Mystic Rider by Patricia Rice

might wish to delay sealing the
unpredictable — irreversible — bond of amacara until he’d achieved his objectives.
His intended mate was distracting enough without that visceral connection
binding them.
    He halted the cart at the end of the bridge. Blue-uniformed
soldiers bristling with swords and muskets stepped forward and demanded their
paperwork, as Chantal had predicted.
    She continued humming as she handed over her passport, and
the guard on her side smiled and tipped his cap, murmuring pleasantries.
    The guard on Ian’s side frowned at his papers. “You are not
from Rome?” he demanded.
    “I do not even know where Rome is,” Ian replied truthfully.
“Is it a place I should visit?”
    Chantal elbowed him. He didn’t know what that meant but
decided it would be wise not to offer any additional information.
    “Swiss,” the guard said in disgust, examining the passport’s
writing with difficulty. “Why are you here?”
    Ian didn’t know what Swiss meant either, but Trystan had
assured him that such papers would pass easily through this country. “The lady
wishes it,” he said pleasantly, not desiring to go into complicated
explanations when he did not comprehend the necessity. On Aelynn, he was the
authority who did the questioning, so this was a relatively new and irritating
experience.
    His reply was apparently acceptable. The guard nodded,
handed back the papers, and stepped aside. Chantal waved gaily at the other
handsome soldier, and Ian started the cart with a jerk that threw them both
against the seat back.
    To his utter astonishment, he had a strong urge to strangle
the young man she’d favored with her smile. This could not be a good thing. A
Sky Rider must be objective and dispassionate to effectively comprehend his
visions.
    His companion took a deep breath of relief, and his gaze
dropped to the plump mounds pushing above the neckline of her tight bodice.
Fortunately for both of them, she’d covered herself with a long cloth that
molded to her curves but did not reveal tempting flesh.
    The air coming off the river was sticky and windless, but
the setting sun had fallen behind a cloud and brought with it a drop in
temperature. He noted her shiver. “I will try to be quick so you do not catch a
chill.”
    “You are going the wrong way.” She pointed toward a menacing
gray stone wall on the left side of the street. “You will need to ask at the
Palais where Pauline is being kept.”
    “The chalice is this way,” he insisted. “I would speak with
whomever holds it. If you sent it for your family’s release, then the possessor
of the chalice should know where they are, am I correct?”
    She shot him a mystified look. “How can you know where the
chalice is?”
    He shrugged. “Your language does not have the necessary
words to explain. When we have time, I will try to answer your questions, but
there are many things I cannot tell you without showing you. There will be time
for that once I have done what I’ve come to do.”
    “I wonder if this is a form of madness,” she muttered, “or
if you are a magician like Mesmer who has stolen my mind, for I am surely out
of it.”
    Since he could not read her thoughts, Ian had to put himself
in her place and attempt to understand her unease. He did not need to stretch
far to grasp that Other Worlders walked about in a world of psychic silence,
unable to communicate in any way except verbally.
    Not too different from his home, really, where everyone had
learned to keep their thoughts to themselves and politely avoided prying into
others if they had that ability.
    Although Ian could not always read their minds, he
understood his fellow Aelynners sufficiently to comprehend and manipulate their
behavior as needed. It was just that here, he was so bombarded with every
violent thought and emotion that he assumed everyone felt and heard what he
did. Sadly, Chantal did not seem to possess his empathic talents. Since she did
not have Aelynn eyes,