Suddenly, Serena noticed a softly distant pounding. It grew in strength, soon blotting out every other sound, even the crashing of the waves against the edge of the terrace. Looking up, she saw the source of the rising cacophony.

In their eagerness for their mission to begin, the thousands of white-skinned demonslavers aboard the warships were standing at attention on the decks, relentlessly banging their swords on their shields.

Wulfgar finally lowered his arms and turned to his queen. She saw a determined, powerful look in his eyes that she knew could never be conquered. As the ceaseless pounding continued, she turned back to the sea and took his hand. Krassus smiled.

CHAPTER

Fifty-five

W hen Tristan first heard the knock on the door, he wanted whoever it was to go away and let him sleep in peace. Why couldn't they all just leave him alone? Hadn't he done enough?

He rolled over, hoping whoever it was would go away.

The knocking came again, even more insistent this time. Tristan realized that it sounded more like someone kicking at the door, than knocking on it. Shannon the Short, he thought, sent by Wigg to come and wake him up.

He threw off the sheets and hobbled stiffly over to the chair in the corner, where he grabbed up his trousers and pulled them on. Then he went to the door and opened it.

Celeste stood there, smiling at him. She was dressed in black, form-fitting riding breeches, black knee boots, and a low-cut, yellow silk blouse that was ruffled at the neck and wrists. Her dark red hair tumbled down over her shoulders. Tristan could smell the familiar fragrance of myrrh, and it helped to awaken his senses. In her hands she held a large silver tray, its contents covered with a lid.

She gave him an unnecessary, highly coquettish curtsy. "Are you going to make me stand on ceremony all day, Your Highness, or are you going to let me in?" she asked. Then she nodded at the tray in her hands. "After all, I bring gifts."

"Oh, over here," Tristan said. He led the way to the opposite side of the dim room, where he drew back the drapes and opened the stained-glass balcony doors, revealing a bright, clear day.

Celeste, her eyes on the tray, followed him and carefully placed the food on the balcony table.

"How much of the day has gone by?" he asked sleepily.

"It is nearly midday. You have had only five hours of sleep, but I'm afraid it's going to have to do. We are due to meet the others in the courtyard in one hour."

She lifted the lid from the tray. "Spotted quail's eggs," she said with another smile. "Poached, just the way you like them-or so the gnome wives in the kitchens tell me. Cured ham slices, gingerwheat toast with violetberry jam, and tea-extra strong and extra hot. And all enough for two."

She placed her hands on her hips and turned to look at him. Then she puckered up her mouth and shook her head.

"You're a mess," she said, giving him a grin. She took in the shadows on his face from not having shaved, the comma of dark hair lying down over his forehead, and the dirty trousers. "Shall we eat first, or do you wish to bathe?"

"Eat," he said with authority as he poured himself a brimming cup of the dark, hot tea. He took a sip and felt its warm goodness go all the way down. "Bless you," he said as he gingerly sipped some more.

Suddenly remembering he was still half naked, he put his cup down and walked back over to the chair to fetch his vest. As Celeste watched him go, for the first time she saw the angry, still-healing scars across his back, and her eyes went wide with concern. As he walked back to her, he looked up from lacing his vest and immediately understood.

Taking her hands into his, he saw that her eyes had become shiny.

"It's all right," he said softly. "They don't hurt as much as they once did." Reaching out, he touched her cheek.

"Did Krassus do that to you?" she asked, her face darkening with anger.

"In a way. These marks are from my time on the slave ship. One of the demonslavers did this."

Celeste looked down for a moment. "Then he shall have to answer for what he has done," she said, so softly he could barely hear her.

"That won't be necessary." Placing one hand beneath her chin, he raised her face back up to his. "He has already answered," he added gently. "To me." Silence reigned for a few moments.

"You lead such a dangerous existence," she said bravely, trying to hold back her tears. "It would be safer for you if you stayed here in the palace."

One corner of Tristan's mouth came up. "It would be safer for me if I were someone else altogether," he answered with a smile. "But we can't do much about that, now, can we?"

"No," she said, a hint of a smile returning. "I suppose not."

"Come and eat," he said, leading her back out in the sunshine. "I, for one, am famished."

"I'm not sure I've ever seen you when you weren't," she chided as they sat down across from each other.

As they sat and ate in the sunshine, Celeste told him a bit more of what she knew about Abbey, and the prince expanded on his experiences with Krassus, and the pirates of Sanctuary. As they talked, Tristan couldn't help but notice a very discernible change in Celeste. She seemed more alive, more spontaneous, happier than he had ever seen her. As he took another bite of the gingerwheat toast, he innocently told her so. When he did, a more thoughtful look came over her.

"Does this have anything to do with what you said you wanted to talk to me about?" he asked gently.

Celeste put down her teacup and looked into his eyes. "I'm finally free," she said softly.

"Free?" he repeated.

"Free of Ragnar," she answered. "I will, of course, never forget my time with him. But my horrific memories and nightmares no longer haunt me. While you were away, he came to me in a dream. It was so real that I was sure I was awake. He had returned from the dead somehow, and had used the craft on me so I couldn't move. He was going to abuse me again, right there and then, and return me to the Caves. But when I awakened from my dream, my mind fought back this time, and my anger finally came flooding out. When it did, something inside of me just snapped, and the grip of his terror over me was broken." Taking his hands, she closed hers lovingly around them.

"I'm finally free, Tristan," she said softly. "Free to live, laugh, and love." Her eyes anxiously searched his face, trying to discern what he was feeling. "The way it was rightfully meant to be," she added. "The way it should be between a man and a woman."

His heart full, Tristan stood, bringing her up with him. Pulling her close, he held her for a long time. When she finally took her face away from his shoulder, he saw the tears in her eyes again.

"Is it too late?" she asked softly.

At first Tristan didn't understand. Reaching up, he dried one of her eyes. "Too late for what?" he asked.

"Does Tyranny mean anything to you?" Her body trembled slightly, and her voice was barely audible. "Is it too late for you to love me?"

Closing his eyes for a moment, he pulled her closer. "Don't you know by now?" he asked her. "It has always been you. From the first moment I saved you at the edge of that cliff and looked into your eyes." Feeling her body rise up to meet his, he looked down at her open mouth and realized the time for words had ended.

Reaching into her hair, he gave it a sure but gentle tug. As he did, her body bent willingly beneath him, and he put his mouth down on hers.

He looked into her eyes. She smiled, and cried, and laughed, and cried again. Her tears coming freely now, she rested her face against his chest and held him so tightly that he thought she would never let go. With his hands, he turned her face up and pressed his forehead against hers.