A Stroke Of Midnight

“What is a calling?” I asked.

“What were you thinking just before you kissed Rhys?” he asked.

“That I didn’t want him to go into the dark alone, and not be able to find him.”

Rhys slid off the bed, acting as if he hurt, but he was using both arms again. He noticed it, too, because he took his arm out of the sling, flexing his fingers. “Healed.” He looked down at the wound on his stomach, then up at me. “It’s always the doom of any relationship to get matching tattoos.” He tried to make a joke of it, but his face didn’t match the lightness of his words.

I touched the moth on me, and it still flicked its wings, irritated at the touch. “Mine’s still alive.”

Doyle crawled up on the bed, and for once I moved back from him. “Explain, Doyle.” I put a hand up, not touching, but ready to keep him away from my body.

“It may be that your mark of power simply struck out in irritation. They can do such things.” He was above me now, on all fours, so that his body straddled mine but did not quite touch me. “But if it is a calling, then it will enable you to do just what you wish. You will be able to find Rhys in the dark or the light. You will have only to think of him, and your mark will guide you to him. Some of them would alert the bearer of the mark if the one they had called was in danger or injured.”

“A true calling could do many things,” Frost said.

“There has not been a true calling among us for centuries,” Hawthorne said.

“How can you doubt,” Adair said, and he had removed his helmet, so I could see him smiling. He looked so sure of it all. “She is our ameraudur.”

Doyle started to lie down on top of me, but I kept my hand in the way. I had more questions before we continued with our little experiment. The moment my hand touched his bare chest, the pain was sharp and immediate. But it wasn’t my hand that hurt, it was my chest, exactly where I touched Doyle. Blood trickled down his chest, just below the silver nipple ring. Other than a tightness around his eyes, he didn’t react to the pain at all.

“That answers one question.” Nicca moved to the far side of the bed, lounging and seemingly perfectly at ease. “It isn’t just the mark not wanting to be touched.”

Doyle bent down to give me a quick kiss. Nothing hurt, and a tightness in my shoulders eased that I hadn’t even realized was there.

He smiled down at me, a quick flash in his dark face. “You did say you wanted a kiss.”

“Why does this please you so much? It bloody hurts.”

The smile faded. “I am never happy to cause you pain, Meredith, but that you are marking us, that is a great thing.”

“Why?” I asked.

“It means you are a power.” Rhys did not look pleased. “Once I marked others, but when I joined the queen’s service, she marked me. Then even that faded, and there were no more marks, not like this.” He ran his fingers lightly over the raised and reddened skin.

Hafwyn spoke in a low voice. “Do you want me to bandage them?”

“Until they heal, yes,” Doyle said, and slid off the bed.

“The queen will be pleased, but others will not be,” Hawthorne said. “There are those who always believed the marks were a sign of servitude to one greater than themselves. A mark that said plainly, this person is my master.”

I looked at him still covered in armor, helmet in place. “Is that how you feel about it?”

“I did once,” he said.

Frost pushed up his jacket sleeve to bare his lower arm. “If the marks work as they should, it will be important to be able to see them. They will carry messages between us, warnings. As much as I would love to press my body against yours, I would rather the sign be on my arm where it is easily seen.”

Doyle sighed. “Better strategy than the chest. I did not think.”

“You were befuddled with her beauty and the promise of power.”

Doyle sighed again. “Yes.”

Frost held his arm out toward me. I sat up carefully, still not wanting the moth to struggle. “Why does it hurt me every time? There are no marks on my skin.”

“You already bear the mark,” Frost said. “As for the pain…” He smiled at me gently, his eyes full of some knowledge that I did not have. “Merry, you should know by now that no power comes without a price.”

I would have liked to argue, but I couldn’t. He was right. I stared at his pale, muscular arm, waiting. I took a deep breath, and let it out as I laid my hand on him. His breath hissed out between his teeth.

I made no sound for a moment, then my breath came back in a gasp. I looked at Galen and Nicca still on the bed. “If we all three have marks, then what happens if we touch each other?”

“Let us not find out, not tonight,” Doyle said. “I do not know if it would work as it should between the three of you, not with all of you so… fresh.”

Kitto came to stand beside Frost. “I would gladly carry your symbol, Merry.”

I had to smile at him. If the marks really could help us keep track of one another, I didn’t want to leave Kitto out. “Your arm, then.”

He held his arm out, so trusting. I braced for it, and laid my hand on his arm. He hissed, like an angry cat, but did not pull away. When I drew back the moth was bloody on his skin.

I touched my own arm where it hurt. “Let’s change arms for the next one, okay?”

“And who will be next?” Ivi said. “Nothing personal, Princess, but I bargained for sex, not slavery.”

I frowned at him. “What do you mean by ‘slavery’?”

“The marks mean we are your men,” Doyle said. “They are proof that the Goddess has chosen us for you.”

“So this won’t work with just anyone?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Only with those who are truly meant to be yours.”

“Define ‘mine’?” I asked.

Doyle frowned. “I am not sure how to define it, in truth. Sometimes a fighter would come just when you needed him, and he would take oath. Sometimes it was a seeress, but they would be exactly who and what you needed to succeed at whatever quest had begun.”

“The marks only start collecting people when there’s great need,” Rhys said.

“But once marked, it ca

“The queen’s marks faded,” I said.

“Best not say we told you that,” Rhys said. “Not outside this room.”

“I will gladly take oath to the princess,” Adair said. He laid his helmet on the bedside table and began unfastening the armor at his hands and arms. Frost moved to help him. It was easier to get in and out of plate armor with help.

I pressed my hand to Adair’s bare forearm, but nothing happened.

“Shit,” Rhys said.

Doyle nodded. “To join Andais and prove worthy of her mark, we had to fight.”

“I do not think fighting will win them Merry’s mark,” Frost said.

“How important is it to mark them tonight?” Galen asked.

“The queen will be coming to fetch her for the call,” Frost said.

“I would feel better if we did at least one. If she lies with Adair and still his skin does not take the mark, then perhaps she has called all she needs to win.” Doyle moved to Adair’s other side to help hurry him out of his armor. Frost, after a moment, went back to working on the other side. They began dismantling Adair’s armor, exposing bits of skin and the undergarments that kept the metal from rubbing.

He looked from one to the other of them, and said, “You are jesting with me?”

“We do not jest,” Doyle said, as he and Frost undid the straps that held the cuirass. They lifted together and peeled him out of most of the ornate armor. There was still a bandage on his side where Hafwyn had conserved her magic and not healed him completely.

“I do not share Meredith lightly,” Frost said. He got the last of the armor off the other man. He began to help strip away the cut and bloodstained padding. “But what if we lose our battle because we lack one strong warrior more?” He shook his head hard enough to make his silver hair sparkle in the dim light. “I will not have my jealousy risk her safety, or the safety of my brother guards.” He gazed down at the still bloody wound on his arm. “Meredith is a fertility goddess, among other things, but primarily that is where her power lies. Fighting will not win you her mark.”