Love, Eternally Read Online Free Page B

golden headdress. This girl was so fine and true, utterly different from her loathsome brother.
    “I have been waiting for you to grow up.” When she pouted, he teased, “The girl is nearly a woman, eh?”
    She grinned. “Nearly. Your dark looks favor your Greek ancestors, my dear Magnus, and your blue eyes, well, you see, they are quite wonderful, but I must admit I have dreamt of someone …”
    “Younger? Tell me you wouldn’t be so cruel.” He pulled a long face. “Alas, I see it in your eyes. Ah, well, I knew I was out of the running, for it is well known you will have none save a Catholic Christian to wed.”
    “True,” she grinned, playing along, “for not only are you a stubborn pagan, but you are also too tall for me — and twice my age.”
    Aha! Honest to a fault . Smiling, Magnus was again reminded of why he was so fond of this girl. “You are indeed grown up, for you are merciless in your candor.”
    Placidia giggled, the lone curl dancing prettily. “And, as to my question?”
    “Which one?”
    “Have you found a lady to wed?”
    He was about to answer when the music stopped and the flutist gaped, staring into space.
    Placidia’s eyes grew wide and she looked up at the dome. “Did you hear that?”
    “What?” As Magnus glanced around, a flurry of notes echoed from a great distance, the tune fast, lively, and unlike anything he had ever heard.
    “A marvelous melody,” Emperor Honorius called out from across the room. “Horace,” he commanded with a wave of his hand, “go and see who steals your glory.”
    Magnus watched as a pair of guards set off to join Horace, but Honorius called them back to stand at his side. Horace headed alone for the stairs.
    Magnus squinted. Was it his imagination, or had the air begun to sparkle where the musician once stood? Rubbing his eyes, he cursed the effects of too much wine. This odd air reminded him of trips to his family’s salt mines, where the briny haze twinkled in torchlight, and he could smell it, taste it for days afterward, like tears upon his tongue.
    By now, the extraordinary melody had faded, and Horace returned to the pulpit, but something was still decidedly odd. Magnus studied the flutist’s glimmering robes, the sparkles whirling around his brow. Was this a dream? Was no one else seeing this?
    Horace placed his silver flute to his lips, listening as the phantom melody rose again. He tried a few notes, his attempt rough and too slow. Frowning, he took a deep breath and blew true. For a long moment, the music meshed.
    Troubled, Magnus looked at Placidia, but she was conversing with several young women. The crowd once again grew lively, unaware of the strangeness he perceived.
    When Horace let out a yelp, Magnus spun back around. The flutist was nowhere to be seen.
    Magnus warily cast his glance about the room, looking for the absent musician, but the sound of a gasp brought his attention back to the pulpit. The air sparkled as before, but now a woman appeared, ethereal, glittering like the stars.
    Magnus’s chest tightened.
    She turned and stared at him, clutching a golden flute.
    The air cleared and he let out his breath as she came into focus. Her wide green eyes blazed with an emerald fire, the whites so clear they held a tinge of palest blue. Her body was slim, her bearing regal, and he was instantly aware of her slightest movements: the trembling of her fingers, the sudden flicker of doubt in her beautiful gaze.
    Her vulnerability unleashed a thunderbolt that surged straight to his heart.
    Magnus took a step forward and her perfume floated to him soft as a cloud, enveloping him, the fragrance hinting of figs and something unfamiliar and warmly sweet. He breathed deeply. Who was this glorious creature, this — this divine … ?
    Overcome, he felt compelled to drop to his knees, to worship her as a goddess, but his warrior’s instinct shouted No! He must not reveal his suspicions of her identity to anyone in this most Catholic