Yesterday's Kings by Angus Wells Page A

ready.
    “I’ve seen you,” he said, “and I know.”
    She was barely aware that she lowered the knife; only of those deep brown eyes staring into hers.
    “I know,” he repeated. “I love you.”
    This was, Abra thought, insane. She stood in a forest glade speaking with a Durrym who declared his love for her. Worse, she listened to him and—the thought amazed her—believed him. There was an intensity in his gaze that convinced her; such sincerity in his voice that she could not deny it. Save all Kandarian lore spoke of the Durrym’s seductions—how they’d lure human folk across the Alagordar to the fey lands beyond. She wondered if this handsome fellow intended to carry her off.
    “How do you know Cullyn?” she asked, thinking to buy herself time.
    “I’ve watched him, too,” Lofantyl replied. “He’s near as close to the land as Eben.”
    “Eben?” Abra was utterly confused.
    “I’ve met him a few times,” Lofantyl returned. “He lives even lonelier than Cullyn.” He gestured vaguely to the north. “I know little about him, save my father says he was birthed of Durrym stock and yours.”
    “And you are only fey?”
    Lofantyl laughed aloud at that. “Does it worry you so much? Is it not more important that I love you?”
    “You don’t even know me,” Abra repeated.
    “I know I love you. Come with me to my father’s hall.”
    She shook her head. “No.”
    “You break my heart,” he returned gallantly. “But I shall win yours.”
    “How?” she asked. “Shall you court me? Shall you present yourself in my father’s hall and ask for my hand?”
    “Cullyn said you’d likely execute me,” he answered. “So, no, not a formal courtship. But perhaps I’ll come to you in secret. Would you like that?”
    Abra thought of Wyllym and their arranged betrothal, and the fascination of a clandestine affair intrigued her. Was this madman truly prepared to risk his life for his declared love?
    “My father or any of his men would slay you on sight.”
    “They’d not see me,” Lofantyl returned confidently. “We could meet here, or I could come to your chambers.”
    “In the keep?” She stared at him, wondering if he boasted.
    “I’d attempt it,” he said. “For you.”
    “And how should you know which are my chambers?”
    “Leave out a sign—a ribbon, or some such—and if I see it, I’ll come to you.” He bowed again. “With your permission, of course.”
    Intrigued and flattered, Abra nodded.
    “Then I shall,” Lofantyl promised.
    “How?” she asked.
    He chuckled and said, “I shall find the ways, now you’ve agreed.”
    He stepped closer and set his hands on her shoulders, and she smelled leaf mold and earth, and the sap of growing leaves and buds. She allowed him to kiss her, and felt her head spin. She clutched him and felt alive and frightened, all at the same time.
    And then it was over, and he stepped back and said, “I shall come for you.”
    And he was gone, like a shadow disappearing into the forest, and she was left confused, the taste of nutmeg and cloves in her mouth.
    She stood a while, tasting him on her lips. She was aware of her heart pounding quickly, unsure of whether she felt flattered or frightened, and then went back to where Laurens still slumbered against the oak. She wondered if this was some manifestation of Durrym magic. Had Lofantyl entrapped her; cast some spell over Laurens? She was not sure. She only knew that she had met a Durrym who declared his love and promised to come to her—although she could not envisage how that might be, or how he could survive the attempt. But it was as fascinating as a fairy tale, and every bit as unlikely. And he was surely far more exciting than Wyllym. She stared at the slumbering master-at-arms and thought that she should wake him—warn him of the Durrym and flee the forest. But … she could not forget that kiss, or his face, or the honesty she sensed in him.
    Or was that only Durrym magic? Did he look to