Goddess of the Rose (15 page)

Nera's voice called her farther around the circle. “Blessed be your breasts, and the heart that beats within.” The Water spirit's hands were a wash of cool energy that reminded Mikki of a deep, clear well.

Gii's blessing had her moving to the head of the circle. “Blessed be your lips that will speak the rituals of the goddess.” Mikki clasped hands with the Earth spirit and felt the strength of ancient trees and ripe meadows enter her body.

Then, without needing to be prompted by anything except an innate feeling of rightness, Mikki returned to her place beside the spirit flame and whispered, “Blessed be my eyes that will see clearly the new path before me.”

“The Empousa is mine, and I am hers—body, mind and spirit.”
Hecate's powerful voice filled the temple.
“The ritual is complete; so mote it be!”

Suddenly Mikki was aware of a multitude of voices cheering in celebration. She looked beyond the circle to see what must be hundreds of women, young and old. They crowded the gardens around the temple and were all clapping and waving her way.

The watching crowd began to hum a wordless melody, and soon the seductive beat of drums joined the voices. Then the gathering of women danced, barefoot and exuberant, in the torch-lit garden of the goddess.

Intrigued, Mikki watched them frolic. In the shadowy gardens, they looked like beautiful night flowers waving in the breeze. Briefly, she wondered at why there were no men present, but the thought was fleeting and Gii's voice chased it completely from her mind.

“Close the sacred circle, Empousa, and we will join the people's celebration!” Gii said.

Before she had to ask, Aeras's soft voice lifted above the noise of the crowd like a warm summer breeze. “Walk in reverse order around the circle. Touch each of us in turn, and visualize the web of light fading away.”

Smiling her appreciation, Mikki retraced her steps, lightly brushing her hand over each woman's head as she sank into a curtsey at the approach of the Empousa. She watched the woven thread of light unravel, and eventually, as she returned to her place in the center of the circle, it disappeared completely, leaving only the goddess's flame to burn a bright, but ordinary yellow.

Then Gii took one of her hands and Aeras another, and flanked by Earth and Wind, the newly christened Empousa was led to her people and the celebration that awaited its priestess.

 

 

The Guardian watched from beneath an ancient oak. The lighting of Hecate's temple had drawn him. When it blazed again in the heart of the realm, he had been pulled to it unerringly, even though his body was wracked with the pain of newly awakened muscle and sinew. He had wanted to kneel beside the flame—to again beg the goddess's forgiveness and to ask that he be allowed to resume all the duties that had been his before he had broken faith with Hecate. But before he could move, the night breeze shifted and brought her scent to him. His nostrils had flared and his bronze skin quivered.

The priestess approached.

He knew it was she by her scent—spices and roses distilled by the heat of her soft skin. He recognized it because he drank the fragrance of her in his dreams, and, waking, he had touched that skin when he held her in his arms as the power of the goddess transported them to Hecate's realm. He closed his eyes and leaned against the tree. He had frightened her then, though he had not meant to. His awakening had been abrupt, and the beast within him that seemed at constant war with his humanity had been too strong, too eager to capture and possess. Remembering, his body shuddered and his heart ached.

He should go, retreat to his lair and prepare himself for tomorrow. He had long been absent from the Realm of the Rose, and he could already tell that all was not as it should be. He must be diligent—focused—he must resume guardianship of the realm as was his duty; and, if the goddess was merciful, he would also be allowed to use all his magickal gifts again.

But he stayed.

When his keen hearing detected the light tread of her feet, he spoke a command in a language long dead, and the lanterns that hung from the massive tree's limbs instantly extinguished, wrapping him in shadow. Under the thick ridge of his brow, his expressive eyes opened in time to see Floga rush into the temple. He paid little heed to the Fire spirit though, or to any of the other handmaidens. Like a bewitching Siren,
she
commanded his attention.

He watched her.

Her awkwardness was obvious to him, as he was certain it was to the handmaidens, too. They were accustomed to an Empousa who moved with practiced confidence, who knew each ritual of the goddess so well she could perform them as if it was as natural to her as breath and heartbeat.

This woman was different.

The handmaidens had to prompt her on how to cast the sacred circle. He saw her overcome her initial hesitation as she moved from element to element, calling Wind, Flame, Water, Earth, and Spirit alive again within the goddess's temple. Despite her inexperience, her power was evident in the tightly woven thread that bound the circle together.

She danced.

His breath went thick. A low growl rumbled almost inaudibly in his throat. Lust surged, hot and insistent through his body in time with the beat of his heart. His inhumanly keen eyesight became blessing and curse. Because of it he could see the sweat-slickened flush of her naked skin as she moved in a seductive dance around the circle. The nipple of her exposed breast was tightly puckered, elemental and alluring. He turned his massive head away from the tempting sight, pressing his forehead into the rough skin of the oak until the tips of his ebony horns rested against the tree. The betraying breeze flirted around him, once again bringing him the scent of her—woman and roses, oil and spice, now heightened by the heat and sweat of her. He snarled a curse, damning his preternatural senses.

Goddess help him, the longing was still there.

Why? He raised his hands. They became claws as razor-edged talons dug into the thick bark of the tree. Why hadn't his long imprisonment cured him of this terrible, futile desire?

He heard Hecate's voice commanding the new Empousa to bind herself to the goddess with ritualistic words.

“Love and trust . . .”

She spoke the words, and the night took them and carried them to him so he felt the power of her oath fold over his skin.

Why had she chosen those two words? For countless generations, Hecate's Empousa had always chosen words such as
knowledge . . . power . . . beauty . . . strength . . . success
. . . to bind herself to the goddess. Yet to complete the self-initiation ritual, this Empousa had chosen
love
and
trust.

The Guardian bared his teeth. What did a priestess know of love and trust! What did any mortal woman know of such things!

He sensed the crowd approaching the temple and commanded more shadow and night to surround him. The women of the realm could not see him as they passed the great oak, but they sensed his presence and averted their eyes from the darkness that hid him, nervously making a wide path around the tree. When they shouted with joy at the completion of the ritual and began to welcome her with song and dance, the Guardian felt as if he had become a great island of misery amidst an ocean of rejoicing.

And still he could not stop himself from looking at her again. She was closing the circle. The changing light of the goddess's flame caressed her naked skin. Her body enticed him as she acknowledged each of the elements and bid them depart. Without conscious thought, his claws tightened on the tree, slashing deep grooves into the ancient bark.

In response to the flexing of his muscles, pain shot through his arms and chest. He welcomed it. The pain reminded him of his banishment and the reason for it. He had been bespelled for generations because of his weakness. What perfect irony. He was a beast. He had physical strength that no mortal man could match, yet weakness had caused him to betray his duty, and, ultimately, himself.

Then his mind cleared as a new thought formed. Perhaps all of this—the dreams of her, the awakening and now the return of the agony of his desire—perhaps it was all part of the goddess's test.

Yes . . . he straightened, sheathing the daggers that were his claws. It did make sense. Hecate was providing him the opportunity to regain her sacred trust. He was being tempted so he could prove to her that it would not happen again.

Never again would he betray his goddess and his realm.

He would perform his goddess-appointed duties as Guardian of the Realm of the Rose. And when it was time for Beltane's Spring Ritual, he would complete his charge, sending this new Empousa to meet her destiny.

With a mighty effort of will, the Guardian repressed the longing within him. He would not give in to his weakness again. For countless generations he had protected Hecate's magickal realm. He had been ever vigilant. He had been tireless in his devotion. And he had been alone, even during the brief moments when he had imagined that his solitude might come to an end.

He remembered the pain of discovering just how wrong he had been and knew that the misery of that rejection had been greater than all the years of loneliness that had preceded it.

What the last Empousa had said had been true. He was a beast. A woman might become fond of him, might treat him with compassion, as she would a favorite cat or an especially loyal hound, but a woman could never truly love a beast. It mattered little that the goddess had gifted him with the heart and soul of a man. The heart and the soul were within the body of a beast. It was his destiny to be alone, and destiny could not be changed.

With one last look at the new Empousa, he turned away. Duty. That must be his life.

But part of my duty is to ensure the Empousa's safety . . . to make certain she is well cared for
. . . The man within him whispered temptation.
Would any of the handmaidens remember that the Empousa must eat and drink after the ritual to ground herself? Of course not. And she
. . . He paused and glanced over the corded muscle of his shoulder at where laughing women surrounded her.
She was so inexperienced she had to be led in the casting of a circle. She would not know that she must ground herself and use food and drink to replenish her strength.
Again, he forced his gaze from the Empousa. Snarling a hasty command, he drew darkness closely about him and made his way unseen from the temple celebration. When he was clear of the crowd, he picked up his pace, clenching his teeth against the pain that radiated from leg muscles that had just the day before been dead stone.
It is only another part of my duty as Guardian to order her meal prepared and to be certain that she partake of it. Yes, only another part of my duty . . .

His cloven hooves thudded against the soft ground with a shy, secretive voice that seemed to echo the word
liar . . . liar . . . liar . . .

CHAPTER TWELVE

I
T was only when she stopped dancing that Mikki felt the return of her sick dizziness. So many women . . . she put a hand to her sweaty forehead and brushed back a mass of tangled hair. And every one of them had a word of welcome for her, just as they each wanted to dance and twirl and laugh with her. She was breathing hard and her legs felt wobbly. She was definitely all danced out.

“Empousa?” Nera peered into her face. “Are you well?”

“I'm just tired. It's been a long day.”

“Come with me.” Gii was suddenly beside her, tucking a steadying hand into her elbow. The handmaiden began to lead her in a weaving path between the revelers, heading back in the direction of the palace.

“Do you wish the other handmaidens to accompany you, Empousa?” Gii asked when Nera, Floga, and Aeras noticed they were leaving and paused in their celebration.

“No!” Mikki said hastily, gesturing at the young women to stay. The last thing she wanted right now was to be fussed over. Actually, solitude and something to drink sounded perfect. “And you don't have to leave, either, Gii. I'm sure I can find my way back to my bedroom.”

“It is my honor to accompany you,” Gii said firmly. Then she smiled and spoke the Empousa's regrets to the women who would have drawn Mikki back into the celebration, smoothly extracting the High Priestess from the throng. Mikki sighed and resigned herself to Gii's mothering.

The well-lighted palace looked warm and inviting, and Mikki was incredibly glad to see it grow quickly closer. She wrapped her arms around herself. Now that she wasn't dancing, she was all too aware of the chill of the night air as well as her hunger. When was the last time she'd eaten a real meal? Had dinner at The Wild Fork only been last night? How did time work in this magickal realm? Little wonder she was starving and felt so sick and shaky inside . . .

Mikki stumbled up the marble stairs that led to her balcony. Gii halted suddenly, almost causing Mikki to trip and fall over her. The handmaiden was staring at a lovely little table someone had placed near the open doors leading to her room. It sat invitingly in a pool of light on the otherwise dark balcony. A thick blanket was draped over the back of the single wrought iron chair, and a pair of slippers was placed strategically in front of it. The table was, blessedly, laden with food.

“Oh, man! Whoever did this is my new hero.” Ignoring Gii's reticence, Mikki hurried across the dark balcony to slide her cold feet into the slippers. Then she groaned aloud with the pleasure of a woman who truly loves her food. There were several platters on the table, each filled with delicacies. Aromatic cheeses, olives, thin slices of meat, and a loaf of bread that was still warm from the oven. Before she fell into the food like a starving fool she remembered Gii, who was still standing near the entrance to the stairs. Oddly enough, it appeared that the handmaiden had forgotten her. Gii's attention was focused on the deepest of shadows that nested at the far side of the balcony. Mikki cleared her throat to get the girl's attention. The handmaiden jerked, as if Mikki had startled her and, though she was too far away for Mikki to be sure, she thought Gii looked almost frightened when their eyes met. She smiled at the handmaiden, wondering what was bothering her. Had she committed some kind of cultural faux pas by rushing to the food without inviting Gii to join her? She certainly hadn't meant to be rude to the person who had shown her the most kindness in this world. So even though she preferred to be left alone to eat and relax, she gestured to the table.