Tristan pulled up next to her. Her chest heaving, Celeste leaned one arm down on the pommel of her saddle, looked at him, and laughed lightly.
Jumping down, Tristan held her reins as Celeste dismounted. She untied the basket from her saddle, and he walked the two panting horses to the stream, allowing them to drink a small sip of water. Later, when they'd cooled down, he'd allow them to drink their fill. After tying the horses to two trees that were a good distance apart, he walked back to Celeste. By then she had removed her gloves, laid out a plaid blanket, and set out the food.
Tristan removed his weapons, tossed them to the ground, and sat down on his heels next to her. He saw spotted quail eggs again-hard-boiled this time-fresh fruit, cheese, dark bread, and what looked like unfermented mintberry juice.
He took an egg and began to peel away its shell. As he did the morning breeze came up, the stream burbled, and they could hear the songs of the triad larks. Looking around at the idyllic scene, Tristan wished he could stay here with Celeste forever, with no wizards, magic, or enemies to interfere with their lives.
"You spoil me," he said quietly. "I could become quite used to this." He popped the tiny egg into his mouth.
"Good," she replied, as she handed him a cup of the light green juice. "Spoiling you is one of my favorite pastimes, you know. Besides, someone has to do it. You're still too thin from your time in captivity."
Seeing his face darken, she immediately regretted her remark. She reached out and touched his hand in apology. Silence passed between them for a time.
"It was awful, wasn't it?" she asked finally, softly.
Turning his face away for a moment, Tristan looked out over the meandering stream. "Yes," he replied simply. "It was. But I was one of the lucky few. I was saved. And what I suffered does not begin to compare with your treatment by Ragnar." Then he remained quiet for a bit longer.
"You were the one thing on my mind as the demonslaver whipped me, just before I passed out," he continued softly. "I will always carry these scars on my back. But I had vowed that I wouldn't scream, and I didn't. Without knowing it, you helped me accomplish that."
Celeste lay down on the blanket, her beautiful, dark red hair splayed out around her face. Tristan lay down on his side next to her, propped up on one elbow. He heard the wind rustle the tops of the trees, and he could smell the myrrh in her hair.
Reaching up, she toyed briefly with the laces of his vest. "What is going to happen to us?" she asked. "Do you really believe Wulfgar is coming with his demonslavers?"
"I don't know what to believe about a brother I have never met," he answered thoughtfully. "Much less one who has supposedly been turned to the Vagaries. But I do know one thing: If there is a way out of our troubles, your father and Faegan are the ones to find it. You helped them with the translation; is there anything about the scroll that you can tell me?"
"I wish I could," she answered sadly. "But the truth is that the translations I did for them were nothing but gibberish to me. They were almost exclusively calculations of the craft. I couldn't understand them. My translations only made their more important work go faster. I not only fear whatever it is they might tell us today, but I am also at a complete loss as to what it might be."
He was about to tell her of his conversation with her father the previous night when Celeste placed her fingertips gently across his lips. As she looked up at him, her face slowly changed. She placed one palm alongside his cheek, and the lids of her sapphire eyes lowered slightly. Her breathing came a bit harder. Her lips parted as her eyes searched his face. Tristan's heart beat faster. He was sure he had never seen such a beautiful woman in his life.
Celeste raised up a bit and kissed him on the lips. As she did, one hand slid down and touched him.
"Please," she asked him softly.
Leaning gently over her, Tristan ran one hand into her thick hair and gazed sharply into her wide, blue eyes. "Are you sure?" he asked.
"More so of this than anything else in my life," she answered. Her mind made up, a look of needful surrender crossed her face.
"Please, Tristan… my love… please teach my desire to fly… to fly on the wings that you alone bring…"
Leaning down closer, he touched his lips to hers.
The wind wafted through the trees, and the birds sang.
L ater, Tristan awakened to find the plaid blanket covering them both. Celeste's naked body felt warm as she slumbered beside him with her head on his shoulder. What had passed between them had been more wonderful than he could ever have imagined.
It was then that he first noticed the soft, azure glow of the craft quietly surrounding them. But it was gone before he could really focus on it. Perhaps he had imagined it, he thought sleepily. It must just have been a dream.
He closed his eyes and felt himself begin to drift off again.
CHAPTER
Sixty-three
B y the time Tristan and Celeste had returned to the palace and found their way to the late king's quarters, everyone else who had been asked to attend was already there. As the prince walked across the rooms, a profound sense of sadness went through him. He had not visited these chambers in a long time, and part of him-the part that still cried over what he had been forced to do to his father-did not wish to be here now.
As he approached, Tristan could see that the wizards had arranged to have a large meeting table and matching high-backed chairs placed out on the balcony. The Scroll of the Vigors sat on the table, its golden center rod and engraved middle band gleaming in the midday sun. Another table sat nearby holding an abundance of tea and scones, telling the prince that they all might be here for some time. He took a seat, and Celeste sat next to him.
Looking around, he saw Wigg, Faegan, Abbey, Geldon, Traax, and Shailiha. Morganna's baby carriage sat by his sister's side, and the princess gently rolled it back and forth with one hand. For the life of him, Tristan couldn't imagine why they were meeting on his father's balcony. It was pleasant here, to be sure. But knowing the wizards as he did, he knew that couldn't be their reason.
Puzzled, Tristan was about to ask Wigg what was going on, but the lead wizard jumped in first, his face somber. Clearing his throat, Wigg placed his ancient hands flat on the tabletop and came straight to the point.
"It is my sad duty to inform you all that the danger we now face is the most grave in our history," he said quietly. Everyone around the table became quite still, eyes focused steadily on him.
"I will put this as simply as I know how," Wigg continued. "As we speak, Wulfgar, the lost half brother of Tristan and Shailiha, may be returning to Eutracia with an army of demonslavers. Faegan and I believe it is his intention to permanently destroy the Orb of the Vigors. In a matter of mere days, all we know and cherish may disappear from the face of the earth."
Stunned, Tristan sat back in his chair. He could clearly recall that day on the mountain not so long ago, when Wigg had called the two orbs to appear so that Tristan might view them for the first time. The Orb of the Vigors had been bright, shining, and golden, while the Orb of the Vagaries had been black, and literally dripping with the destructive energy of the dark side of the craft.
"But how could such a thing be made to occur?" he breathed across the table, scarcely able to get the words out. "And why?"
"The Scrolls of the Ancients make it possible," Faegan answered. "They're what this whole thing has been about from the beginning."
"Is that what the scrolls are meant to teach us?" Shailiha asked. "How to destroy the orbs?"