his arms like a child burrowing into her parent's embrace, or a woman nestling into the cradle of her lover's arms.

  It was a sweet moment, at odds with his warrior's soul, but still he clung to it, sheltering her in his arms while his mind told him he should be leaving.

  "I must go," he whispered into the sweet scent of her hair.

  She jerked as if he'd slapped her, but he held her tight, forcing her to hear the rest of his words. "This is a safe land with generous people. Find a farm house and offer your help. They will pay you honest wages for honest work."

  "But—"

  "Your memory will return in time." He didn't know if it was true, but he knew she needed to believe it. Then he broke the embrace, feeling the emptiness in his arms like an ache, but he suppressed the emotions and turned away. He couldn't stay with her any longer.

  He began to close camp.

  "You can't leave me, hero, uh, I mean Daken." She said it flatly, as though he had no choice in the matter. "I'm completely lost. All I need is to get to a phone."

  He glanced up, and she shook her head to stop his next words.

  "I know. You don't know what a phone is. How about the nearest city? Maybe I can get my bearings there." She reached out, pulling him around to face her, desperation making her brown eyes luminous. "Please, I'm begging you. Don't abandon me."

  He twisted away to break their physical contact. He couldn't think when she touched him. Her emotions bled through to him too easily, running riot over his own thoughts.

  "Daken?"

  He swallowed, knowing she wouldn't like hearing this any more than he liked saying it. "I am going to Bosuny, and I have tarried too long already."

  She stepped forward. "Let me come with you."

  He shook his head. "You are still weak. You'll walk too slowly, and I can't lo
se any more time. I'm sorry." He kicked some dirt on the dying embers, then grabbed his pack. "There is a farmhouse a half day's journey that way." He pointed. "Tell them a king has sent you to them. They will help you." Then he started walking, his long stride quickly eating up the distance to the edge of the clearing.

  "Wait a minute," she called, running behind him like a lumbering tekay.

  He grumbled out a curse and stopped. She was too weak to sustain his pace, but from the sound of it, she wasn't about to stop until she'd said her peace.

  "You can't just leave me here."

  "I can't do anything more for you. Perhaps a better healer, but I—"

  "I'm not crazy," she interrupted. "I've lost some of my memory, not my mind."

  "Woman—"

  "Just listen to me. I don't know what's going on here, but I'm not going to find out at some farmhouse where I can't even speak the language. Take me with you to Bo... to Bosu—"

  "Bosuny is a long, long way, and you are too weak—"

  "Please." Her entire soul seemed poured into her eyes as she pleaded with him. He should have been unmoved by such a display. As a king, he'd seen it many times for one reason or another, and he'd been able to ignore it then. But with her it was different. He sensed this woman didn't beg. Not without great need. He reached out, touching the wetness on her cheek, stroking it between his fingers.

  "I'm not crying," she said, clearly trying to hold back her tears.

  It happened so fast, as though an Old One pushed him into something he never would have done on his own. One moment he was thinking about the odd puzzle she was, and the next second he was kissing her, her lips warm and sensuous against his own. She gasped in surprise, and he dipped lower, deeper into her mouth.

  He stroked her tongue, feeling a passion build within her that had nothing to do with her confusion. She responded to him as a woman, and he felt himself curl around and within her, instinctively protecting that which he wanted to possess. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and he let his hands trail down her back, pulling her deep against his thickening heat. She groaned into his mouth, and he felt his blood surge within him.