The Story:
An attempted assassination left Princess Shalira blind as a child and, now that she’s of marriageable age, her prospects are not good because of her disability. She’s resigned herself to an arranged marriage rather than face life under the thumb of her cold stepmother. But then she meets Mike Varone, a Sectors Special Forces officer sent to Mahjundar by the intergalactic government to retrieve a ship lost in her planet’s mountains. After Mike saves Shalira from another assassination attempt, she arranges for him to escort her across the planet to her future husband. She’s already falling hard for the deadly offworlder and knows she should deny herself the temptation he represents, but taking Mike along to protect her is the only way she’ll live long enough to escape her ruthless stepmother.
But what should have been an easy trek through Mahjundar’s peaceful lands swiftly turns into an ambush with danger around every turn. Shalira’s marriage begins to seem less like an arranged union and more like yet another planned assassination. The more they work together to survive, the harder it becomes to stop themselves from falling in love. Caught in a race against time, can they escape the hostile forces hunting them, and make it off the planet?
In this scene, Shalira and Mike have to obtain the key to her mother's tomb so they've traveled to a half ruined temple to perform the ritual:
In this scene, Shalira and Mike have to obtain the key to her mother's tomb so they've traveled to a half ruined temple to perform the ritual:
To Mike’s right, two snakes slithered away
through cracks in the wall. He’d been warned about
the highly venomous reptiles in the briefing before landing on Mahjundar. Since
the briefing he’d received said a bite was invariably fatal in mere minutes, Mike
was happy to see the creatures were nonaggressive today. It was anybody's guess
how well the generic antivenom shots in Johnny’s medkit would work.
Chittering in protest at being disturbed,
a flock of gray birds circled the room in a mad whirl of wings right below the
ceiling before flying out a central skylight. When the room was still, Mike made
a rapid survey. The walls had at one time been painted a bright white, but were
now grimed over, with peeling plaster.
Ten mystical symbols had been painted at
intervals on each wall, at what would be shoulder height for Mahjundans. The
red, green, turquoise and yellow drawings had undoubtedly been blindingly
bright at one time, but were now faded into near obscurity from sheer age. Mike
found his vision blurred if he tried to stare at any one of the symbols for
longer than a moment.
In the center of the room was a raised
dais, edged in bright turquoise tile, supporting a waist-high, square block of dull
red stone. The same ten symbols had been painstakingly etched into the altar’s
sides, highlighted at one time with yellow, bits of which could be seen in the
deep grooves of the carving.
Shalira stepped forward, going up onto the
dais, drawing Mike with her. She was holding his hand so tightly he couldn't
have stayed behind without violently pulling free. But I want to stand here with her, support her.
Leaning over, Mike realized the top of the
red stone was polished enough for him to see his reflection in the surface. “No
dust?” How is that possible?
The top had two perfectly shaped oval
indentations, each about a yard long and half a yard wide at the center. Although
several messy nests were in the rotunda directly above, there were no bird
droppings anywhere on the stone. Flicking the safety before holstering his gun,
Mike reached out to touch the gleaming surface.
“What the hell?” His fingers stopped six inches
above the block, as if he’d tried to press his hand through glass. Cursing, he
yanked his hand away. His skin, reddened where it had met the invisible
obstacle, felt if it had been scorched by open flame.
“Careful,” Shalira said. “The Altar of the
Ten Gods deals harshly with the uninitiated.”
“I'll take your word for it. I meant no
disrespect.” He blew on his fingers. “How old is this place? Why doesn't your
father do something about fixing it up?”
“The temple dates to the earliest beginnings
of civilization on Mahjundar. There used to be hundreds of these temples
scattered throughout the empire. But the worship of the Ten Gods is fading,
except perhaps in the most rural areas.” Shalira frowned. “Empress Maralika
doesn’t believe in their power, preferring new temples, alternate beliefs.”
Mike considered the fading paint. “So she
doesn't exactly encourage your father to spend money on the old gods?”
Shalira pursed her lips. “I was sure I
heard my father approve funds for this work.”
Mike remembered what he’d been told in his
briefing about the Empress Maralika's accounts in the big, secretive banks on
New Switzerland. I bet I know where the
authorized funds ended up.
Vreely was tapping his booted foot
impatiently on the bottom step. “We’re wasting time. Get the key, Your Highness,
and let us get on with the journey.”
“What do you need to do?” asked Mike,
pivoting her to face him.
She
faltered, closing her eyes and rubbing her forehead. “I—I'm not totally sure. I
observed the ceremony performed in reverse at my great-uncle's funeral, when my
father commended the key for his tomb to the keeping of the Ten.”
Of
course, she hadn't been blind then. This whole errand must be stirring up
powerful memories for her—better get it over with as fast as possible. Mike glanced at the impatient Mahjundan
officer. Maybe Vreely’s right about some
things.
“We must make an offering.” The princess
freed her hand from Mike's. “Could you open this pouch for me and set the items
in my hands?” Fumbling at her belt, she detached a small red leather purse,
which she held out.
Unknotting the rawhide strip at the neck
of the purse, he removed ten different things loosely packed inside, carefully
depositing them in Shalira's cupped hands. There was an iridescent feather from
some rare bird, a sachet of rich perfume, an exquisite jade carving of a
deer-like creature, ten tiny golden bells strung on a fine chain, and other
miniature treasures he’d no time to examine. One for each god, I suppose.
“This is the last item.” He laid an
enameled brooch encrusted with baroque pearls on top of the pile in her hands
and tucked the small purse away in a pocket.
Tightening her fingers around the precious
hoard, Shalira raised her arms. Bathed in sunlight streaming from the skylights,
she chanted in a variation of the Mahjundan language that his hypnotraining hadn’t
included. Her voice was lyrical, mesmerizing in the way the rhythm rose and fell.
Realizing he was dizzy, Mike blinked hard, reaching to steady himself against
the red block.
Within the chamber, a humming had begun, like
an accompaniment to the chanting, but in a much deeper tonal range. The strange
sound vibrated through his spine and behind his ears in an unpleasant way. As
if a breeze had sprung up inside the room, the dust and debris on the floor
shifted hither and yon, moved into small piles. It was as if he and Shalira
were cut off from the others, isolated on the island of the dais by sound and a
wall of wind. Now the princess lowered her offering toward the block’s surface.
Mike reached out, guiding her hands toward the closer of the two oval
depressions. Electricity tingled through his nerves, blue fire danced in the
air and he couldn’t release her fingers. His hands supported hers.
This time there was no invisible shield to
prevent him from touching the stone. Contact with the altar hit Mike like ice
water. Shivering, he felt Shalira trembling violently next to him, but the
princess continued her ritual with no break in the song, although her voice
grew wobbly. At last, their hands separated, and he jerked his fingers back.
Shalira held one final, lingering note, suddenly opening her cupped hands.
The gifts she offered drifted the last few
inches into the stone oval. One by one, as if falling through thick glue, the
items touched the rock and disappeared in showers of red, yellow and turquoise
sparks.
Shalira fell silent, licking her lips and
lowering her head. She took a step backward. Hastily, Mike reached out to
steady her and prevent her from toppling off the edge of the dais. Head against
his chest, she leaned into him. “Is the offering accepted?” Her whisper was so
thready he could barely hear the words. “Is there a key in the other bowl?”
