~ Crystal Tarot ~

by

*lizzie starr

The old priest hated spying. But, the call of his god drew him from his room and the promise of a warm bed and directed him to the tiny crevice between the cracked mortar of the oldest part of the sacrarium. His aged, wavering footsteps carried him to a passage known only to the highest of the priest caste, to a hallway that passed outside her room.

The child, who was a child no longer. A foundling, brought to the sacrarium from the high forests when little more than a babe. The god continued to whisper of the changes the child would bring, but even with his priestly meditations, the old man did not understand. At the Great Master’s demand, the child was hidden away from all but those of the sacrarium until the meaning of her presence could be discovered.

And now the Great Master, in his infinite wisdom, wished him to spy upon her. The old priest sighed and pressed his forehead against the cool stones of the wall and blinked to focus through the irregularly shaped hole, confident the Great Master would show him the reasons. All he need do was watch, wait, and listen to the low, insistent voice whispering in his head.

She lay upon her bed, her chest gently rising and falling with the deep breaths of sleep. The priest rolled his eyes. No meaning here.

Her breathing changed, the rapid, raspy pants interspersed with kitten-soft moans. She tossed her covers to one side with a low groan. With only the transparent silk of her night shift covering her, she twisted on the bed, tangling the length of her hair as her head thrashed from side to side.

Tearing at the neckline of her night shift, she ripped away the tiny ribbons holding the bodice closed and exposed the pale skin of her breasts to the cool night air.

The heat of embarrassment filled the priest’s face and he strained to turn away but he could not avert his eyes. It was as if the Great Master held his head between gentle palms. He tried to close his eyes against the sight of her wild, passion-filled throes but the light touch of invisible fingers held his lids open.

Her sighs turned to sharp cries of need, the moans escalating toward the sounds of completion heard rising from the pleasure houses. Her body tensed. With a keen of bliss, she arched off the bed. A faint sheen of moisture shimmered over her skin in the flickering light of the nearly burned out candle on the low table near the bed. Collapsing back to the mattress, she gave a single pleased sigh and her breathing returned to the gentle pattern of sleep.

Released from the Great Master’s hold, the old priest sank to his aching knees on the damp, stone floor. Why? Why had he been forced to witness her in such an intimate, disturbing way? To what purpose did the Great Master direct him?

The deep voice rumbled in his head telling him the woman only dreamed a dream she would not understand; one for which she would not know the meaning. A dream sent by the Great Master to show her the way to an undisclosed destiny.

~ * ~

The guard moved too fast. If Zale weren’t caught, at the very least the guard would get a look at him and easily recognize him later. For a fraction of a second Zale paused in the shadows to one side of a crossing of passageways. How had he come to be lost in the maze of deserted passageways of the lower sacrarium? He shook his head at the folly of his actions and resumed his long-legged lope through the dank halls. At a sharp noise against the stone wall behind him, Zale glanced over his shoulder as he ran.

He slammed into a soft barrier. A groan and the thud of a body falling against the stone floor halted him. He rubbed at his aching chin; he must have knocked his jaw on the fallen person’s head. Expelling a harsh, frustrated breath, he glanced down and prepared to run on.

A slender, feminine hand reached out to him. His gaze followed the line of her arm to her shoulder but could not see beneath the dark hood she wore. She did not speak, but her silent plea for assistance was unmistakable so he knelt at her side and took a shallow breath. The essence of the woman was fresh and clean, a stark contrast to the musty scent of the sacrarium passageway.

The echo of rapid footsteps alerted him to the guard’s approach. Zale exhaled his frustration again before a sensually charged idea chased the rising panic from his mind. He leaned close to the woman’s head. “Please, I need your help.”

Taking her continued silence as an affirmative answer, he helped her rise. Keeping her cool fingers clutched tight in his hand, he tugged her toward a slight indentation in the wall.

The heavy footsteps grew louder. The guard was close. There was no time to tell the mysterious woman of his plan. With a fervent hope she remain silent, he pressed his back against the wall and encouraged her to crouch beside him at the base. As the guard rounded the corner, Zale hid his face in the overhang of the woman’s hood and unerringly found her mouth. Her soft gasp parted her lips, and he tasted a sweetness such as he had never known.

Stopping next to them, the guard cleared his throat and poked at Zale’s boot with his toe. “Ya’d best be movin’ on, friend. This be not the place fer entertainin’ yar lady.”

When Zale pulled away, he didn’t need to feign reluctance. Releasing the woman, he pulled the soft hood forward to hide her face, then spread the tail of her cloak over his hips as if to cover the evidence of arousal. “I am afraid I could go no further without a taste of her lips.”

The guard chuckled. “This be not a safe place this night. A thief wanders these halls. I would be askin’ if ya’d seen him, but I fear ya’ve seen none but the lass in yer arms. Go, on with ya both.”

Zale rose, held his breath and stretched one hand toward the woman. Thankfully, she lifted a slim hand to his and he hauled her to her feet and into his embrace. He cast a cocky grin toward the leering guard. “Blessings on you, Captain. We shall continue on now. I wish you luck with your search.”

Zale wrapped his arm around the woman’s shoulders and guided her down the hall. A low chuckle followed them. “Aye, good luck to ya as well, friend.”

Conscious of the guard’s eyes focused between his shoulder blades, and struggling against the temptation to look back over his shoulder, Zale kept a slow steady pace forward. He leaned close to the woman’s head. “Only a bit more. And, I give you my thanks.”

Moving to one side of the hall, he angled the woman to face him and pressed her back against the hard, dirty stone. He slipped his hands beneath the cloak, surprised at the fine, silken fabric of her clothing. Squinting, he searched the shadowed interior of the hood, unable to discern any features save the slightly swollen, reddened pout of her full lips. He couldn’t help himself; he had to taste of her again.

He slanted his lips against hers and eased one knee between her thighs. She lifted one hand and rested the palm against his shoulder. Even through his clothing the contact burned his skin. Unable to stop the moan vibrating low in his chest, he pressed his hips to hers, sliding the firm rise in his loins against the softness of her belly.

The guard emitted one final bark of laughter before he turned away and raced along another passageway.

The desire to continue his seduction nearly drove thoughts of escape from Zale’s pleasure hazed mind. How long had it been since he’d felt such--need? Tearing his lips from the woman’s, he stepped back. If the guard were to look now, there would be no need to feign his body’s reaction.

“I...” His voice cracked. Realizing there were no words adequate enough to express his jumbled feelings, he turned and stalked away from the silent woman.

Haven touched her fingertips to her lips to calm the wild tingling. Her entire body thrummed. Even the powerful remnants of her dream and the questions that had pulled her from her bed in the middle of the night paled and faded to chill memories beside the heat left behind by the stranger.

She knew with a certainty the man was the thief of whom the guard had spoken. There were few items of worth within the walls of the sacrarium and she pondered idly what he might have taken. Unless--she rubbed one finger over her bottom lip--unless he had taken one of the gilded or jeweled symbols of the Great Master.

She took a deep breath and the silken fabric of her night shift brushed across the tips of her sensitized breasts. Her sigh turned to a gasp of awakening, of sensual pleasure. Stretching, she tried to extend the delightful feelings. But the habit of trying to make her breasts appear smaller was strong and she hunched her shoulders forward.

Cursed with a body different than the other women of the land, she’d always been relatively content to remain hidden away in the lowest levels of the sacrarium. While it was true the priests had taught her to use her gift of interpreting the tarot’s dance, she didn’t feel particularly special--only different.

Her mentor, the elderly high priest and voice of the Great Master, had assured her she was meant for greatness. Haven snorted delicately. How did one become great when one never left the confines of the sacrarium? Her tired, wistful gaze followed the path that the stranger--the thief--had taken.

The world lay in that direction.