The land scrolled down, carpeted in green and gold. Clusters of pale buildings with spare, gracious lines showed through copses of trees dressed in brilliant fall foliage. The deep blue river bordered the valley. It came from an immense waterfall in the distance that was shrouded in a perpetual mist that sparkled in the bright chill afternoon.
The jewel in the scene was the palace by the river that gleamed pearl and pale gold. A double colonnade of immense sycamore trees lined the road that led up to the palace. The ancient trees towered several stories high, the curve of their white branches flowing upward in gracious outspreading fans. They were tipped with gold leaves that had not yet fallen, their trunks wreathed in lush skirts of scarlet-leaved vines.
Aryal nudged her horse up beside Niniane’s. The harpy’s eyes were wide with wonder. “So that’s Adriyel. No wonder it’s famous in poems and shit. We’re finally reaching journey’s end.”
Niniane and Tiago looked at each other.
“No,” he said. “Now we begin.”
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EPILOGUE
Early in the morning, one week later, Niniane sat at a table on her terrace and looked over her private walled garden. The day had dawned crystal cold and clear. She wore a fur robe, and braziers dotted the area around her. The garden was a jewel of a place, perhaps a third of an acre in size, with a luxurious carpet of thick well-tended grass, fruit trees, flowers and shrubs. She watched as the man worked in her garden. He had removed his shirt and rivulets of sweat glistened on his long, muscled torso.
Her coronation had occurred the day before. For his coronation, Urien had worn an outfit encrusted with jewels and gold. For hers, Niniane chose a simple, tailored gown made of deep midnight blue silk. She must have said the right things and given the right responses at the appropriate times. She couldn’t remember. She had gone through the ceremony, her mind blurred with terror, trembling as the weight of her father’s crown was placed on her head.
Afterward, she had held her first court. The throne was a ridiculously uncomfortable piece of furniture. She made a mental note to get a cushion. Tiago, dressed in severe, unrelieved black with two crossed swords at his back, had taken for the first time his position standing just behind her. Representatives from the American and Canadian governments and other Elder demesnes had presented her with gifts and statements of congratulations and promises of friendship. Well. Time would tell about that.
Then came the time for the Dark Fae nobles to pay homage to her. She noted both confirmed and potential allies, and she gave a cold smile to old enemies with friendly faces who bowed low before her. Tiago had put in a fruitful week of work already. He had five nobles targeted for arrest and prosecution for their involvement in the coup that killed her family. She affirmed Kellen as Chief Justice, and Aubrey as Chancellor, and appointed their strongest recommendation for Commander, whom Tiago also liked, a clever, accomplished and genial male named Fafnir Orin.
Afterward they held the coronation feast, and she danced first with Aubrey, next with Kellen, third with Fafnir, and down through the list of preapproved safe partners. She danced last with the one she loved the most. After the feast, they carried a mound of blankets out to her private garden and made love under a brilliant spray of stars, and it was good. It was very good.
Aubrey said from behind her, “Good morning, your majesty. Thank you for inviting me to breakfast.”
She turned to give him a bright smile. “Good morning, Aubrey. I hope you don’t mind a working breakfast.”
“Not at all,” he told her. “I enjoy an early start to my day, and we have a lot to accomplish.”
The Chancellor joined her at the table. She poured him a cup of coffee. They looked at the man together as he worked his powerful body through a complex martial arts routine that stretched and toned muscles recently healed from serious injury.
“He will always be at war here,” said Aubrey, his brow creased in concern.
In the midst of his work, the man glanced at her. He was aware of what had been said. He was aware of everything that happened around her. His Power mantled over her in a warm, invisible caress.
The Dark Fae Queen replied, “That makes him happy.”
Turn the page for a special preview of
the next Novel of the Elder Races
by Thea Harrison
SERPENT’S KISS
Coming October 2011 from
Berkley Sensation!
“I am a bad woman, of course,” said Carling Severan, the Vampyre sorceress, in an absent tone of voice. “It is a fact I made peace with many centuries ago. I calibrate everything I do, even the most generous-seeming gesture, in terms of how it may serve me.”