The warrior in her was ready for anything. But she never saw him coming…
Guardians of Light, Book 5 Verdeen is on the brink of becoming an elite warrior ranger until the ultimate humiliation—no war mare chooses her for advanced training. King Loren’s consolation prize isn’t much better. Journey to the Isle of Ice as bodyguard to a human riever. Daq Aryk. Barbarian. Prince of thieves. Aryk dreams the impossible: unite six fractious clans into a peaceful nation. Failure means they are all doomed to kill each other off—and the nightmares of his son’s death by sword will come true. The new elven ambassador rouses his ire, not because she’s female, but because she’s inexperienced. Her possibly needless death weighs on his already overburdened soul. Her beauty is a distraction he can’t afford. In a fragrant, moonlit garden, Verdeen dares yield to an irresistible compulsion to kiss the mortal riever. The heat shakes her to the core, and frees a desire that should occur but once in her life. With a mate. As their quest twists down ever more dangerous paths, though, their bond is the asset that could assure peace…or the liability that could send a dream down in flames.
Warning: This tale illustrates what happens when adventurous dreamer meets seen-it-all cynic. Contains hot, no-holds-barred sex, voyeurism and some self-loving. Also betrayal and some graphic (but never gratuitous) battle violence.
eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. Samhain Publishing, Ltd. 11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B Cincinnati OH 45249 Riever’s Heart Copyright © 2011 by Renee Wildes ISBN: 978-1-60928-589-0 Edited by Linda Ingmanson Cover by Kanaxa All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: September 2011 www.samhainpublishing.com
Riever’s Heart Renee Wildes
Dedication
To my friends Cheryl B & John S for bailing me out of a feline-instigated computer disaster in the eleventh hour and to my fantabulous editor and fellow feline owner Linda Ingmanson for her patience and understanding during said computer disaster. Sometimes life IS stranger than fiction! Just remember, if all you can do is laugh or cry—then laugh.
Prologue
Daq Aryk’s gaze swept the battlefield as he stood at the edge closest to his village. Too close. They’d brought the fight to his very doorstep this time. If it weren’t for the scouts’ warning… He eyed the scattered sod roundhuts, picturing the women and children huddled within, awaiting the outcome, and rubbed the back of his neck with a hand that shook from the aftereffects of the lia, the temporary surge of battle energy. Corded strands of tawny hair, sticky with blood, clung to his fingers. Every muscle ached. He clenched his jaw at the number of dead littering the frozen ground, including the rival daq, Ulryk. Another attack thwarted. Another day still standing. The constant raiding—what a waste. Would it never end? He shook out his tattered red daq cloak and frowned at the stiff layers of bloodstains that never came out. ’Twas not how he’d imagined his new reign progressing. There must be more to life than this. Could his son, Joro, look forward to naught else than a future of endless combat? His second, Valkyn, strode up to him, boots crunching in the trampled red snow. Aryk frowned at the drying blood splashed across his friend’s braided beard and oft-repaired, slightly rusted mail shirt, but thankfully none of it appeared to be Valkyn’s. Valkyn shouldered his—new?—axe. “Belonged to Daq Ulryk’s second. He won’t need it anymore.” Valkyn’s ice-blue eyes gleamed with the lia’s lingering bloodlust, his smile a wolfish flash of teeth. Valkyn always got more energized after a battle. Aryk just felt tired, burned out. Aryk motioned the rest of his warriors over, tallying the fallen. Just three of their own for the funerary pyres. Of the wounded, Erlynda looked worst. Tisht. He took a deep, calming breath. The sword slash to her ribs could be sewn, though, thank the gods. Their daughter, Birgit, wouldn’t be motherless this day. If the wound didn’t sour, Erlynda would recover to fight off the next wave of marauders. So it went on, year after year. Aryk eyed the heart of his windswept territory—Svaaldur, a fair-sized village at the foot of Widowmaker Mountain. Eking out a living, fighting off others who’d steal what was theirs. How long could they continue like this? “Erlynda, kyra, we owe you our lives. Were it not for your warning, things would’ve been much worse.” Her blue eyes were glacial in her rawboned, windburned face. “You owe me naught. ’Tis my home, also.” “Go see the healers about that cut.”
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She hesitated, hissing in pain as she pressed the blood-soaked binding cloth harder against her injury. “We protected our children. But what of Ulryk’s villages? What of the Blood River women and children who no longer have his protection?” She’d always been stubborn when it came to standing up for what she believed to be right. ’Twas why he favored her so. Creataq help him, Birgit was turning out to be just like her. “You’re not on warrior council, woman,” Valkyn snapped. “You need a sponsor to challenge a daq’s order.” If looks alone could kill… “I’m her sponsor. I give the kyra Erlynda leave to speak.” Aryk frowned at Valkyn. His second refused to use the title “kyra” for the women warriors who’d earned it, not even for his own twin sister. She’d proven herself this day. Aryk pulled the daq’s medallion from Ulryk’s thick neck, held it up and placed it over his own head. The fool should’ve stayed home. Now Ulryk’s overweening ambition had just doubled Aryk’s responsibilities. He sighed. “Gather handcarts. We return their dead and claim Ulryk’s villages.” The men cheered. Erlynda’s ice-blue eyes spat fire. “Aryk, you promised. I hold you to it.” Aryk raised a hand, quieting them. “No claiming the women. They deserve to mourn and burn their dead in peace.” His men weren’t the ravening riever beasts outlanders thought them. He’d restrain the celebration. “We slew fathers, brothers and sons. Though we but defended our own, and they struck first, we gain more by welcoming their kin. First man lays a hand on Ulryk’s women, I cut it off and leave him bleed in the snow.” His glare caught each man’s gaze in turn, held it ’til one by one they yielded. “They’re now under my protection. We show mercy to Blood River.” He turned to Erlynda. “Kyra, it shall be done. Now go see those healers afore you fall over.” Aryk had won leadership of the Widowmaker clan by the strength of his sword arm and sheer force of will. None challenged him now. Valkyn wouldn’t confront him afore the men, but he’d restate his own opinion in private. ’Twould be yet another heated discussion. Claiming conquered women was but one tradition Aryk hoped to change. Valkyn liked women in their place. He’d opposed them taking up arms, blocked their attempts to join warrior council—Erlynda’s in particular. Doubt gnawed at Aryk. Did Valkyn believe in Aryk’s vision at all, or did he just make a show of support for the sake of ties stronger than blood? Aryk’s mother, Gefjun, greeted him at the entrance to the village. Leave it to her not to stay hidden as she was ordered. Her calloused, scarred hands held her swords crossed over her belly. Silver braids encircled her head like a crown. His red seeker dog, Fiske, sat at her feet, plumed tail sweeping the trampled snow.
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“Stand down, Mother.” Aryk bent to rub the dog’s pricked ears. “’Tis safe for them to come out now. We held the wolves at bay.” “Pity.” Her green eyes glittered in the twilight as she sheathed her swords and whistled the all-clear. “I rather looked forward to a good fight. Been a while.” Not long enough. “The children?” “All safe. Although Joro grabbed a real knife to go help you.” They watched the women and children slowly, cautiously, emerge from their homes, looking around for familiar faces. Uncertainty and fear lingered in the air. ’Twas no way to live. “Tell me you disarmed him.” Aryk shook his head at the thought of his mischievous five-year-old son in the conflict. Stuffed with grand tales of heroic warriors by his mother, Dagmar, Joro yearned to join the men. Aryk shuddered, picturing his sole surviving heir lying dead on some future battlefield, those sparking blue eyes forever vacant. A nightly terror. Nay, he’d find a way to end this madness. Joro and the other children would enjoy a better life than their parents. Lives with more options than raiding and bloodshed and death. Nice long peaceful lives. “Acourse I disarmed him. Come.” Even a daq heeded that tone. He followed her through the milling flocks to her sod-and-stone roundhut, dropping the hide door covers for privacy. Smoke from the peat fire curled around him. He took the cup of schnae she held out, let the bite of the spirits clear the melancholic fog. “I’ve but a moment. We go to Ulryk’s village.” “How’d the men take the news?” “That they don’t get to enjoy the spoils of war?” He snorted. “How do you think?” “’Twon’t ensure your dream of unity and peace. Find Ulryk’s captive Shamaru lass from my vision and bring her here. Make no mistake—allow your men free rein and lose your one hope of success.” Hope. Such a frail, mighty word. “You’re certain there’s still hope for peace? Even after today? Daq Beloq comes south with the thaw. This year decides it.” “There’s always hope. You said if we continue as we are, we destroy ourselves. Things must change. Shamar can help us.” His mother studied his face across the undying flame, the hearth fire which never went out. “We can’t keep burning our dead children.” Aryk turned to watch the flames dance in the dark as he weighed her truth. The fire kept the dwelling livable, an oasis of warmth on a wind-blasted plain of bone-shattering cold. But ’twas more than that. The light in the darkness symbolized the stand of reason against savagery. “We can be better men than we are now. Myrtaq died for naught than a senseless raid like the one today. There’s no honor in that.” The younger brother he’d failed to protect. How many more must they burn, lost to battle, disease, privation? When would the body count be too high?
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“I miss him too. The pain of losing a son never fades.” How well he kenned that truth. Two and a lass he’d lost afore the age of three, ’til but Joro and Birgit remained. Joro lying in a pool of his own blood, slain with his own sword…wielded by a black-haired woman with one green eye and one brown eye… Gefjun cleared her throat, jerking Aryk back to the present. “When you reach Ulryk’s village and find this Shamaru woman I spoke of, how will you get her to listen to, much less trust, you?” “I’ll prove to her I’m naught like Ulryk.” Gods, he wanted a bath. He reeked of battle, of blood, sweat and spent rage, but Ulryk’s village beckoned. Gefjun’s eyes blazed as she pinned him with her gaze, held him as she moved around the fire to within a handspan of his face. “Be warned, lad. You’re exactly like him, born and bred of this land.” She turned away. “You just hide it better than most.” Her truth cut him to the heart. Hai, he felt the fierce song of the lia, the elation during battle which blocked all else. In his blood. In his bones. The lia replaced pain, fear, doubt. Felt it and fought it. Men who succumbed to the seduction of the lia lost their heads, all reason, as apt to turn on their fellows as the enemy. As savage as a wounded snow bear. He stared at the flames, tossed back the last of the schnae and rose to his feet. Men were more than that. He was more than that. Time to prove it. To his men, to himself. To the rest of the clans on Isadorikja, this frozen iceberg of an island. And mayhaps someday to the rest of the world. A man had to believe in his dreams. What else was there? “Stovak nos briel, warrior.” Gefjun held open the door. Destiny awaits.
“We should have just tossed them in the crevasse and been done with it.” Valkyn glared at Aryk. “We have our own dead to see to.” It had been a long, cold trek to Ulryk’s main village, made doubly hard by having to lug the freezing bodies of Ulryk and his men home. They’d trudged across the rugged rock-strewn landscape throughout the night, under the swirling sky lights of the ancestors, and now the settlement came into view. “Blood River needs ken their fate first. These were men with families, same as us,” Aryk stated, “trying to make life easier for themselves and their own. Winter’s hard on us all.” He led the way into the midst of the roundhuts, where a scattering of women and old men awaited them. Their faces were pinched and weathered, their eyes flat, resigned. If there were children, they were well hidden. ’Twas what he’d do
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in their place. He held up his medallions. “I’m Daq Aryk. I defeated Ulryk in combat and now claim Blood River as my own. You’re under the protection of the Widowmaker banner, and I return your honored dead to you.” “Yield or join them,” Valkyn added. An old man tossed his sword aside to approach in ragged furs. He knelt afore Aryk in the snow. “We yield to Widowmaker,” he stated simply. Aryk swept his clansmen with a hard glance. “Remember your oath.” They relinquished the bodies to their Blood River kin. Aryk caught the arm of the woman who claimed Ulryk. She flinched. “You have naught to fear from me and my men,” he assured her. “We mean you no harm. My men could use some food.” She nodded. “As you wish.” “Which lodge was Ulryk’s?” he asked. She pointed to the nearest one to their left. Ulryk’s Shamaran captive, the woman Gefjun had seen in her visions, would most likely be kept there. If he freed her and returned her home, would the rulers of Shamar be willing to hear him out? So much rode on the next few minutes. He rubbed his eyes, gritty from lack of sleep, and motioned for Valkyn to follow him, leaving his men to oversee the funerary activities as he ducked into Ulryk’s lodge. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the change in lighting. A shadow bolted past him. Valkyn snared it easily afore it reached the door. So young, the lithe beauty writhing in Valkyn’s restraining grip. No more than sixteen. The stench of old sweat and spent lust, the sharp new reek of fear, clung to her. Seeing her, Aryk wanted to slay Ulryk all over again. Her long ebony curls whipped around her as she struggled. “Easy, lass. We mean you no harm.” Valkyn clenched his jaw, and Aryk saw his knuckles whiten as he struggled to hold on to her. He looked like he was trying to restrain a wild snow cat. She responded to his reassurance by trying to slam her head back into his, but as short as she was, she succeeded only in bouncing off his chainmail and getting her hair caught in the links. “Settle down,” he growled. “You’re making it worse.” She kicked him in the shin. Naught they said seemed to calm her. If she didn’t settle, Valkyn would bruise her wrists. From the looks of her, they wouldn’t be the first. That wouldn’t win her to Aryk’s side. “Hold still or you’ll make yourself bald,” Valkyn growled. Aryk fought a grin at his second’s exasperation and moved in to try to extract her hair from Valkyn’s armor. “Do you ken who I am?” She spat at him. “Edimar. Riever pig.” Her dark eyes blazed in her flushed face.
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He couldn’t blame her for that sentiment. Aryk tamped down rising anger at the double slur. He was no lia-drunk savage. “I’m Daq Aryk. What’s your name?” “Ildiko.” She hissed at him like a snow-cat kitten. He eyed her. “What if I take you home, child? South to Shamar? Back to your kin?” She finally froze. Yearning flashed in her hard, bitter eyes. Sympathy, admiration, arose in him. Whatever Ulryk had done, he’d not broken her spirit. Valkyn slowly released her, eyeing her like a hawk as he stepped back. Ildiko rubbed her wrists. “What would you demand in return for such a gift?” Aryk read the expectation on her dusky face and shook his head. “I’m not Ulryk, lass. We take you to my village. My mother feeds you, bathes you and gives you new clothes.” “Your mother? A bath?” Her tone was wistful afore she withdrew back to suspicion and caution. “In exchange for what?” “I go with you to Shamar. I would speak with King Berend and Queen Tzigana. In light of our freeing you and returning you home to your kin, I’d hoped you might be inclined to intercede on our behalf so they might grant us an audience. These battles must cease.”
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Chapter One
Now what? The swirling wind blurred his vision as Aryk stared up at the watchtowers and impregnable stone walls of Ravenscroft, the northernmost fortress of Shamar. It stood high atop the bluff overlooking the northern sea. Personal estate of the native Shamaru queen and her Shamari king, were Ildiko’s reports accurate. He picked out the armed men on the wall, the murder holes for archers, the drawbridge and moat. This was more fortress than palace. He rubbed his stubbled jaw and weighed their limited options as they crouched in the snow. Standing betwixt him and Valkyn, Fiske yawned and shook himself. Ildiko had gleaned from the keeper of last night’s inn the royals were in residence. Queen Tzigana would welcome Ildiko. Aryk prayed the queen wouldn’t skewer Ildiko’s northmen companions where they stood. He glanced over at the lass he’d rescued from Ulryk’s village. She’d proven invaluable. Whatever she and Gefjun had discussed that first night back in Svaaldur, Ildiko had emerged the next morn a changed person. She taught them the rudiments of her native Shamaru language on the moon-long journey southward and hadn’t abandoned them—nor betrayed them. “What do you suggest?” Aryk asked her. “Walk right up to the gate as common travelers. They’ll take you in under our guest laws.” “They’ll take our weapons,” Valkyn commented. Unsettling reality. Isadorikjans slept with their weapons from the time they could wield them. But to make true, lasting peace a reality, ’twas a sacrifice they’d have to endure. They’d never be permitted near the Shamaran royals with a blade in hand. Ildiko flashed Valkyn a scornful look. “You’ll give them over. Wolf’s no one to cross.” The Wolf. Von Berend. One of the “civilized” Shamari. Former lord marshal, now king. “And they’ll meet with us, your king and queen?” Aryk asked. “I’ll introduce you.” Her gaze burned into his. “A voice of reason from the north, an opportunity to end the raids? They will hear you.” Who was she to guarantee such a thing? Imprisonment was a risk they’d have to run. “Good enough. Let’s go.” Aryk rose, wrapped his red cloak tighter about himself and began the treacherous climb to Ravenscroft. Fiske bounded ahead of him. Not as fit as her warrior companions, still recovering from her rough internment, although most of the visible bruising had faded, young Ildiko had a
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tougher time of it. Aryk observed with quiet amusem*nt that she allowed Valkyn’s assistance. At least Ildiko now kenned not all Isadorikjans were rievers. Tisht, how he hated that word. They were more than bandits and looters. They would be. They had to be. A banner snapped and fluttered overhead—a black raven holding an oak branch with leaf and acorn in its beak, imposed on a gold background. The gateway loomed over them, a heavy portcullis of wrought ironwork set in stone. A blond Shamari sentinel snapped to attention as they approached. Standing atop the lowered drawbridge, Aryk let Ildiko take the lead. “State your business,” the sentinel ordered. Ildiko drew back her hood. The light played over her olive skin and high cheekbones, revealing her native Shamaru features in the torchlight. “These men escort me home to my family, but darkness falls and we request shelter for the night.” The sentinel’s grey eyes narrowed. Aryk figured he recognized them for what they were. The braids in Valkyn’s gold hair and beard were distinctly northman. The guard blew a reed whistle, and two more armed warriors appeared. With his reinforcements in position, the first one spoke. “You’ll be searched and disarmed upon entry.” “Acourse. We mean no harm. The weapons were for protection on the road.” Aryk relaxed, his arms held from his sides, but kenned these warriors weren’t fooled. The stance and movement of a trained fighter were impossible to hide, and Aryk had cut his teeth on fighting. The reputation of rievers preceded them. “Remove your weapons,” the sentinel ordered. First test, an opportunity to disarm afore the guards conducted their search. Aryk sensed ’twould go very bad for them if the Shamari discovered any hidden weapons in their follow-up search. They’d be lucky to meet the royals inside a dungeon. He caught Valkyn’s eye and gave a brief nod. Aryk dropped his spear and shield, unbuckled his sword belt, removed his mail shirt and coat to reach the second sword slung across his back. He unstrapped his knife sash and a knife from each thigh, pulled the throwing knives from his own boots and removed his gauntlets. Valkyn packed double the weapons Aryk did. Aryk grinned at the sheer number of knives and fourpronged throwing cheqs Valkyn pulled from his hair, his clothing, gauntlets and boots. The guards’ eyes widened at the pile of weaponry on the ground. “Step back,” the sentinel ordered. The portcullis rose with a groan, and the guards approached. Whilst the others watched, the first conducted a thorough search, taking naught for granted. Aryk gritted his teeth at where the man’s hands traveled. A blade there would make walking nigh impossible. Even their mouths and ears were searched. Aryk half expected them to order him to strip; they didn’t.
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They made their way across the courtyard into the main hall. Two fires burned, one at either end. A long wooden table stood atop the dais, with bench seating for mayhaps twenty or so. Colorful tapestries and another raven banner hung from the walls. Valkyn’s unease was palpable. Aryk too felt the weight of the place. All that stone closed in around them. He found himself instinctively eyeing the exits, the shadows. If the native Shamaru were wanderers as Ildiko had said, how had they fared living in the stonebound towns built by the more recent immigrant—some would still say foreign invader—Shamari? A giant of a Shamaru leaned heavily on an ornate walking cane as he approached. Ildiko gasped and raised a shaking hand to her mouth. “F-father?” The man’s jaw dropped. “Ildiko?” He limped forward and grabbed her in a fierce hug which made her grunt. “We thought ye dead, child.” His dark eyes glistened with unspoken emotion. “Welcome home, daughter.” She clung to him, sobbing as if the reality of her return just now hit her. He turned to a fair-skinned Shamari servant lass who swept a nearby corner. “Get Tzigana at once.” The lass blinked her blue eyes and scurried off. Tzigana? Queen Tzigana? Tisht, Ildiko had said naught about living here as part of the royal family. Ildiko seemed of higher rank than Aryk had assumed. If Gefjun had kenned, she’d kept her own counsel. He hated when she did so. He could’ve used the information. Had Ulryk made a princess a whor*, there’d be blood-restitution afore any hope of peace. Shamar had that in common with Isadorikja. A stunning and hugely pregnant Shamaru woman in royal purple robes came running, a younger version of her a half step behind. The uniform Shamaru appearance—black curly hair, dusky skin and dark eyes—was evident in the three women, along with an unmistakable familial stamp. The Shamari, on the other hand, varied in hair and eye color. Interesting how invader and invaded had found peace, living and working together. If they could do it, so could he. “Ildiko!” The younger lass launched herself across the hall with a shriek. “You’re back.” “Jana.” Ildiko turned in her father’s arms and braced herself as the lass hurled into her for a fierce hug. “Oh, I missed you, cousin.” The pregnant Shamaru woman’s gaze narrowed on Aryk and Valkyn even as she rubbed her lower back with both hands. “My thanks for returning our cousin, but I’m curious. Where’s she been these past several seasons, to return in the company of”—she paused—“you?” Had to be Queen Tzigana. Aryk took her measure as he bowed. No woman to trifle with, for all her girth and puffing. “I’m Daq Aryk, and this is my second, Valkyn.” “Ildiko,” Tzigana restated, “where were you?” Ildiko took a deep, shuddering breath. “Daq Ulryk of the Blood River clan abducted me in a summer raid and kept me as a slave ’til he attacked Daq Aryk’s village and lost. When Aryk returned Ulryk’s dead
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to their clan, he claimed their villages and freed me. He and Valkyn brought me home. They wish to speak with you and Wolf.” Tzigana’s lips tightened, dark eyes condemning. Aryk suspected she’d guessed what type of slave Ildiko had been. Ildiko also read her older cousin’s face. “Neither of these men touched me. They rescued me, and they’ve been all that’s kind and courteous on the journey here.” “What would you say to us?” A white-haired warrior with a craggy, weathered face and murky green eyes strode into the room. He had the loose-limbed, rangy stride and rough, shaggy hair of his namesake. He wasn’t as old as that hair would leave one to believe. A simple circlet of gold rested on his brow. The Shamari king, Von Berend? Aryk looked him in the eyes. Old eyes, battle-scarred. This was someone who’d weathered unspeakable loss and lived to regret it. He hoped seasoning and leadership had granted the man an open mind. Aryk read caution and curiosity but no hostility. Tzigana looked to Andorjan. “Clear the hall. Wolf and I would speak to these two.” Everyone obeyed with alacrity, but gossip assuredly ran rampant through the keep. Aryk bowed to the pale-haired king of Shamar and weighed his next words. “I know the manner of slavery my cousin endured,” Tzigana confirmed. “She mayhaps carries that baby-raping riever’s bastard even now. So tell me, riever daq, why should I not gut you on the floor where you stand?” Aryk bristled. His fingers itched for his nonexistent sword, should he need to defend himself. Their long journey and charitable overture seemed to count for naught. Had they returned Ildiko only to be slain for their trouble, simply on the basis of their birth? Wolf laid a hand on Tzigana’s shoulder, and the queen visibly fought to rein herself in. So the king was the reason of the two, the queen the emotion. Aryk studied the other man. He’d heard tales of the legendary warrior who’d fought for peace. Who better to ken his own hope? Mayhaps there was a chance. “Come. Sit with us.” Wolf led the way to the table on the dais and poured all of them a deep red wine with utter lack of ceremony. “You risk much to return a captive lass to her family, entering enemy territory to do so. You travel in winter. Interesting.” “Winter’s for unobserved travel.” Aryk took a seat. “I’ve plans for peace I need help with.” Tzigana glared. “Peace? Your kind’s been our enemy since the beginning of time, riever. One good deed can’t undo generations of death and destruction.” “If I succeed, the raids will cease.” For their children’s sakes, they must. Wolf’s eyes narrowed in a face of stone. “You’re as clannish as the Arcadian borderers of the Dragon’s Back Mountains. You’ve no central leader to make such a claim, let alone enforce it. Have politics changed on the Isle of Ice, northman?”
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“Not yet.” Valkyn shifted on his bench. It creaked. Wolf raised a pale eyebrow. “I’m listening.” Tzigana’s smoldering gaze singed Aryk. He held up his two daq medallions of hammered copper disks—one of a rounded pyramid for Widowmaker Mountain and one with the undulating serpentine pattern of Blood River. “My territory now spreads across the southern coast of Isadorikja, from Widowmaker Mountain to the Blood River. Double the warriors answer to me but twice the mouths to feed. Raids keep children from starving. Our growing-and-gathering season’s short. I tire of seeing folk go hungry, but most of all I tire of being treated as riever. We’re folk same as you.” A touch of softness graced Tzigana’s dark eyes, mayhaps at the mention of the children. She curled slim arms about her round belly. “What do you propose?” Aryk leaned forward across the table. “I’d unite my folk into a single nation. I prefer reason to bloodshed, commerce to raids. We’d trade for needs instead of stealing.” “There’s another,” Valkyn warned, “bent on uniting the clans under his own banner.” “As I said, our folk tire of fighting each other. They will unite, but under whose banner makes an enormous difference.” Aryk stared at his hosts. “Daq Beloq creates an invasion force, one united to take whatever he covets.” “What do you want from us?” Tzigana asked. “Support. A voice of reason at our back. Food and building materials. When folk see our own live better without having to steal, fight and kill for it, they’ll be more inclined to join us.” “You’d bribe them?” Tzigana demanded. Wolf said naught, just watched the combatants. “Call it what you will. Set an example of what peaceful trade would get them.” “What have you to offer?” Wolf asked. Tzigana snorted. “Aside a trained army?” “For start, unique dyes and medicines from plants that grow only on Isadorikja. As far as materials go, we have this.” He removed a handful of wool from beneath his belt. “Yaga wool, finer than sheep’s, spun for garments or beat into dense felt for rugs or blankets.” He held out his arm to let Tzigana feel his sleeve. “’Tis so soft.” “They’re also effective pack animals,” Valkyn added. “Hardy. Can carry half their body weight and live on next to naught.” “Examine our weapons. Widowmaker Mountain holds veins of Creataq’s Blood, an ore which, when in the hands of a master smith, produces a metal of unsurpassed strength. Not just weapons but tools. Much stronger than your native bronze.” Which was why they chose to remain there, in spite of the harshness of daily life. Wolf produced one of Aryk’s knives and examined the edge. “Like this one?” Valkyn glared, as if in affront.
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“Hai.” Aryk tensed at the other warrior holding a blade—his blade—whilst he was unarmed, and took a sip of wine to relax. Good quality, heavy and spicy with no bitterness. “Keep the blade. A gift of Creataq’s Blood, one ruler to another.” Valkyn caught his eye and shook his head slightly, clearly disapproving. The first time ever an Isadorikjan blade had been separated from its owner without death being a deciding factor. Aryk had to convince these people of his honorable intentions. Wolf and Tzigana exchanged a look Aryk couldn’t decipher. “Join us for dinner and stay the night,” Wolf declared. “Tomorrow we send you south. There are others we need to weigh in on your proposition afore we make a final decision. I urge you to be forthcoming with them.” Tzigana smiled a mysterious variation of grim amusem*nt Aryk liked not at all.
The next morn, Aryk found himself summoned afore dawn and riding hard for some place called Kunigonde Keep. Their Shamaru escort allowed them their weapons but got their revenge by throwing the two northmen up onto horses. The novelty of riding a horse quickly gave way to painful regret. Aryk could appreciate the need for expediency, but the jarring gait, league after pounding league at a steady trot, made his teeth rattle. “Why are we doing this again?” Valkyn puffed out the words between winces. “Horses would give warriors a definitive advantage,” Aryk replied. “There’s probably a trick to it, this riding.” “Far be it for them to share.” Valkyn glared at their silent Shamaru companions. “We should be home guarding our own, not traipsing off to the ends of the earth. We left them alone and undefended. We could return home to find it all gone.” “Not likely. They’re not undefended. Word of our victory over Ulryk should hold the wolves at bay for time enough,” Aryk assured him. “Asides, we have the added advantage of kyras. No other clan would see our women and expect them to be anything other than mother and bedmate.” “The kyras are women whether you turn a blind eye to that or not,” Valkyn stated. “Our women are few, and life is hard. They should be protected and cared for like the limited resource they are, not thrown into battle to bleed and to die alongside their men. Bad enough to lose a father. You’d orphan our children by killing their mothers, also.” “There are other ways to die than battle,” Aryk retorted. “Women aren’t slaves, they’re free people. If they wish to follow the path of the warrior, who are we to deny them the right to choose their own destiny? We do it. Are they less than us?” “Erlynda is my twin sister.” Valkyn clutched the pommel of his saddle as his horse stumbled over a roughened patch of refrozen ice. “We shared a womb. Our hearts beat as one. But she’s a woman. She’s
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smaller, lighter, has a shorter reach and is slower on the run than a man. How can I stand by and sanction her putting herself in harm’s way when she has Birgit to think about?” “Erlynda’s our best scout and an able warrior. How can she stand by and see you and me run that same risk every day?” Valkyn growled. “’Tis not the same thing.” “’Tis exactly the same thing.” Valkyn eyed him. “I had hoped mayhaps you’d marry her and save her from herself. Then we would be brothers in truth.” Aryk shook his head. “We don’t care for each other enough in that way. Asides, I honestly can’t see Erlynda marrying anyone. She’s worked too hard on her freedom to give it up now.” “The freedom of combat?” Valkyn scoffed. As if sensing its rider’s mood, his horse flattened its ears and snapped at Aryk’s mount. Aryk watched Fiske bounding aside him, a safe distance from the horses’ hooves. “Life is hard on everyone. Disease and privation stalk us all. Women miscarry, die in childbirth, burn away from milk fever. Whether they passively await death or choose to meet it head-on, it comes for us all in its own time.” “And this mad quest of yours helps us how?” “Peace gives us a chance to work toward prosperity, gives us fewer ways to die.” “Mayhaps if you ceased giving Creataq’s Blood away like birthing day gifts. Our greatest advantage is useless to us if in another’s hands.” Aryk shifted in his saddle as his horse snorted and tossed its head. “I was wondering when you’d bring that up.” “Since when do we fear Halzyaq’s hall?” Valkyn challenged. “I’d look my fathers in the eye and match them tale for tale at the table. What good is Creataq’s Blood without the blood? What would you have us do? We’re warriors. We’re not farmers to turn swords into plows.” “The Shamari immigrants were warriors, but after conquering Shamar, they settled and built a great civilization.” “On the blood and bones of the conquered Shamaru. I ken the tales well. Is that what you’d have us become? Lazy merchants behind great stone walls? What a sight we’ll make in the hall. Fat old men without weapon or scar.” Valkyn sneered. “Is it enough for you?” Aryk asked. “The birthing and the dying and the burning? Do you dream of naught else? Ever?” Valkyn snorted. “You dream enough for the both of us. If we no longer guard kith and kin, what’s left?” “You still guard me as your father protected my father,” Aryk said. “That won’t change.”
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Valkyn looked solemn. “How do I save you from yourself? You look to other nations, to some mythical future. You forget where you come from.” “I don’t forget my fathers,” Aryk insisted. His heart stuttered, and his throat tightened. “I am Isadorikjan. I bow to Creataq and Halzyaq. I honor the festivals. But I would rise above our fathers. If we can’t better ourselves, our children and our world, then what’s the point? Why are we even here occupying space?” Valkyn glowered but seemed to have no answer for that question. Battered and bruised until he could scarce haul himself in and out of the saddle as they changed horses every five leagues, Aryk doubted his ability to even draw a weapon should the need arise. Valkyn fared no better. They took shelter in a way station at the end of the day, collapsed into bedrolls on cots until rising the next morn afore dawn. The short night wasn’t enough to keep the nightmare at bay. Joro drowning in his own blood to mocking female laughter… Aryk awoke in a cold sweat, chilled to the bone. The Shamaru were unwilling to socialize with their northmen charges. They provided mounts, food and shelter, but naught else. Aryk watched them watch him, saw how they kept a hand on a weapon at all times. The beauty of the surrounding rolling countryside was wasted on Aryk during the long, cold ride. Valkyn was disinclined to speak further, and the long silence gave Aryk too much time to think. Dark thoughts that made sleep elusive. These men might be ordered to take them from Ravenscroft to Kunigonde, but their manner spoke volumes as to what they thought of Aryk and Valkyn. Soon enough he was too tired for speaking anyway but found the hostile isolation unsettling. Never had he felt farther from home. But if he could succeed, it would all be worth it. He clung to that thin hope. Three days of this hard relay riding, changing horses and armed escort every five leagues carried Aryk and Valkyn southwestward across the country of Shamar. Alternating patches of field and forest brought them to the towering fortress of Kunigonde Keep. Built into the mountain itself rather than atop it, the keep bristled with defenses, even more of a fortress than Ravenscroft. Fiske flopped panting in the snow, breath steaming about him, as they drew to a halt on the lowered drawbridge. A leaping brown stag against a green background fluttered overhead, the banner edged in a border of white interlocking knots. Aryk watched their latest Shamaru guide hand a parchment scroll to one of the Shamari sentinels at the gate. Another guard sprinted away to return with two uniformed, armed-and-armored women. Aryk swung his leg over and dropped to the ground. The shock of that blow coursed through him. He clung to the saddle a moment until he was sure his burning legs wouldn’t collapse beneath him. Determined to ignore the smirks of his Shamaru escort, he turned from his horse to greet the women…and froze. He eyed the taller of the two, by far the scariest woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Even Wolf didn’t project such an air of cold lethal menace as the statuesque kyra standing afore them. Had to be the much-discussed Van
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Marete, commander of Kunigonde and guardian of the border passes betwixt southernmost Shamar and northernmost Arcadia. Beneath her close-cropped flaxen hair, pale frosty aquamarine eyes scanned Wolf’s message. “Well, ’tis rude to leave you in the cold like raw cadets. Remove your weapons. Captain Gayle stands ready to assist you if need be.” Aryk considered Kunigonde’s captain of the guard. A brunette with hard experience seared into her eyes. Twisted. He’d not want to be drinking around her if she nursed a grudge. But she was still a safer bet than her commander. After their weapons lay on the ground, Gayle conducted a search as thorough as they’d endured at Ravenscroft. “Easy there, woman,” Valkyn murmured. “I plan on more children.” If the long brutal ride hadn’t ended that possibility for all time. Gayle bared teeth in a parody of a smile. “Don’t push me, riever. I’d sooner cut it off.” Tisht, did everyone in the world hate them? “Store their weapons, Gayle,” Van Marete ordered. “You two come with me.” As they stumbled in her wake, Aryk noted Valkyn’s gaze follow the shift of her backside beneath her breeches. The man had a death wish. Could he not sense what she was? Within the hall, a man awaited them. Correction, a… What was he? “Cianan, Wolf sent these two.” Van Marete crossed the floor to the black-haired fellow with the slanted brows and pointed ears. Aryk stiffened. Whatever Cianan was, he wasn’t human. “Elven ranger.” Cianan turned his measuring cobalt gaze on Aryk and Valkyn. Archer’s gaze, calculating angle and distance as most men breathed. Elf. Aryk froze. He’d heard tell of such rumored to live far to the east. Warriors with extraordinary powers, said to be immortal. Certain bands of Isadorikjan rievers had gone against an elven-fortified army in past southern battles—to their doom. Were those tales true, ’twas no one Aryk wished as an enemy. Deciding to test his archer theory, he held out a hand. “I’m Daq Aryk, and this is my second, Valkyn.” Cianan shook his hand, and Aryk noted the telltale archer’s calluses. “I am Cianan. This is Maleta.” So Van Marete was a title and Maleta her name? “Sit.” Cianan motioned them to the nearest padded bench. He sat where Maleta could join him. They shared an intimate glance. Aryk wasn’t sure he ever wanted to sit again. He did so gingerly, trying not to appear as sore as he felt. He noted their matching rings. So, they were a mated couple. How had an elven warrior met and mated a human woman? Brave man, to tame an assassin. “Risky time of the year for travel,” Cianan began. “Why not wait for safer weather?”
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“The fewer who learn we’re about, the better. We ken we’re unwelcome.” He paused to consider that understatement. “I’d change such by ending the raids.” He felt the intensity of Cianan’s gaze sharpen even more at that. Even after Wolf’s message, he’d surprised them with that statement. A wealth of skepticism colored Maleta’s tone. “Just like that? How?” “I’d unite all the Isadorikjan clans under one rule—mine.” Aryk let them take it in. “I want more for my folk than a short hard life on the edge. I’d have Isadorikja become a nation of traders, explorers. We told Wolf and Tzigana what we’d trade, what we’d need in return.” “Do you think me a fool? How do I know,” Maleta asked, “you won’t just unite into one massive invasion force? Separate clans are bad enough. United, you’d be even more of a threat.” “There’s another daq trying to do just that,” Valkyn admitted. “Beloq the Bloody is a true riever lost to the lia’s song,” Aryk clarified. “War flows through his heart like the blood through his veins.” “What’s lia?” Maleta asked. “Battle-song,” Valkyn replied. “The surge of energy a warrior gets in combat.” “What makes you so different?” she challenged Aryk. He read his death in her eyes. “To some like Beloq, ’tis addictive. They fight without pause for when, where or why.” Aryk considered his next words. “Not all lose themselves to it. A strong voice of reason to lead them in other pursuits would benefit both my own folk and yours.” And one day might relegate the word riever to myth and legend. He could but hope. “Your voice?” Cianan’s gaze burned into Aryk’s as if weighing more than his words. “Hai.” Aryk held up his copper medallions. He had to convince them. “I’m the son of a seeress and daq of two clans. We don’t hold slaves. I free the ones I find. We returned a captive Shamaru lass to her kin. Andorjan’s daughter. Tzigana seemed happy to see Ildiko.” Maleta and Cianan shared a quick, startled look. Apparently that hadn’t been mentioned in Wolf’s message. “I’d no idea Ildiko still lived,” the woman said. “How a man with mother, sister”—Aryk shot Valkyn a pointed look—“daughter or niece could enslave or force a woman, I’ll never understand. I aim to stop it as well.” Maleta relaxed a fraction. Cianan stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. Aryk watched the silent communication, a bond so close it seemed they read each other’s thoughts. Never in his life had he kenned such. The contrast with his own inner wasteland struck a discordant tone. Valkyn and Erlynda could be counted as friends, each in different ways, but he could claim true intimacy with neither. What hope was there of someone seeing past the riever, past the daq, to the man within? Probably somewhere around Valkyn melting his axehead into a hoe.
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“You speak the truth,” Cianan said. “This concerned Tzigana. She knows I can discern truth from lie. You have some obstacles ahead. Difficult enough to unite peaceful factions.” “Why not remove Beloq? Be done with it?” Maleta asked. Remove. She meant kill. Assassin’s question. He’d been correct about her. Aryk set his jaw. “I’d prefer to challenge him from a position of strength. One by one, I’d approach each clan, make my proposal and see where they stand. ’Tis a matter of killing a rival daq who won’t yield whilst recruiting those who do. I look to unite, not to destroy.” “But neither can there be dissention among the ranks,” she reminded him. “You shall need someone to watch your back,” Cianan added. “An outside warrior to show your connection to us but capable of protecting you against harm. An elven observer could provide counsel and assistance in a transition to peace. We have had recent experience with integration and diplomacy.” Valkyn growled. “I protect my daq.” “But you cannot be everywhere at once, nor can you go without sleep.” Cianan held up a hand. “We approve the trade agreement. We know what it is to see younglings go hungry.” He and Maleta shared a bitter look which told Aryk there was a tale or two behind his statement. “I know just the people you need to see.” Aryk tired of being passed around like a loaf of bread. “Whom did you have in mind?” Cianan smiled. “My brother and his wife.” “Loren and Dara?” Maleta snickered. “Oh, perfect.” An elven guide had possibilities, but their inflection gave him pause. What did he miss?
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Chapter Two
After a hot bath, a cooked meal and the first full night’s sleep he’d had in a month, free of the nightmare—how had that happened?—Aryk felt ready to tackle anything they threw his way. Except this. He eyed the swirling iridescence of the mock-mirror hanging on the wall in the otherwise empty stone chamber Cianan led them to at sunrise. “What is that?” “Elven magic,” Cianan replied. “A gateway connecting our home here to the palace in Poshnari-Unai, our capital city.” Valkyn looked at it suspiciously. “How?” Fiske growled and paced afore them, hackles raised. It wasn’t reassuring. Cianan shrugged. “I do not know the how of it. Poshnari-Unai is a thousand leagues away, on the border of the Shadowlands, beyond the human realm. By stepping through the gate, we can be there in moments.” A thousand leagues? Aryk’s stomach lurched just trying to fathom the implications of that. A boat, a sword, even an accursed horse—these were physical things he understood. This thousand-leagues-in-amoment gate-thing made his mind reel. He glanced at Valkyn’s white face and swallowed hard as he strove for nonchalance. It eluded him. “Does it speed up our passage or shorten the distance?” Aryk asked. There had to be some logic here. “Both.” Cianan smiled. “’Tis safe. I travel back and forth regularly. I am still whole. I would introduce you to King Loren and Queen Dara. They are eager to meet you.” “They’re going to help us?” Valkyn pressed. “Peace with the north is in everyone’s best interests,” Cianan replied. “Time is of the essence.” “Every day we spend away from home, you risk another attack on Svaaldur,” Valkyn reminded Aryk. His shoulders were tight, his back rigid. “Tales of Ulryk’s defeat will hold the wolves at bay for only so long.” “I ken that.” Urgency pressed in hard, trying to steal his breath. They had to return as soon as possible. If this accursed “gate” was the way to do it, then so be it. Aryk nodded. “What do we do?” “Step through. The gate will do the rest of the work. Be warned, ’tis a speedy but rough passage. It plays havoc with your stomach and leaves a headache afterward. We have a healer waiting on the other side, prepared to reverse the effects.”
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The warning made it seem more real. Cause and effect was something Aryk understood. “No point in waiting. Better to be done with it.” “Follow me.” The elf stepped into the gate and vanished. Valkyn caught Aryk’s arm. “It could be a trap.” Aryk shook his head. “If they wished us dead, they’ve had ample time to kill us afore now. You may stay here if you wish. I’ll not make you go.” “You’re not going without me. You might need me over there.” Valkyn shuddered. “You’ll have to go afore me. Fiske will follow you.” Aryk glanced down at the growling dog. He wasn’t convinced Fiske would go in, even for him. “If he won’t, carry him.” “And when he bites my nose off?” “Cianan mentioned a healer.” Aryk cracked a weak smile, took a deep breath and entered the shimmering light into an iridescent horror. First hot, then cold, it stirred him about like a chicken in a soup. Upside down, backward, inside out—he had no idea how much time passed afore it flung him out on the other side. Cianan caught him afore he slammed into the wall. Head and stomach twirled about, chasing each other as he struggled to focus. A blurry blond elf with green eyes placed a hand on his head. Aryk’s world righted in a rush of warmth. He struggled to draw a normal breath as Fiske emerged with an agonized howl, and the healer had his hands full with the thrashing, snarling dog. Valkyn followed several heartbeats later, landing awkwardly on hands and knees, retching. Cianan and the healer helped him to his feet. “Now you know why we gate afore we eat.” Cianan’s face and tone were sympathetic. Aryk rubbed Fiske’s ears and looked around yet another empty room, save ’twas of gleaming white marble rather than grey stone. “This is it?” He’d expected something on a grander scale if this were truly of elven design. “This is it.” Cianan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Can you not feel it? Smell it?” “What?” Aryk asked. “The Light.” Cianan opened his eyes, a shock of glowing cobalt. “Home.” Aryk wondered if the elf had cracked his head on that wall. “You are in for a show,” Cianan continued. “Your timing could not be more perfect, as if the gods had a hand in it. You want an elven bodyguard. The graduation ceremony for this year’s senior cadets is tomorrow. There’s a tournament, followed by the graduation ceremony and an evening celebration. You’ll get to meet our warriors and mayhaps find the one to accompany you back. Any one of them would regard it as an adventure. Your lands are as exotic to us as ours are sure to seem to you.” Valkyn snorted. A chill chased down Aryk’s spine at their precipitous timing. He didn’t believe in coincidences.
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“If you need naught else from me, I shall return to my rounds,” the healer stated. “My thanks for your assistance, Brannan,” Cianan said. The healer left, and Cianan turned to Aryk and Valkyn. “The king can see you now. I shall take you to him, and then someone shall show you to your quarters.” Someone equated to guard. There’d be no wandering without escort. Indeed, two armed elven warriors fell into step behind them the moment they stepped out into the corridor, weapons shining like polished mirrors. Aryk barely noticed them as the grandeur of their surroundings registered. Gleaming white marble lined the hallway, lit at regular intervals by peculiar torches with neither heat nor flame nor smoke. They followed a green woolen runner, done in a repeating pattern of entwined, leafy vines. An occasional tapestry or portrait graced the walls. A carved border with gilded inlay divided ceiling from wall. They passed by several doors afore a pillar-flanked archway opened onto a downward spiral staircase. A tiny whirlwind with long copper curls dashed up the stairs toward them. ’Twas a wee lass of mayhaps four but no older. Definitely younger than Joro. “Hullo,” she puffed as she whizzed by. A moment later, she sped by them again—heading back down, seated backward on the railing. Her gleeful laughter made Aryk smile even as it caused a pang in his chest. Why did children think themselves indestructible, seeing only the thrill and never the risk? What if she fell? The laughter was abruptly cut off as an older elven woman in black velvet neatly plucked the lass from the railing. “Now I have you,” the woman declared. The wee hoyden pouted. “I never get to have any fun.” “When fun involves something that does not risk a broken neck, we shall discuss it,” she scolded in a tone of fond exasperation. “Now back to the nursery with you.” Who were they? Aryk shook his head as he watched the woman lead the lass back up the stairs and disappear down the hall. Didn’t that sound familiar? Joro splashing in the creek last summer. “Just a bit longer, Papa,” he’d cajoled, until he’d turned wrinkled and the lips clamped around his chattering teeth turned blue. “I don’t wanna go back yet.” Last year, a child. Next year, a warrior-in-training. Nay, not if he could help it. Cianan continued down the stairs. In a grand antechamber lit by an enormous crystal chandelier, two armed guards flanked a wide set of double doors, which they opened as the visitors approached. Within, two older men stood with a younger man at a sideboard, goblets in hand. By the crown, Aryk judged the younger man to be the king. The older men, his advisors? They turned to him, and Aryk noted the stance and the scars of the one who moved to place himself between the king and themselves. A warrior, then. Aryk’s gaze swept the room from the refreshments on the sideboard past the gilded pair of swanwinged thrones on the dais to the giant portrait of a stern-faced elven warrior on a rearing white horse. Two
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smaller doors, no windows, no shadows or drapery for hiding. Feeling the king’s gaze on him, he returned his attention to the others. Unsure of protocol, he bowed. “Be at ease,” the king urged, “and welcome.” “My king,” Cianan stated, “I bring visitors from the northern kingdom of Isadorikja. Daq Aryk, Valkyn, our high king, Loren ta Cedric. With him are Lord Pari and my father, Lord Elio.” Aryk found himself unable to tear his gaze away from the depths of the elven king’s green eyes. Still pools of peace and tranquility that felt like a seer’s reading, as if his very soul was being weighed and measured. His heart stopped. What if he was found wanting? He had a feeling Lord Elio was present for just such a possibility. Whatever the king sensed, Aryk and Valkyn must have passed the test, because a moment later, Elio stepped back. With an ironic smile, Cianan poured them each a goblet of golden wine, taking a sip from each cup afore handing it over. Aryk took a sip. ’Twas smooth and dry, not too sweet—the best he’d ever had. “You have come a long way,” King Loren opened their discussion. “Cianan tells an interesting tale of rievers seeking to hang up their swords.” Aryk flinched at the word riever despite himself. “My people raid each other as well as the outlands.” “You, also?” “When I was but a simple warrior, I was sworn to follow my daq,” Aryk stated. “Since I’m now daq, my people follow me. I have a different vision, a different plan. I haven’t led a raid since I took the red cloak. I’ve but defended my own. Three times they’ve struck against me and mine. Each time I’ve driven them back. But I tire of rebuilding. We never seem to get ahead.” “And uniting them is the solution?” “Hai.” Aryk felt conviction flood his body, the tingle of raw energy. “With a shared identity, they’d no longer be separate peoples. Not Widowmaker or Blood River but Isadorikjans. As a nation, we’d seek to be recognized by the other nations as peers, as trading partners. It won’t be easy. My people ken no other way, but they yearn for something more. We all tire of being cold and hungry, of burning our children’s bodies as they succumb afore adulthood. I’d create a new class of merchants and craftsmen, give children options other than warrior.” “And you seek our support. An elven aide to assist and bear witness and stand as a tangible stamp of our approval.” “Cianan’s idea,” Aryk said, “which has merit. It does little good to succeed if none on the outside kens what transpires at home. We’re an isolated island, my lord.” “Your timing is no coincidence,” Loren mused. “I sense the Destiny Hand in this.” “We have a saying,” Aryk said. “Stovak nos briel. Destiny awaits.”
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“Indeed.” Loren shared a look with Cianan, then seemed to reach a conclusion. The elven king straightened. “Well, I invite you to sit with us at the cadet tournament tomorrow. For now, we have quarters made ready for you. On the ground floor with a door leading out to the gardens, so your dog may be more comfortable.” “My thanks, my lord.” Aryk bowed again. “I look forward to tomorrow, then.” “It shall be an interesting day.” Aryk took that as a dismissal. Setting their empty goblets on the sideboard, he and Valkyn followed their guards from the hall. Fiske’s nails clicked on the tiles as they were shown to a suite of rooms in the east wing. A main sitting room, two sleeping chambers and a necessary, which the guard explained replaced the usual chamber pot. A door opened to the outside, a rolling expanse of lawn and neatly trimmed hedge for Fiske to indeed stretch his legs. “We shall have someone at either door, ready to assist you, my lords.” The guard stepped outside. The other guard stepped back out into the hallway. Their message was clear. No unaccompanied escort, within or without. Unarmed humans were still viewed as a threat. Aryk found a basket of dog toys, and he and Valkyn walked around the gardens, tossing a ball for Fiske to fetch. The guard maintained a discreet distance in their wake. On the far side of the gardens, an elven couple sat on a stone bench beneath a huge spreading elm tree. Their glowing, inhuman beauty struck him as a harsh contrast to his own scarred mortality. The man took his lady’s hand, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. They looked happy, peaceful, communing without a spoken word. Relaxing in a fragrant garden, no weapons, no need to watch for unseen enemies. Aryk again felt that pang echo within. He’d spoken the truth to Valkyn on the ride to Kunigonde. Even as close as he was to Erlynda, there was naught romantic betwixt them. Whom could he trust enough to relax with, open up to? Everything was a competition, everyone had an agenda. Here more than ever. Human. Daq. Riever. The differences seemed to outweigh the similarities. “What do you think?” Valkyn’s question pulled his thoughts back to the present. Aryk shaded his eyes as he watched Fiske lunge through a hedge after the ball, emerging a moment later with a twig dangling from his ear. “I wouldn’t let the grandeur fool you. These elves are fully capable warriors. You’ve heard the tales of the battle for Riverhead. Westmarche’s forces were decimated, and the elves had a hand in that. Don’t underestimate them.” He threw the ball again. Tisht, it felt as if he talked himself through it more than Valkyn. “You believe the tales of immortality and invincibility?” Valkyn asked. “Look around you.” Aryk swept a hand, indicating their surroundings. “Advancements like this don’t happen overnight.” “Can you see such things as this back home?” Valkyn shook his head. “We have naught in common with them.”
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“I can guarantee they weren’t always like this. We have much in common with them. They dwell in buildings and use light to combat the dark of night. As far as they’ve come, they still have an academy to train warriors. They have children. They grow older.” “Speaking of warriors, Cianan’s hand was warm when I touched it. I’ll wager they bleed same as us when wounded. Bet that means they can die. So why do you think that makes them better than us?” “Not better, just more advanced,” Aryk assured him. “I can see the awe on your face,” Valkyn retorted. “You’re wagering a lot on the outcome of this visit. How do you ken you can trust them?” “We focus on the similarities, emphasize the mutual benefit. The tournament should be educational tomorrow. Watch and learn.” Valkyn still looked skeptical. Aryk kenned he had a ways to go to convince his second.
Aryk froze as he and Valkyn entered the royal box the next morn. Cianan and Pari sat with Loren. There were two women with them. The older elven woman who’d rescued the child from the banister yesterday, and a red-haired woman who was clearly neither elven nor human. A faint scaled pattern decorated her golden skin. She turned to him, and piercing gold eyes with strange horizontal pupils captured his gaze. A sudden wave of lust made his knees tremble, and he locked them to remain upright. How could he be drawn to a woman who looked like she’d like naught better than to hang him from the balcony? He searched his memory. Dragon. Had to be. He’d heard tales of their signature red hair and sensual allure. Unwelcome reality the tales were true. He forced himself to stillness, wishing she’d look elsewhere but unwilling to be the first to break eye contact. Unwise to show weakness afore a predator. “My wife, Queen Dara,” Loren introduced them. “Daq Aryk, Valkyn, have a seat.” “My father is King Hengist of Riverhead,” Dara growled. Aryk watched the red stone in the gold torque around her neck start to glow with an ominous light, and he shivered at the chill of dread. More magic? “Does that name sound familiar, riever?” That made his dragon half-human. Astonishing that one of her kind had mated with one of his. That children of such a union were even possible. The possibilities seemed boundless. His stomach clenched at her words. Would that one moment of infamy dog their steps for all time? They hadn’t even been there; guilt by association yet again. “I’ve never met the man,” Aryk stated. “Nay.” She glared. “If you had, you’d be dead.” “We are all friends here, vertenya.” Cianan broke the tension. “These men were not party to that attack.”
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She glared at the dark-haired ranger as King Loren raised her hand to his lips. As soon as her gaze was off him, Aryk’s tension subsided. The red stone’s glow faded, and he took his first deep breath. The sense that he’d been spared left an uneasy feeling in the back of his mind. Aryk and Valkyn sat in the empty seats next to their best ally. It looked to be a long day. Trumpets sounded, and Aryk turned his attention to the field. Colorful banners fluttered in the breeze. “What do the banners represent?” Valkyn asked him. “I’ve no idea,” Aryk replied. “The rising sun represents our goddess the Lady of Light, and the green one with the tree represents the elven land of Cymry,” Loren explained. “The dragon pennant is mine,” Dara added. Aryk saw Valkyn squirm beneath her burning glare, like a squire caught after curfew. “Each graduating class designs their own.” Cianan broke the tension again. “One per year.” “So many.” Valkyn’s eyes glazed as he looked around. Hundreds of banners, each one unique, surrounded the field. Two groups of armed warriors emerged from a tent at either end. They were all dressed in black, veiled to hide their features. The left group bore gold arm bands. The right group bore silver ones. “Gold for the queen and silver for the king,” Pari clarified. Lord Elio stepped out betwixt the two teams, numbering fifty each. “This tournament is tradition for each graduating class,” he called out. “Prior to the graduation ceremony, this annual game of capture the enemy’s flag is played as the tournament opener. An injury shall cause the armband to disappear. If that happens, thou shalt leave the field immediately. First team to capture the enemy’s flag wins.” Take-or-defend was a game played out every day on Isadorikja, sometimes for practice and sometimes for deadly real. Aryk watched, riveted, as a melee ensued. To the uninitiated, it might look like utter chaos. But he could see orchestrated patterns in the ebb and flow of the conflict. He watched the two leaders’ styles, and the shape of the conflict quickly revealed itself. He frowned. “These are cadets?” “Aye.” Loren glanced over at him. “Why?” Aryk could scarce credit what he was seeing. “I ken who’s going to win.” “At this early stage?” Cianan scanned the field, the black-clad warriors streaming back and forth, the clash of weapons ringing in the air. “Care to place a wager on it? One of my blades for one of yours?” “Done. Gold leader.” “How can you tell?” Valkyn asked. “Silver’s pressing him on all sides. They’re halfway to gold’s flag.”
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“Hai, and they’re getting too strung out along a thin line,” Aryk replied. “Silver’s too aggressive, too impatient. His men are getting separated to where they can no longer defend each other. Each man for himself is no way to take or defend a position.” Dara cast Loren a triumphant glance. Loren was too busy studying Aryk and appeared not to notice. “You are certain?” the king asked. “My lord, I’ve played this game for twenty years. Did I not ken the venue, I’d swear you threw a seasoned warrior in the mix. Do they all take the same classes in tactics?” “Aye.” “Then he was the only one paying attention. Watch.” Aryk stared, riveted as the gold leader flowed around and through his troops, keeping them together, slowly retreating back to his flag. He had an uncanny knack for plugging a weak spot afore that weakness became a fatal opening. Silver taunted and feigned, but gold didn’t fall for it. Aryk watched the silver line get longer and thinner. There were too few guarding the silver flag. Even with all the gold troops at their own end of the field, if they took out the silver attackers and turned finally to an attack of their own, there would be too few defenders to stop them. The rout was already in progress. “’Tis already over. They just don’t realize it yet.” The end, when it came, was swift and decisive. Gold team fell on silver with a vengeance, and twenty silver warriors were on the sidelines without their armbands almost afore they realized what had happened. The few to escape seemed to realize they didn’t have enough to capture the gold flag and rushed to help their comrades defend their own. But gold was already ahead of them, swarming over the silver defenders and grabbing the flag. ’Twas over. Aryk’s head swam as he watched silver leader salute gold leader as they returned to Lord Elio. His heart pounded. What were the chances of him interviewing that warrior? “My blade is yours,” Cianan conceded. How would an elven blade feel in his hand? Like everything else around him, the weight and balance would probably be flawless, without equal. Aryk recalled the glowing weapons his guards had borne and could scarcely wait to ken for himself. The silver warriors, save for their leader, left the field. The remaining gold warriors stood at attention afore Lord Elio. “Congratulations, gold team. This concludes the team phase of the competition. Now on to the first part of the individual phase. Single combat. Count off by twos.” Sword and long-knife. Elven speed was incredible—’twas humbling to watch. No small wonder they’d triumphed at Riverhead. If these were but cadets, he could only imagine how capable a full-fledged, experienced elven warrior must be. He watched the gold leader carefully. Smooth and graceful in his movements, like water—or a cat. The warrior was smaller than his opponents, shorter and slighter, but made up for that in speed, flexibility and an uncanny gift for evasion. Like a runty pup who turned out to be the pick of the litter.
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The longer he watched, the more it nagged at him. Gold’s way of moving…like someone back home… Nay. ’Twas not possible. Loren cast that sideways glance at him. “Something on your mind, Daq Aryk?” Realization struck like a hammer. “She’s a woman.” Valkyn choked as gold leader squared off against silver leader, the last two standing. Cianan grinned. “What gave her away?” Loren and Dara didn’t look surprised by his revelation—only his discovery of it. Part gymnastics, part dance and amazing speed, her sheer endurance to outlast all her male counterparts…gods, her grasp of tactics and patience beyond her experience… Aryk watched her bend over backward to escape silver’s blade, continuing into a back walkover to regain her feet. Silver struck a brutal blow to her thigh, knocking her sideways to the ground, but she rolled and retaliated with a hard strike to his torso. Ribs were fragile things, and Aryk wasn’t surprised when silver went down—and stayed there. Gold staggered back away from him, favoring her left leg. Relief washed over Aryk that she was limping but able to bear weight on it. A bruise, then, not a break. Valkyn shook his head. “Impossible. No woman defeated all those men.” Queen Dara snorted. “My people,” Lord Elio announced, “behold your champion—Verdeen te Seppala.” “First woman to graduate in ages.” Dara’s expression, and tone, was smug. “Top of her class.” Aryk watched, spellbound, as she ripped off hood and veil to reveal tight coils of braided wheaten hair. His breath caught in his throat at her delicate features. So lovely. The damp black silk clung to her slender curves, tightening across her breasts as she stretched. Time seemed to stop as her full lips curved in a smile and she raised a small hand to brush a strand of hair from her eyes. What color were they? He had to meet her, to hear her voice, to have her smile at him. “Stovak nos briel,” he whispered. His heart pounded, making him dizzy. Never had he felt this way about a woman afore. Now he had to tamp down the urge to rush down there and carry her off for himself. Utter riever madness. Rather than acknowledge the scattered applause—most folk seemed too stunned to react—she reached down and helped silver to his feet. She had to be exhausted, but the proud line of her back never wavered. After helping her classmate off the field, she retrieved a bow and joined a dozen men back on the field as archery targets were set up. “’Tis not over?” “This is a separate demonstration,” Loren replied. “No one has beaten my record yet,” Cianan added.
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Diabolical to hold the archery contest after the tournament, when weariness and aching muscles would most cause one’s aim to wobble. Probably the reason for the low number of contestants. He watched Verdeen take her place at the end of the line with but the slightest of limps. Her pale braids shone in the sun. What would her hair look like down? Her long, delicate fingers curled around the ashwood bow, and his gaze riveted to the black silk of her breeches tightening across the lush curve of her backside as she bent over for an arrow. Each archer’s fletching was a different color—hers was gold, for the queen. She placed her arrow and drew the string back until Aryk vowed he could feel the hum of tension radiating down her slim arm. She anchored herself with her thumb resting at the corner of her mouth, her pink lips pursed and her eyes narrowed in concentration. He imagined his hand cupping her chin, the sharpness of her jaw and the petal softness of her cheek, his thumb sweeping over the fullness of her lower lip. She hardly seemed real, standing there at the end of the line, like something his empty heart had conjured up to taunt him. Archery was a foreign skill to the Isadorikjans, wood being too scarce a resource on the island. Aryk, trying to pull back from her to the competition, could but watch in amazement at the unending shower of multicolored arrows, aimed at stationary and moving targets—even those tossed in the air. But his gaze kept being drawn to the subtle flexing of her lithe body, the deepening curve in her back when she aimed for greater distances, the slight tremble of her sleeve as weariness threatened, the rustle of silk as it flowed around her long legs when she braced and shifted. Even in mounting exhaustion, she possessed an exquisite, catlike grace. At the end, she had not only hit the most targets, but— “She destroyed your record,” Queen Dara crowed. Cianan shook his head, looking dazed. “How?” Loren asked. “He had a perfect record.” Dara clarified. “She also had a perfect record, but she finished sooner.” Time seemed to stop. Aryk stared at the beautiful elven kyra as she, at last, cracked a smile and waved to Queen Dara. Grey. Her eyes were mist grey. She had to feel elated, invincible. He’d never met a woman who’d fascinated him so. “I have to meet her.” “I shall introduce you at the party this evening, once the graduation ceremony and ranger choosing are completed,” Loren assured him.
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Chapter Three
Verdeen pulled her tear-soaked pillow over her head as the knocking on her barracks room door became pounding. “Go away.” Mayhaps she’d just stay in bed for a fortnight or so, at least ’til her public humiliation faded from raw memory. Snick. The door opened as if the lock didn’t exist. “Now is that any way to address your queen?” Dara asked. No mere lock could withstand a determined fire mage. Verdeen was too miserable—and naked after her bath—to rise and curtsy. Let the protocol officer toss her in the dungeon for snubbing royalty. No war mare had chosen her to advance. No white ranger pin adorned her cloak to show her elite warrior status. All she’d sacrificed to become the first female graduate from the military academy in millennia. For what? After all the criticism from both male and female elves, including her own parents, even the war mares conceded a female didn’t belong in the elven military. Tournament victory, graduation ceremony—neither of which were attended by her family—both negated by the telling lack of being chosen to become an elite ranger, the pinnacle of the elven warrior class. Were they correct? Had she just deluded herself for the past five years? “What were you reading this time?” Verdeen heard the queen pick up the book from the bedside table. “The Art of Chivalry? Ugh. This dates back to Kiel Brightblade’s reign. The fool who banned women from the military. Why ever would you be reading this accursed tome?” “I wanted to know why,” Verdeen confessed. “I wanted to understand why he did it.” “Always trying to find the answers in books. Not all tough questions have simple answers. You can’t always look it up.” “I know, but books are a good place to start.” “And did you receive your expected enlightenment?” Dara’s tone was dry. “Nay. All it did was make me angry. As if having breasts makes one incapable of wielding a sword.” “Acourse not, which is why we revoked that particular edict.” “A lot of good that did me. Everyone’s turned against me. My own family didn’t even show. The war mares rejected me…” Verdeen’s voice trailed off. “We’re in a mood. Graduation’s a celebration, not a wake.” “Graduation to what? I’m rather overtrained for the infantry. You know I aspired to becoming a ranger.” “Well, the Destiny Hand has other plans for you.”
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Verdeen removed the pillow, opening her eyes. “You don’t believe in the Destiny Hand.” The queen was her inscrutable half-dragon self. Cats had naught on dragons. “But you elves do. Get dressed. We’ve a party to go to. Your queen commands.” “Close your eyes. I’m naked.” “Don’t be foolish. You used to bathe me, remember?” Dara retorted. “No more stalling. Up.” Verdeen sat up, wincing at the bruise on her thigh. Every muscle ached—her heart most of all. Her best friend Aurelien had gotten in a solid blow during the tournament. She’d kissed the dirt at that one, even though she’d ultimately beaten him. She’d neglected to trance-heal, hadn’t even iced it. Dara noticed, acourse. “That’s a beauty. Shall we dress you to match?” “Ha ha.” Verdeen dragged herself to her feet and grabbed the green velvet dress uniform draped over the back of her rocking chair. “You’re not wearing that.” Anger burned Verdeen’s cheeks. “I bled for this uniform.” Were her parade whites preferable? “We’ve all seen ‘warrior’. You’ve proved yourself. Tonight you dress as ‘woman’.” Not this old argument again. “I worked too hard to convince everyone otherwise.” Dara sighed. “Lass, no one for one moment ever forgot you weren’t a lad—except you. Now, don’t mistake this for a suggestion. Get. Dressed. In a dress.” Verdeen crossed her arms. “I have none.” “Talking to you’s like trying to reason with Elyria.” Dara’s gold eyes flashed as she growled. The red stone in her ever-present spirit-torque brightened with her show of temper. Being compared to the four-year-old half-elven princess was no compliment. Verdeen flung open her closet door, expecting to find just uniforms in varying stages of wear, and froze. “Surprise. Consider it your graduation gift.” ’Twas pearl grey velvet to match her eyes, with silver piping on the high collar and fitted sleeves. Simple, easy to move in, plush like kitten fur. Stunned, Verdeen wriggled into it and swept her still-damp hair aside to let Dara lace the back. Odd how roles reversed. Once she’d laced the queen’s gowns, back when she’d been Dara’s maid. Back when the one thing she’d wanted was a chance to attend the military academy and wear a uniform. Was she unnatural that being lady’s maid to the queen wasn’t enough for her? Even her parents thought her odd—and such a disappointment they’d all but disowned her five years ago. Dara sighed again as Verdeen braided her hair into one long thick plait down her back. “Your hair’s so lovely. I thought just for tonight you’d wear it down.” “A long tangled mess to catch on everything? I think not.” Verdeen yanked on her boots.
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They strode to the academy hall. The courtyard was awash with light, from colored mage lights and fountains to ordinary torches. Lord Elio himself, the silver-haired and regal minister of defense, met them at the double doors atop the marble staircase. “Majesty.” To Verdeen’s shock, he took her hand and bowed over it. “Vertenya, thou didst an old man proud today. Well done.” The ancient title for a female warrior still made her blink when someone addressed her as such. She’d always associated it with Queen Dara. Verdeen swallowed hard at the academy dean’s praise. “Th-thank you, Minister.” “Someone awaits thee inside,” Lord Elio said. “I shall not detain thee.” Mystified, Verdeen entered the hall. She registered the muted sound of music and the honey-scented glow of hundreds of beeswax candles afore strong arms swept her off the wooden parquet floor into a crushing hug. “I knew you could do it.” Cobalt eyes twinkled down at her. “Cianan?” “Put her down, you big oaf,” Dara scolded. “You’re squashing the poor lass.” “Whatever you say.” He grinned down at Verdeen. “You beat my record.” “She annihilated your archery record,” Dara scoffed. Heat flushed Verdeen’s cheeks. “You taught me well, my lord.” “So he did.” King Loren approached, pausing to kiss his wife’s flame-haired temple. “You did us proud, vertenya. I would introduce you to some special guests who traveled here from Shamar with Cianan. Daq Aryk, Valkyn, this is Verdeen, the young graduate you saw triumph in the tournament this morn.” Verdeen blinked. They’d watched the tournament? She vaguely remembered seeing unfamiliar faces in the royal box. What were humans even doing in Poshnari-Unai? Why had King Loren allowed them, utter strangers, at tonight’s celebration? She inclined her head, flustered by their bold perusal. Warriors both. She read it in their assertive stance, their hyperawareness of everything around them. The taller of the two, Valkyn, had golden blond hair and a braided beard to match. Daq—was that a title or his name?—Aryk had no beard to hide his granite jaw. His tawny mane looked to be the one soft thing about him. His gaze captured hers as he took her hand, and she gasped at the shock of awareness that zinged through her, making even her fingertips tingle. The rest of the room just faded into the background. No one had ever caused such a reaction, not in a century surrounded by elven warriors and princes. What made this one mere human different? She studied his eyes, trying to see the man behind the gaze. She read intelligence and resolve in the shifting depths. What color were they? They blurred from hazel green to golden brown. Calloused fingers caressed the skin on the back of her hand, making her gasp. His gaze dropped to her parted lips, and she shivered at the heat in his languid perusal. For a single wild moment, she thought he might kiss her—and was shocked to find herself disappointed when he didn’t. What madness was this? Her heart pounded in her
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throat at the warmth of his hand, the strength in the hard planes of his body. She needed to breathe. Where was all the air? “The honor’s mine, kyra,” he murmured. “I’ve looked forward to meeting you this evening. Congratulations on your victory today. You were remarkable.” She didn’t feel victorious or remarkable, more like exposed, oddly vulnerable. What did kyra mean? His intent interest stole her breath. Stars, they stole her wits. Time for some distance. She pulled her hand free, hoping it didn’t look like the confused retreat ’twas. “My lords.” Verdeen had worked too hard at being a warrior to revert back to a mere woman. But Aryk was so primal. The harsh angles of his face, strengthened by that rugged jaw and the firm, uncompromising line of his mouth, riveted her. Solidly human, with layers of muscle rippling beneath weathered skin covered in short, sun-burnt hairs. So unlike the long, lean hairless elven males. So unlike pesky, refined Prince Brannan, who even now headed her way. His pale healer robes stood out in the deep green sea of military uniforms. Verdeen groaned and glanced around for an exit. No such luck, hemmed in as she was. Dara and Cianan appeared sympathetic. Amusem*nt shone in King Loren’s leaf-green eyes. The king knew how she felt about his younger brother’s pursuit. Empaths knew everything. Aryk, in contrast, looked ready. She feared to speculate for what. Brannan-the-Oblivious smiled and handed her a green-to-rose changling-glass goblet of golden wine. “Congratulations, Verdeen. Graduation day. ’Tis what you always wanted.” Not quite. Not hardly. “Thank you.” Verdeen sipped, trying to ignore Aryk’s rude stare. Prince Brannan’s persistence baffled her. She wasn’t his lifemate, and naught would ruin her warrior reputation faster than becoming a prince’s sensuri. She’d avoided any and all romantic liaisons. She hadn’t met anyone worth fueling more gossip. But Brannan wouldn’t take a hint. Stars, Aryk was distracting. Too intense. Too there. She clenched her fingers around her goblet to stop their trembling. Did no one else feel the challenge pulsing off Aryk’s hard, too-still body? Her gaze slid to Loren, who raised a pale eyebrow and looked bemused. Dracken rue, there was no way to hide from an empath. If he caught the attraction sizzling in the air… “Excuse me.” Unable to take the tension another moment, Verdeen slipped around Cianan and fled to the buffet table. Let them make of it what they would. Aurelien handed her a plate. “Hiding from Prince Brannan? Put him out of your misery.” “I’ve tried. He won’t go away.” She turned to reach for the roast pheasant, accidentally elbowing him. He flinched. “Sorry. They still hurt?” “Ribs are fine. My pride took a pounding, though. Nice move, by the way. Never seen anyone bend so. My spine groans just thinking about it. You must be part cat.” Aurelien served himself a generous portion of meat. “This afternoon did not go as you hoped.”
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Must he bring that up? Verdeen tried not to covet his new ranger’s horsehead pin. It graced his collar, taunting her from beneath a slight gap in his long black hair. “’Tis all right.” “Nay, it is not.” He grasped her arm with his free hand. “Lanakea wanted me to give you a message from her sisters. The war mares did not choose you, not because you were unworthy, but because you are meant for other things. Where you go, they cannot follow.” Verdeen stared into honest, earnest azure eyes. He didn’t lie. “Queen Dara said the same thing.” Her voice wavered, cracked. She blinked away tears. She would not cry. “Have more faith in yourself. You are your own worst enemy.” Well, that killed her appetite. Verdeen tried and failed to swallow the lump in her throat. Time to step out afore she humiliated herself by bawling like a youngling. Abandoning her plate, she slipped outside. Cool moonlight soothed her raw ache, and she found a marble bench out of sight from the main building. Stillness wrapped around her like a blanket. She turned her face to the moon, took a deep shuddering breath. Cianan slid from the shadows. “Want to talk about it?” “Can’t a woman have a little time alone?” “If you truly wished to be alone, you would be.” He sat next to her. “You spend far too much time alone. You brood. You cannot fool an empath. Loren asked me to check on you.” “I’m not brooding. I’m wallowing for a moment.” She glared at him. His face blurred in a hot rush of tears. “I tire of everyone presuming to know what’s best for me. Does no one care what I wanted?” If she sounded petulant, she didn’t care. “You wished to be a ranger.” “Well ’tis not going to happen. What’s the point of having aspirations if they’re j-just going to be crushed?” To her utter horror, she burst into tears. He pulled her into his arms. “Shh, it is all right, youngling. This has been a long time coming. About time you get it out.” “’Tis all your fault. Yours and Dara’s. She changed the world. You changed the world. I j-just wanted my chance to do some world-changing too. Why can’t they understand?” “Who?” “My parents. They didn’t even c-come to graduation.” “I know, lass.” He rubbed her back. “They d-didn’t even let Veona come.” Appalling how soothing his touch. “I thought at least my sister would show.” “I am certain Veona would have attended could she have gotten away.” “You d-don’t change the world by dressing hair and lacing gowns, but the war mares found me unsuitable for advanced training.”
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“They see you on a different path.” “What path? What’s left?” “The Hand reveals Itself in Its own time. Have faith, lass.” Now she knew why Dara hated the Destiny Hand philosophy. Wait around for Destiny to reveal Itself, or get out there and make something happen? Reactive or proactive? “What’s wrong with me? Warriors ddon’t cry.” “For certain they do—cry, curse, rail at fate.” Cianan shook his head. “You are a soldier now. Soldiers follow orders. Trust someone sees a bigger picture than you.” “So I’m what? A pawn in a game of horses and hounds?” “Nay, but you are meant to be more than just a mere ranger. Trust Loren, and when the time comes, show everyone what you are made of. I vow you shall change the world yet.” She sat up and wiped her eyes. “You’re all soggy. I’m sorry.” “No need to apologize. I am accustomed to strong women crying on my shoulder. I have yet to rust. Woman and warrior need not be mutual exclusions. You can be both. It has been done afore, you know.” He stood. “I shall leave you. Father and I have some catching up to do.” Sometimes she forgot he was Lord Elio’s son. The minister of defense and academy dean was so austere. Cianan was anything but. “Thank you.” “You shall always be my friend, no matter what.” He faded into the shadows. The weight of everyone’s portents made her twitchy. She could sit still no longer. Verdeen paced through the lush gardens, letting the honey scent of night-blooming moonflowers soothe her. Their waxy ivory petals glowed in the lights. Thank the Lady goddess everyone seemed to be inside. The splashing of the wishing fountain drew her, and she emerged into a small clearing lit by pink mage light. She wasn’t the first to venture there. She froze at the intimidating figure staring into the shadowy ripples of water. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone was here—” “Don’t go.” Aryk turned from the fountain and held out a sun-bronzed hand. “Stay.” She eyed his hand, wary of his touch. “Daq Aryk, what are you doing out here?” Was he following her? “Just Aryk. I needed quiet.” He raked his hand through his hair. “I felt on display.” She could relate to both parts of that statement, and unexpected sympathy welled for the stranger. As if of its own volition, her body moved closer to him. His eyes drew her gaze. Their intensity made her falter. “Why have you come here to Poshnari-Unai, my city?” “To set my destiny in motion.” His lips quirked at her puzzlement. “Stovak nos briel.” She co*cked her head. “What does that mean?” “‘Destiny awaits.’ Sounds grand and mysterious, hai?” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “’Tisn’t. I’ve a political problem back home. Cianan thought Loren could help.”
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Humans believed in the Destiny Hand? “Well, he’s very good at solving most problems. Everyone’s but mine.” “Your eyes are red. You’ve been crying. Why?” He frowned, but she read genuine concern in his eyes. “Today you triumphed over everyone. I’ve never seen anything like it. You were amazing.” “Really?” She cursed the tremor in her voice, the eager need for approval only too obvious even to herself. His smile softened the harsh planes of his face and deepened the crinkles around his eyes, making him seem younger and less imposing. “Hai. Really. I’ve seen many a warrior in my lifetime. Believe me when I say you’re truly gifted, kyra. Smart, strong and beautiful. Poetry in motion.” Something melted within her at the compliment. There was that word again, kyra, his husky tone almost making it an endearment. “The one thing I wanted most in this world slipped through my fingers this afternoon,” she confessed. “A chance to be selected as a ranger trainee, to further my studies. It didn’t happen.” A tear slid down her cheek. She froze as he reached out to brush it away. “There are many paths to greatness,” he told her. “A warrior’s greatest strength is the scope of his vision. You showed vision and judgment today, but take care lest your focus cause you to miss your true path. A warrior must above all be adaptable to change. The one thing that never changes is the fact that everything changes.” Aryk held out his hand again, palm up, and Verdeen found herself reaching to take it. Big mistake. His thick, scarred fingers slid over hers in a caress which made her tingle in places not even remotely attached to her hand. She entwined her fingers with his to still them and bit her lip at the zing of awareness as his thumb brushed across the sensitive skin of her inner wrist. “Cease,” she whispered. “Cease what?” His voice dropped to a smooth, dark seduction of lethal proportions. “This?” His fingers teased hers with long, light strokes. “Or this?” He rubbed gentle circles over her pulse, which hammered at his touch. She should pull away but didn’t move. Couldn’t move. “This isn’t proper.” Some rebellious part of her didn’t care. “Do you always do what’s proper, kyra?” She had to know. “What’s kyra mean?” “’Tis a term for a woman warrior.” Verdeen nodded. “We also have such a term, ancient and seldom used. Vertenya. Few exist in our world to carry such a title.” According to Cianan, there were now but two—Queen Dara and herself. Aryk slid closer, the heat from his body curling around her. “I answered your question. Now you answer mine.”
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What was his question? If only she’d focused on his words instead of on the rich smoky warmth of his voice. Like crème rija pudding with honeyed brandy. Sheer decadence to make her melt. “Do you always do what’s proper?” Female in the military? It didn’t get any less proper; just ask her absent parents. Acourse, holding hands with a royal guest in a moonlit garden wasn’t exactly proper, either. Yet here she stood with her hand in his, close enough for his subtle, musky scent to push the fragrance of the flowers from her awareness. All she could think of was how she wanted to move closer yet. Dazed, she shook her head. Heat flared in his changeable eyes. “They said this is a wishing fountain. If you make a wish and toss in a pebble, your wish comes true.” “’Tis true. A legend as old as this city itself. There are faeries with the power to grant it, if the wish is personal and comes from the heart.” Aryk uncurled his free hand, revealed a stone. With a flick, he tossed it over her shoulder. Verdeen heard the splash. “Guess what I wished for.” “Your destiny would be fulfilled?” “Stovak nos briel. Nay, what I wished for is more personal and out of my hands.” “What’s that?” Their gazes clashed, then locked. His eyes narrowed, darkened. “A kiss, freely given, from you.” What? Her heart skipped a beat. She froze. That was it? Why waste the power of a wish on such a frivolous thing? He must have read the disbelief on her face. “’Tis a rarer gift than you’d ken. But tonight, in this magical place, all things seem possible.” They did. They truly did. She should’ve been angry or offended at his outrageous request. She should return to the party. Today had been emotional chaos. She felt raw, vulnerable, in its wake. Tonight, heart ruled mind. She nibbled her lower lip, undecided. Why? Mayhaps ’twas the moonlight, the seclusion of the garden setting. Who would know? Mayhaps ’twas his words, the understanding on his face. The heat in his eyes, the warmth of his hand. Or mayhaps Cianan was right. Mayhaps the woman tired of the warrior having the say. Verdeen stepped closer, as if he drew her in, and quivered as Aryk’s free hand came to rest on her hip. She reached up to run her thumb across the rough stubble on his cheek, along his jaw to the cleft in his chin, slid her free hand around his neck. Her fingers tangled in his tawny hair, unexpected softness on such a hard man. His hand tightened over hers, held it to his chest. Her heart pounded in her throat, part trepidation and part anticipation. He held himself still as a statue, as if he feared she’d bolt like some wild creature.
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She closed her eyes and leaned in. The warmth of his body curled around her. She almost missed his mouth, brushed the corner with her lips. But she adjusted, moved across his lips in the lightest of caresses. A tingle of awareness sizzled through her at even so small a contact. She jerked back, appalled at her daring. What was she doing? ’Twas madness. “So strong. So beautiful.” Aryk raised her hand to his lips, nuzzling the satiny skin of her inner wrist. She gasped at the prickle of his beard. The sensation rippled through her. “Don’t be afeared. I won’t hurt you.” “I-I’m not afeared,” she lied. She feared her inexperience showed, that she’d disappointed him. She’d never been motivated to pay attention to the other maids’ gossip on the subject of kissing afore. Now she wished she’d paid more heed to those silly lasses. She felt so awkward. “Shh, relax.” His eyes had darkened. “Again?” Verdeen kissed him again, rubbed his lips with hers. The shock of awareness returned, and she whimpered at the unfamiliar heat, tingling. The need to move closer yet. As if sensing her need, Aryk gently pulled her flush against the hard, muscled planes of his body, deepened the kiss ’til she trembled and knotted her fingers in his hair to stay upright. She’d not imagined a simple kiss could leave her breathless and weak in the knees. His tongue stroked her lower lip, once, twice, teased ’til she opened her mouth under his. She’d not suspected a kiss involved tongues and teeth ’til he nipped at her lower lip and licked the sting away. Should she do the same? It all seemed so complicated. He pulled back. “Don’t think about it so much.” She stared at his flushed face, wondered if she looked as dazed and shaken as she felt. Don’t think…don’t— He captured her lips again. This time Verdeen met his tongue with her own, tasted dark male hunger. The wet velvet slide of his tongue, probing, licking, filling her mouth, made her head swim. White-hot fire shot through her. Her breasts tingled as she sank into newly awakened desire. She hung on for dear life as her legs started trembling. When he released her other hand, she slid her palm up his chest and over his shoulder to caress the weathered skin at the nape of his neck. He shuddered, drawing back a bit, his muscles rigid as if he held himself in check. “So soft,” he whispered against her lips, “so sweet. Gods, a man could get drunk on you, lass.” Verdeen whimpered as he nibbled his way from her jaw to her ear, the scrape of his bearded skin against hers causing an almost painful clenching in her belly. “Aryk—” “Oh, hai, I feel it too. So hot.” He traced the swirl of her ear with the tip of his tongue, lipping at the lobe, suckling on the skin above her collar. She choked. Her nipples tightened against her gown. The material rasped over the tips. She gasped at the sensation. Dampness collected betwixt her thighs. She shivered, shifting as a needy feeling began. He
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slid his heavy, muscled thigh betwixt hers. His hand cupped her backside, squeezing as he drew her against him. Stars, that felt good. She moaned, biting her lip. Her head spun. “That’s it.” He sounded breathless, his voice rough and tight. “Burn for me, lass. So beautiful.” Aryk captured her mouth again in a brazen kiss, his tongue stroking hers in time with the strange, pulsing need to move on him, relieve the ache… Fingers tugged at the lacing on her gown. Panic struck. What was she doing, letting a stranger seduce her in the academy gardens? Aryk pulled back. “Easy, now. Look at me.” She did, panting, trembling. “I’m sorry, I—” “Shh.” He rubbed warm, soothing circles on her lower back. “I’ve never—” Aryk smiled and placed a finger against her lips. “I ken that.” He did? How humiliating was that? Verdeen looked for mockery. His tender expression confounded her. A riot of emotions and sensations tumbled around inside. Heat. Hunger. Need. Yearning. Too jumbled to sort out with him standing so close. Touching her… Space. She needed space. Lots of space. “I-I must return.” She stumbled back away from him. Her body chilled as she separated from his warmth. “They’ll be looking for me.” If the two of them were missed… He watched her retreat; his gaze bored into her back. She frowned at the tug, the mad impulse to turn around and return to him. Her lips still tingled. Her gown still chafed against her achy, swollen breasts. Stars, she still felt his hand on her backside. Verdeen hurried up the stone walk, past the enormous marble statue of Kiel Brightblade, the first elven high king, and his war mare, Aka`ula. The one who’d banned females from military service ages ago. He seemed to frown at her as she passed him. Was it just her imagination? She ascended the hall steps, to have Aurelien intercept her at the door. “Halt.” His eyes narrowed, and he gave a low whistle. “Share who the fortunate one is?” She blinked. “What?” “You look like a lass who has been kissed senseless and then some.” “I’ve no idea what you speak of.” She averted her gaze and tried to move past him, afeared he’d see too much. His nostrils flared as he traced a finger over her jaw. “Someone got through your touch-me-not façade in a major way. I am glad for you, but a bit jealous it was not me.” Verdeen snorted. “As if for one moment you thought of me so.” “You were too busy kicking my backside to give me a chance.” He tried to look mournful, but the sparkling in his eyes gave him away. “So? Who was it?”
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“Not your concern.” Verdeen reached to open the door. “Not one to kiss and tell? Good lass.” Aurelien held the door for her and followed her inside, a hand on her back. “Now I am jealous.” “How bad is it?” He steered her into the corner, so they were half hidden by a couple of large, potted rumera ferns. “Your lips are swollen, and you have a long abrasion along your jaw. There is a softness in your eyes… I have never seen them glow silver afore.” He took a deep breath as his gaze swept down over her breasts, which still tingled. “Someone knew what he was about.” Embarrassment scalded her face. So everyone could see and guess what she’d been up to. Lovely. She’d kill Daq Aryk. Outrageous human. “I shall get you a drink. Give you a moment to regroup.” He shook his head. “What?” Verdeen crossed her arms. “You are so beautiful—when you are not trying to kill someone.” Really? She laughed, nervous at this unexpected turn of events. She’d never been beautiful—just plain old unnatural Verdeen. “I think mayhaps you’ve had too much to drink.” He turned to go. She caught his sleeve. “Aurelien? We-we’re still friends, right?” Some unnamed emotion darkened his face just for a moment afore he lightened to just Aurelien again. “Always.” He tugged at her braid. “I shall get your wine now.” Prince Brannan rounded the corner. “Verdeen, I have been looking for you…” His voice trailed off as he froze, his gaze taking in her close proximity to Aurelien. Color slashed his cheeks, and his kelly green eyes glittered. Too late, Verdeen recalled Aurelien’s words regarding her appearance. Brannan obviously thought she and Aurelien— Utter shock made her sputter on laughter. Unbelievable. Males had never noticed her. Now she was hip-deep in them. Brannan turned his wounded gaze on her, hurt which flashed to fury afore she could blink, let alone explain. “Bitch. You bitch.” “Heyla.” Aurelien stepped forward. “Watch your tone, prince.” “Brannan, ’tis not what you—” The prince lashed out with a fist, leveling Aurelien. Not expecting an attack, her classmate hit the wall and slid to the floor but bounced right back up again, blood trickling from his nose and cut lip. “Dracken rue,” he swore. Verdeen gaped. “Brannan, what are you doing? We did naught wrong.” She grabbed Aurelien’s arm afore he could retaliate. “You can’t hit him, Aurelien. He’s royalty. Don’t toss your place away on account of a fool.” She turned on Brannan. “You’ve no right. I don’t belong to you. Never have. Never will. I’ve told you to leave me be. Now will you listen?”
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Brannan’s mouth tightened to a bitter white line. “You want to throw yourself at a warmongering commoner, so be it.” Aurelien was a hair away from destroying his career, Brannan’s royal blood be damned. Verdeen clung to his arm. Where was everyone? “Enough.” King Loren appeared. The first person he turned on was his brother. “You know the rules. No fights. Leave. Now.” His quiet wrath shook the ground. Brannan glared at Verdeen. “Bitch.” Aurelien’s fist tightened. Verdeen looked to Loren for help. The king grabbed his brother’s arm and dragged him out of reach. “Go home. Right now. In the morn, you shall apologize to Verdeen. Now begone.” Brannan stalked off, robes flapping, muttering vicious things under his breath. Aurelien relaxed. Loren turned to him. “My thanks for not flattening the young hothead. Are you all right?” Aurelien snorted blood. “The day a warrior cannot handle the paltry blow of a healer, he can turn in his bars.” He swiped at his lip. “This is just from his prince’s ring.” “Get some drinks,” the king advised, “and some ice.” Aurelien turned to Verdeen. “Had I been the one, it would have been worth it.” Stunned, Verdeen watched her friend withdraw. Quite a crowd had gathered. She flinched at the smirks. Dara strode through the green sea of warriors, Valkyn on her heels. “My kind of party,” the human commented. Verdeen was going to kill Aryk.
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Chapter Four
Verdeen slammed her barracks room door and went to snatch the silver hand mirror off her dressing table. She stared at her wobbly reflection as she clenched shaking hands around the jeweled handle. Tonight’s party would go down in academy legend. Poor Aurelien. None of what had transpired had been his fault. His sole crime had been being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She’d be lucky if he ever spoke to her again. ’Twas all Aryk’s fault. She peered at the scrape he’d left along her jaw. The pink mark already faded. Thank the Lady. She brushed her fingertips across her lower lip. She still felt, tasted his kiss when she closed her eyes. It made her restless and achy to think on it. On him. What had come over her? She didn’t go around kissing warriors she didn’t even know. She didn’t kiss the ones she did know. Stars, what a mess. She reached for the strings behind her, wriggled out of the velvet gown. Mayhaps another hot bath would relax her enough to sleep. Grateful to be the sole female cadet for once, as a private bath ensured no unwelcome company, she started the water running. As she added generous dollops of the last of her vanilla-lavender-blend oil, an unexpected pang struck her. It’d been a gift from her parents in the days afore she’d betrayed them by entering the academy. She’d seldom had a chance to use it. Which was why she still had some left after five long years. She returned to hang up the dress. Of all people, Queen Dara should’ve known being a woman amongst warriors caused trouble. Why’d the queen insisted? She unbraided her waist-length hair, reached for her brush. What’d possessed her to kiss Aryk? Her cheeks burned. Intimidated and attracted at the same time? Made no sense. Aryk had watched her tournament victory. His admiration and praise had felt genuine. She ran the brush through her hair, remembering the chaos of that final combat. They’d been veiled and in loose black silks, but she’d known her final opponent was Aurelien. They’d sparred often enough for her to recognize how he moved, how he fell. She glanced down at the massive bruise on her thigh. It’d look spectacular by morn if she didn’t trance-heal it. But why waste energy on something cosmetic? Her victory had to count for something. Not ranger. Not infantry. What was left? “You are meant to be more than just a mere ranger.” “You were meant for other things. Where you go they cannot follow.”
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“You are your own worst enemy.” She laid the brush down, padded over to turn the water off and climb into the tub. The hot water soothed her body, but the familiar scented steam did naught to quiet her jumbled thoughts. “Do you always do what’s proper?” “You are beautiful…” “Had I been the one, it would have been worth it.” She’d tumbled around with Aurelien in combat classes for five years, and he’d not given her a moment’s pause. Two heartbeats in Aryk’s presence and she forgot to breathe. Why? Why him? He was naught but a human, a barbarian. Nay, he was more. He’d given her a sense that he truly understood her conflict, the depth of her disappointment. She ducked under the water and grappled for the soaproot scented with crushed lavender petals and vanilla beans. She worked the lather through her hair and into a rough cloth to scrub over her skin. “Woman and warrior do not have to be mutual exclusions. You can be both.” The warrior she could handle. Better the woman had never come forth. What a conflicted mess she was now. Verdeen closed her eyes and sighed as she recalled the hot look of admiration, of desire, in Aryk’s hazel eyes, the magic he wove with his lips. What would he look like without his tunic, all those rippling layers of muscles under bronzed skin? She cupped her breasts. Odd how they’d swelled against her gown. Who knew they could become so sensitive to even the feathery touch of velvet? Curious, she stroked the smooth white curves, kneading, marveling how they tingled and swelled anew as she slid her washing cloth across their tips, back and forth, back and forth. Slowly, lightly, then faster. The firm globes warmed and flushed under that sweet friction. So pleasurable, the tingling sensations at her illicit actions. She rubbed the rougher pink areolas, circling with her thumbs. They flushed a deep rose as she aroused herself. She gasped, stroking faster. Exquisite, breathless pleasure built. Her sensitive nipples tightened against her plucking fingers. Stars, how sweet that was. The pulsing need returned as she relived the wet, sensuous slide of his tongue against hers, the dark, delicious taste of his mouth. How would that wet mouth feel on her breast? Licking, suckling, his beardroughened jaw scraping along her skin? She held him to her, her fingers buried in his silky tawny hair, and arched into his hot, hungry mouth? Oh, ’twas a dangerous game, fantasizing, indulging—even if just for a private moment—the sensual side she’d all but ignored. But here, alone in a warm, sweetly oiled bath with naught but her hands and her imagination, she could explore a bit without fear of being discovered. Tentative at first, then with more surety as she discovered what felt best.
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Her body seemed to come to life under her own caresses. She moaned, imagining his lips closing around her breast, his tongue lashing her nipple instead of her own fingers. She trailed a hand down her belly, delved betwixt her thighs and shuddered. Who knew a simple kiss could be felt there too? His thigh had slid betwixt hers, easing and conversely building the need to move on him, to relieve the ache… Stars, that felt good, her gentle touch sliding along swelling folds. She pressed deep, whimpering. Her oil-slick fingers brushed a tiny hidden nubbin that made her entire body twitch. Oh, aye…right there. Again…again… Everything felt lusher, fuller. Aching, needy. How would it feel to have Aryk’s big, calloused hands there, his rough fingers circling that point of fire whilst he suckled hard at her breast? What might have transpired had she not turned coward? That strange restless tension returned, built. Would Aryk have lowered her onto the ground, there in the garden, hidden amongst the ferns? Unlaced her gown, baring her to the moonlight and his hot hazel gaze, his lips nibbling across her belly, his fingers gliding up her thighs… She stroked faster as her thighs quivered, her heart pounded. Was this what drove men and women into each other’s arms? This need to embrace the fire, this awakening of the senses? She rubbed herself into taut aching need ’til the water in the tub sloshed. She caught herself holding her breath, her fingers pressing into herself. Her hips lifted into her circling thumb. She pinched her nipple with her other hand, biting her lip to stifle the moan. ’Twas no use. Her body drove toward some unknown finish. Her whole body trembled, tightened as she panted. More…faster…harder… Time stopped for a single, breathless moment…and then exploded in a rush of light and stars. She shuddered against her hands, quivering and flushed. Embarrassment warred with satisfaction as a strange lethargy flowed over her in the aftermath. What had come over her? She scrubbed her sensitized skin, remembering the moment when she’d turned away from Aryk. Reliving the chill, the temptation to return to the warmth of his arms, irritated her. Who did she think she was? She wasn’t some warrior-chasing palace maid, nor was she a royal sensuri to cater to a high-ranking guest’s carnal needs. She’d never been attracted to a male afore. Why Aryk? How could one human, barbarian man make the blood sizzle in her veins? Was he shocked at her easy capitulation? She’d certainly been stunned—both by the speed of her attraction and the strength of her arousal. She’d never suspected the brazen wench dwelling beneath her skin. Just thinking about Aryk made her melt—the warm glint in his eye, the gentle strength of his big, rough hands… Not good at all. King Loren and Queen Dara would surely be appalled at her breach of etiquette. Better to stay away from Aryk. Soon he’d be gone, and she could forget this mad but momentary lapse in judgment, just get on with the rest of her life. She rinsed off and drained the tub, wrung out her hair and dried herself afore donning a simple white shift.
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What would the morn bring? Brannan wouldn’t apologize, despite Loren’s orders. The candle on her bedside table flared, startling her. “Verdeen?” Dara’s voice came from the tiny flame. The ability to communicate through any burning substance was one advantage of being a fire mage. One the half-dragon queen oft made use of. “Join Loren and me for breakfast.” Verdeen had known Dara afore she’d become queen, long enough to catch the stifled fury in her tone. Was she still angry over what had transpired at the party, or was it something else? “Aye, Majesty.” She blew out the candle and climbed into bed, still restless and edgy. Stars, ’twas going to be a long night.
“Do you end a war or start a new one?” Valkyn paced the length of their suite. He raked a hand through his hair, standing it up in spiky gold tufts. Could the guards outside their door overhear what was sure to become a heated debate? Aryk frowned at his second and poured himself another glass of wine. “I don’t answer to you.” “You do when you do something as shortsighted as this. Weren’t you the one who said we needed these folk’s aid? So you start a brawl tonight? Over a mere woman?” Valkyn tossed back the last of the wine in his own glass and reached for the half-full decanter. “She’s no mere woman.” Time to change tactics. “How’d she strike you?” “Embarrassed and furious. She’s sure to lay the brawl at your feet.” Aryk waved him off. “I meant this morn—the tournament.” “Oh, that.” A slow grin crossed Valkyn’s bearded face. “She’d make a good dancer.” Given Valkyn’s opinion of kyras thinking themselves warriors, his concession surprised Aryk. Verdeen would make a stellar dancer of the highest order. She was graceful and had amazing endurance. Watching her duck and weave through her competition had been pure pleasure. Part dance, part gymnastics and a whole lot of speed. She’d excel at the dances their villages now used to determine status. Dances women had but recently been allowed to participate in, if they got a male sponsor. The dances were less dangerous than their former way of assigning rank and privilege—ritual combat. Now ritual combat determined only leadership challenges. Based on what he’d seen at the tournament, he’d not expected the anonymous victor to be so beautiful, nor so innocent. Asking Verdeen to kiss him by the fountain had been a mad impulse. He’d shocked himself by asking, but it shocked him more that she’d agreed. He’d never tasted such sweetness. His mind wandered to big grey eyes and the pampered white skin of a woman who’d never faced privation and want. The wonder of her, that she could be drawn so to him. He’d completely forgotten their surroundings, been swept away by the need to have her under him, with naught but sweat and moonlight on
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their skin. She’d caught afire same as he had, and it’d scared her, as if she’d never kenned passion afore. Her eyes had glowed silver with arousal. Innocence, heat, fear—he’d tasted each emotion in turn. Their scent burned forever in his memory. So different from the other women he’d kenned. The thought he’d been her first moved him more than he’d thought possible. That dangerous niggle of yearning flared anew. She let go and trusted the fire… His whole body tightened at that speculation, but nay. She wasn’t meant for the likes of him. What could a rough daq possibly offer her? “Hai, she would. Their cadets put on a good show. Imagine how their experienced warriors fight. I wonder who Loren has in mind for us.” “None of this is necessary. I do my job. You aren’t dead yet.” “I’d think you’d welcome the help.” “Welcome a spy?” Aryk steeled himself against the starkness of the word. “Spy?” “That’s what they’re sending. Someone to observe. Someone to report back.” “I ken what the word means.” Aryk nodded. “I’d do the same were our places reversed.” “You’d trust your back to one whose primary loyalties lie elsewhere?” “It won’t do any good to succeed without someone from the outside there to witness and report it. Asides, you can’t watch over me every moment of every day. We’ve a perfect opportunity to show them firsthand what we mean to become. We win their trust and goodwill and show the clans our new alliance. Mayhaps they’ll think twice about our proposal.” “You’ll be lucky if any of them think once about your idea.” Valkyn paced the room like a trapped snow cat. “None of them think twice about anything.” “I’m a better choice than Beloq. If he leads our folk against what we saw today, we face annihilation. I’ll not see my people slaughtered by a madman.” His second whirled on him. “You’re calling Beloq a madman? That’s almost amusing.” “I’m not laughing.” Aryk strode over to where Fiske sprawled panting afore the fire. The dog’s red coat shimmered in the dancing light. Aryk crouched to rub Fiske’s ears. “This entire quest is madness. You compound it by compromising one of their women.” Tisht, Aryk had scarce had enough time to compromise Verdeen. But given the opportunity—and enough time—things would turn out differently. He had no business getting distracted by an innocent novice cadet. However, it seemed his body wasn’t listening to his head. That one taste but made him crave her more. “You’re in no position to lecture me on staying away from women.” “I didn’t start a royal brawl.” Pity he’d missed the brawl. “I don’t want to fight with you. We should get some sleep.” Valkyn folded his arms and leaned against the wall.
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Aryk raised a brow. “Something else on your mind?” A troubled expression darkened Valkyn’s face. “You’re not sleeping. Same nightmare?” The nightmare he’d not had since he’d left Shamar. What elven magic prevented nightmares? The memory of them still haunted, though. Aryk nodded and rose. “I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure it doesn’t come to pass.” “I applaud the concept of one nation. I wonder at the execution of it, though.” “Why?” “You put too much faith on folk seeing things your way. Beloq’s way’s familiar. People don’t like change. I worry you go too fast, brother, so fast none will follow.” “Fighting amongst ourselves is senseless.” Aryk set his jaw. “I want Joro to have the chance to grow into a man. I can’t watch him”—the words stuck in his throat—“starve to death afore adulthood or die on another’s blade as soon as he’s old enough to wield his own.” “We’re warriors. Our fathers were warriors.” Valkyn’s eyes blazed. “’Tis an honor to die in battle, to face the gods with courage. I’d have my sons take pride in their heritage.” “I’d give all our sons a new heritage.” “By preaching peace to warriors? By turning bears into sheep?” “Only lia-mad dogs celebrate battle for the sake of battle. We’re better men than that.” Valkyn slammed his goblet onto the table. “I’d have my sons remember me with admiration. I’d die a warrior and greet the gods at the height of my strength, not as a sick old man who’s naught but a feebleminded burden to his kin.” Aryk’s heart froze with dread. “You support Beloq?” Valkyn shifted his weight and looked away. “I’m just saying how others will view it.” He hadn’t answered the question. Aryk eyed his second. Mayhaps he didn’t want to hear Valkyn’s true answer. Like his uncle, Vygnal, Valkyn was one most influenced by the lia. “We could become a great nation.” “How, if we become sheep to let the other nations invade and pillage at will? If the other nations invade our territory, we fight them off and invade back?” “They kill us, we kill them. Soon everyone’s dead.” Aryk glared. “That’s Beloq’s way. If we unite to attack other countries, the outlanders band together and wipe us out. Either way, we’re dead. This plan, my plan, is the one sane one.” Valkyn growled and stalked into his room, slamming the door behind him. Aryk sighed and sank into the chair at the bedside table. Fiske padded over to lay his head in his master’s lap. Aryk ran his hand through Fiske’s rough red fur. “What do you think, lad? Is he right? You ken our folk. Am I mad to believe peace is possible?” Fiske pawed at his knee and whined.
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Aryk leaned back in his chair and contemplated the golden wine in his goblet, turned it so the ripples glowed in the flickering firelight. He rolled his head, stretching his muscles. He stared at the beauty of the cup in his hand. The elves called it changling-glass. It rippled from dark blue to copper as it caught the light. The elves were an advanced, ancient race. Similar combinations of practicality with beauty surrounded him everywhere he looked or went. What could it profit him to ally himself with them? Would that someday his folk too could enjoy the leisure time necessary for such frivolous things as art. He clenched his jaw. He’d heard the bards’ tales, confirmed by Ildiko on the journey over. If Wolf had freed and united a polarized Shamar, then by the gods, he’d do it too. Hmm. Wolf and Tzigana had united their country through marriage. Loren and Cianan had done the same through Dara and Maleta, uniting Arcadia and Shamar to their own country of Cymry, and through Cymry, each to the other. Could he do the same? A political alliance with the elves through marriage? Wide grey eyes appeared on the surface of his wine. The sweet scent of her teased his memory. Verdeen. He’d never envisioned a woman like her. As fierce as the most warlike kyra, as capable as any warrior, inhumanly fast and agile. So at odds with the uncertainty on her face when they’d met in the gardens. The petal softness of her skin, like the finest silk from the far south, the luminous, creamy white of a pearl. A goddess not meant for mortal man. And yet she’d kissed him. Touched him. Changed him. He’d seen the desire on her face, the wonder in her eyes. A giving which made him want not to conquer but to protect. Aryk snorted. What would a scarred warlord such as he have to offer someone like her? In a cold, hard land where strength and ferocity were deemed virtues, where did respect and honor fall? What for himself? Such blood and death on his hands. No room for softness in a land where gentleness too often was regarded as weakness. ’Twas a fine line to tread, balancing soft words and hard strength. He’d tired long ago of cold couplings with lean, tough women after the status of bearing a daq’s sons. Of his women, none save Erlynda could be counted as a friend. Only after producing at least three children for the clans could a person look to settle their own future. Marriage was rare indeed, something to aspire to, to earn. He’d not kenned anyone he’d consider a permanent bond with. ’Til now. What would it be like to have Verdeen welcome him, to yield without a challenge? To feel the silken slide of her skin against him, her supple body arching to draw him deeper? Would the tips of her breasts reflect the same pale pink as her lips? Would they flush a deeper rose with arousal? He shifted, envisioning her hair—gods, that long wheaten hair—knotted around his fingers as he slid his aching erection past those lips and over her tongue. Or gripping the lush curve of her backside as her strong legs wrapped around his
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hips, pulling him into her tight, wet heat. Under him. Over him. Joined to him in a dozen different, erotic ways. His shaft hardened to the point of discomfort, and he cursed as he cupped himself. ’Twas no use ignoring the need for release. He’d burned for her since he’d seen her in the tournament, but later, in the garden… The way her eyes glowed silver in the moonlight, the sexy little sounds she’d made as she moved in his arms, the points of her nipples rigid against her gown as she’d clung, trembling, to him. The sweet taste of her tongue on his, the intoxicating scent of her as she’d flushed with heat and grown restless with the wanting, moaning as she’d started to move on him… He tore at the laces of his breeches, freeing his aching erection. After licking his palm, he took himself in hand. Verdeen knelt afore him, her eyes glowing silver as she circled the head of his shaft with shy little flicks of her tongue. Her small hands cupped his stones with exquisite gentleness as she nuzzled his tingling shaft, purring as she rubbed the length of him against her cheek. Those petal-pink lips parted around him. She opened wide and slowly drew him deep, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked, pressing hard with her tongue. The heat was incredible. All the blood rushed to his groin as he stiffened to fill her mouth. She stroked him with her hands, her tongue. He groaned. She moved faster, head bobbing, her tongue heating his aching flesh to burning with a sensual friction. His breath caught in his throat. His heart pounded. Gods, she was so beautiful, kneeling afore him. He was totally at her mercy, begging for release. She suckled hard, squeezing him tight. She moaned, and he scented her growing arousal. Sizzling need boiled up in a rush that focused all awareness to naught save this. She took him all the way down, squeezing…squeezing as she swallowed… He held his breath, the rush sweeping over him in a firestorm of need. He threw his head back, hips pumping, his fist tightening around himself. Satisfaction burst in endless spurts of breathless, shuddering pleasure. He shook in the aftermath of completion, collapsing against the back of the chair. Aryk opened his eyes. Tisht, what wouldn’t he give to make fantasy a reality. He stood, drained but unsatisfied. After dipping a washing cloth into the basin of water on the washstand, he cleaned himself off and redid the lacings. The jumble of yearnings did no good. She wasn’t meant for the likes of him. He dared not dream of so much.
Morn came too soon, after a restless night of tangled sheets and hair, of hot dreams filled with Aryk that were best forgotten by light of day. Verdeen yawned as she tapped on the royals’ dining room door. “Enter,” King Loren commanded.
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She did and froze. The energy in the room was off. King Loren’s leaf-green eyes looked weary. Queen Dara seethed. The antique gold spirit-torque gleamed around her neck, and her red hair all but crackled. They’d been arguing, long and hard. Verdeen recognized the signs. “Good morn, Your Majesties.” “Sit.” Loren motioned to a chair. “Khaffa?” She obeyed and nodded. Loren poured a goblet of the steaming, spiced drink and handed it to her. Served by the king’s own hand? “You’re still angry about last night?” Khaffa had an energizing effect, but Verdeen took small sips, hoping the heat would calm her trembling. “That was not your fault,” Loren told her. “Brannan jumped to a number of wrong conclusions. He shall not trouble you again.” Well, at least they kept her discipline private. “Am I being dismissed from service?” “Now you jump to conclusions.” Dara plopped scrambled eggs onto her gilded plate. What was this meeting about if ’twasn’t to address demotion or dismissal? “Sire?” “What happened last night?” Verdeen flinched and flushed. Last night, when? He couldn’t know. Could he? Uncertain, she swallowed hard. “I-I ran into Daq Aryk in the gardens.” “He forced a kiss on you, and Brannan assumed ’twas Aurelien,” Dara snarled. “Typical riever behavior. Assault a lass and start a brawl. I’m sure they consider it great sport.” Verdeen froze. “What do you mean, riever?” “Our guests come from Isadorikja, the Isle of Ice. Same people who’ve looted and pillaged Shamar and Arcadia for years. Barbarians. Rievers. Naught better than bandits.” Loren frowned at his lifemate, and she subsided. The spirit-torque throbbed around her neck, though, pulsing with a dark light. That couldn’t be right. Cianan never would’ve brought those men here were they a danger to people. Aryk had audacity, true, but he’d been gentle with her. “Nay, Majesty.” Verdeen bit her lip. “’Twasn’t an assault. We spoke of the tournament. I took his hand. In truth, I kissed him.” The memory of that kiss—and all that followed—made her shiver. Loren shot her a glance that was entirely too keen. Dara’s jaw dropped. “Whatever for?” “He asked me to.” “And you did it?” Dara squawked.
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“It seemed like a good idea at the time. I was alone with a handsome warrior in a moonlit garden, so why not? I didn’t think anyone would ever find out.” Her shoulders slumped, and she covered her face with her hands. “But now everyone knows.” “Kissing a man isn’t a crime, and moonlit gardens can have strange effects on people.” Dara flashed Loren a look. “Makes them do things they wouldn’t ordinarily do.” But kissing a total stranger? One who even now created an aching flash of yearning? They’d gone so far beyond a first kiss… She shook with the memory of his touch. There was that look from Loren again. Oh, stars, he knew. Empath. Her mortification was complete. She swallowed down the urge to crawl under the table. “Daq Aryk plans to unite his country and live in peace with his neighbors,” Loren said. “Stovak nos briel.” Verdeen stared into her cup. Loren raised a brow. “He told you?” “He said he had a political problem you could help him with.” “He does, and I can.” Loren pinned her with his gaze as he filled a plate with some grapes and a hukoberry scone and handed it to her. “He shall be unpopular with certain factions. I do not doubt someone might try to alter the Destiny Hand.” He eyed her over his own goblet. “Who better to guard such a target than a self-healing warrior with immunity to poisons?” None save the three of them knew the peculiar bend her self-healing had taken. Dara gasped. “Don’t do this. You can’t do this. I forbid it.” Loren shot her a quelling glance and held up a hand for silence. “The discussion is over.” “You want me to go to Isaaa”—she couldn’t remember the name of the place—“the Isle of Ice—with Aryk?” Verdeen gulped at the slip. “Daq Aryk?” “I intend to make you my Right Hand.” She choked on a grape and set the plate down afore she dropped it. “I-I don’t know what to say.” Right Hand. A warrior who answered to the king alone, on secret missions known to no other, sworn to uphold truth, justice and mercy. Somehow Loren had done without one for the first five years of his own reign. Was the Destiny Hand involved? Had her taking this position been preordained? Had Loren been waiting for her to graduate? Had he known even then Aryk would arrive? “You would accompany the Isadorikjans and apprise me of what transpires during unification. You are never alone.” He tapped the crown on his brow. “You can reach me with but a thought, and so long as there is a lit flame in your vicinity, Dara can be there in moments.” The spirit-torque crackled with power, and the red stone brightened. The queen’s gold eyes gleamed. “You need me, call. The Lady help whoever’s there when I arrive.” The ominous threat reassured. Demons couldn’t stand afore the queen. Stubborn rievers wouldn’t stand a chance against whatever fury her dragon powers unleashed.
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Verdeen tried to decipher her queen’s expression. Had Dara so little faith in her ability or was there something else? Something she didn’t voice aloud? Verdeen glanced at Loren. “You do me great honor, Majesty.” But I’m not the most experienced warrior you have. “You are the most qualified. Along with your natural abilities, you have been trained to a higher degree than most.” There was that mysterious, unfathomable look again—the one that made her uneasy, though she couldn’t say why. “Our own history is one of integration and diplomacy. As a student of history, you could share those lessons with Aryk.” Verdeen floundered in a sea of doubt and questions. If everything was already set as intended, why were people offered choices? Dara believed people made their own destinies by their choices. Verdeen was less certain. To hie off into what was sure to become a civil war? Bodyguard and counselor for Aryk? Spy for Loren was more likely. Acourse he’d want eyes and ears in the north with the situation so volatile and unstable. The Crown of Cymry allowed her and Loren to communicate at the speed of thought, and ’twas comforting to think Dara was but a flame away. Verdeen was a good fighter. She could hold her own against mortals. Her immunity to poisons gave her a decided edge. But to go off alone with Aryk… She swallowed hard. Last night’s kiss haunted her. ’Twould take weeks to get to his home, months to unite the clans. Days and nights. Many a cold, starlit night of inn and campfire. Intimacy bred of isolation and close proximity. Could she separate woman from warrior? The queen met Verdeen’s gaze, gave a slight nod. So that’s what had Dara concerned. Whereas Loren considered warrior and mission, Dara considered woman and man. A woman’s tangled emotions clouded a warrior’s clear thinking and judgment. Verdeen recognized her own inexperience. What if Aryk pushed for more of last night, or more than last night? Not that he’d stoop to rape. She excelled at judging intentions, and she sensed no malice from him. Practiced seduction, on the other hand, was a distinct possibility and threat. One she was ill-prepared to combat. She’d already shown herself vulnerable to Aryk. Even the memory of his touch, their kisses, made her breathless and shivery. Made her yearn for more. Could she say no when a part of her wanted to say yes? “Verdeen?” Loren prompted. “Don’t push her,” Dara snapped. “Verdeen, you need to think about this. There’s much to consider here. ’Tis not just a title, a purpose. ’Tis a long-term mission away from everything familiar in the company of strangers with strange ways. ’Tis dangerous.” “We need you there,” Loren pressed. “You are the best candidate for the job. Anyone I replace you with would be a distant second choice. Keep him safe and me apprised. Show them how peace works. Act
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as liaison, my personal representative to his people. Make suggestions, advise courses of action. Wanting peace is the first step. Show them how to achieve it.” So she was to be, in part, a spy. A woman more experienced might use her wiles to her advantage on such a mission. Wiles. Verdeen snorted. She didn’t know where to begin with that. What if she failed? She owed Dara and Loren everything. Absolutely everything. ’Twas due to them rescinding Kiel Brightblade’s ridiculous edict she wasn’t still staring at warrior cadets, not with romantic longing like other maids, but with envy as she pictured herself in a green uniform. Well, now she had the uniform. What to do with it? “You wanted to do more with your life, to make a difference,” Loren said. “You would not just be reading about someone else’s adventures, you would be having your own. You have studied history. Here is your chance to make history, mayhaps to change the world.” Dracken rue, he’d spoken with Cianan. Her heart pounded. If they needed her to do this, she would. She’d just picture Aurelien when she looked at Aryk. Better yet, Brannan. Ugh. That ought to dissipate any amount of Aryk-generated heat. The warrior would hold. The woman could just go back to taking a nice long nap. Please don’t let me regret this. “Majesty, I accept.”
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Chapter Five
Verdeen took a deep breath at the lesser hall doors. Within, king and queen awaited to anoint her as Right Hand. The ceremonial guard stood at attention with their obsidian-tipped spears, too obviously not staring at her parade whites. She felt less warrior and more maiden sacrifice by the moment. Lord Elio and Cianan flanked her as if she would bolt like a spooked horse. “Relax,” Cianan drawled. “You look as if you were being led to your own execution.” The death of the maid, the birth of the spy. “’Tis what thou wert truly meant to do,” Lord Elio assured her. How could the Destiny Hand have her in mind? The great doors opened, and Lord Elio and Cianan dropped back so she could lead the way. Enough with the doubts. Time to face the future. Verdeen squared her shoulders and took her first step. The moment she appeared in the doorway, a trumpeter from some hidden alcove began a martial tune. She faltered, irrationally disappointed Aryk wasn’t present, considering he was the inspiration for this whole ceremony and appointment. There were two other people in the room whom she had not expected to see. The first set of eyes to capture her gaze was a familiar azure. Clad in his velvet dress greens, Aurelien winked at her from his seat. Who’d thought to invite him? The other person was her veiled older sister, who smiled and nodded. Tears burned Verdeen’s eyes when she saw Veona. How had she gotten free to come here? Verdeen looked to Dara. The queen had risked much to see she got her chance. Verdeen still remembered their first meeting, when she’d agreed to teach Dara to be a lady if Dara would teach her to fight. Verdeen had been in such awe of a woman who could fight. Now awe had been replaced with a fierce determination to do well. Verdeen would lay the queen’s misgivings to rest. She halted afore King Loren, went down on one knee and bowed her head. “My lord, I am yours to command, ever and always.” Cianan and his father joined Aurelian and Veona. “Verdeen te Seppala, you are graduated from the academy and are not yet assigned to a specific unit. You are from no great house nor have a religious calling. My father Cedric was king afore me, and I was his Right Hand.” There was a brief catch in Loren’s voice. He still missed his father, she knew. “He determined the best Right Hands were family members. A son or brother whose loyalty was absolute,
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unswerving. I have but one brother whose calling as a spirit healer makes him unsuitable for this position. We have no son, although Elyria shows flashes of her mother, which warrant close watching.” A smattering of chuckles. “But there is another, near as kin to us—” What? What had he just said? “—who possesses the training to be of use to king and kingdom. I have awaited the day when I could make this offer to Verdeen, and she has accepted.” Loren drew his sword, Justice. “Verdeen te Seppala, you served my household with honor and distinction. You showed courage in requesting we allow you to follow your dream, and endured with valor all who challenged your right to be a cadet. You worked hard to overcome your shortcomings and strengthen your weaknesses. Your determination inspires us all.” Stars, the marble tiles were hard beneath the woolen runner. Verdeen tried to shift a bit of weight off her knee, wincing when the joint cracked. “I hereby free you from all other obligations and appoint you my Right Hand. Verdeen te Seppala, do you renounce all other ties, swearing to serve only me, your king?” “I do renounce all ties and so swear to serve you and naught but you, my king.” Her voice sounded far away through the buzzing in her ears, but it shook. Lovely. She cleared her throat. “Do you swear to hold your own counsel?” “I swear to hold my own counsel.” In such an intimate gathering, she’d not expected to feel so overwhelmed. So small. She wiped her palms on her breeches, hoped no one noticed. She’d die if she fainted. Breathe…breathe… “Do you swear to perform your duty with honor and valor, upholding my personal standards of justice and mercy?” As a former Lady’s Champion, his standards were higher than most. “I swear to perform my duty with honor and valor, justice and mercy.” “Do you swear to discover the truth of any matter? To report to me the truth without fear of reprisal? State what I need to hear and never just what I wish to hear?” Truth, justice and mercy were the three powers of the king’s crown—the three powers she now swore to uphold. “I do so swear to discover and convey naught but the truth.” May neither of them regret that vow. Metal flashed in the corner of her eye, and Justice brushed her left shoulder. “Then, Verdeen te Seppala, I accept you as my Right Hand in the name of truth, justice and mercy.” The sword brushed her right shoulder and the top of her head. Loren’s voice finished, “Arise and stand with me henceforth.”
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She kissed his ring and rose, shaking. Her numb left leg tingled. Cianan and Lord Elio congratulated her and withdrew. Loren turned to Verdeen. “Return for tea to discuss your assignment further.” Aryk. Isle of Ice—nay, Isadorikja. She bowed her head. The king and queen left through their private door, leaving her alone with Aurelian and Veona. Verdeen’s tears blurred her sister’s face. “You came.” Veona sniffled, swiped at her own dove grey eyes and hugged her hard. “Miss your greatest triumph? I am sorry I missed your graduation. Matre and Patre shall come around. They love you.” “If they loved me, they’d support me.” Verdeen’s voice was hard and bitter. “They could not bear to watch the tournament for fear you would get hurt.” Aurelian laid a hand against Verdeen’s back. “They are stiff-necked idiots, but they want you to be safe.” “But not happy? Doesn’t happiness count?” Veona tucked a stray lock of hair, the brilliance of summer lightning, back under her burgundy veil. “You were in the queen’s household. Matre and Patre thought that such an honor. They do not understand why you would want to turn your back on that.” “It wasn’t enough. I went mad with boredom.” Veona nodded. “We can’t all be maids. You were meant for greater things.” “Adventure. Danger. Glory. All in the name of the king. The bards shall swoon over the possibilities,” Aurelien teased. Veona smiled and wiped her own tears away. “I must return home.” “What did you tell them?” “I’m running an errand to the palace. Matre heard ‘palace’ and was all aflutter.” “I am her escort. Lord Cianan thought we should be here. Lord Elio agreed.” “Good thing he showed up to get me, or I never would have made it out the door. Matre kept trying to change my gown.” “I wish you didn’t have to go.” Verdeen could barely speak around the lump in her throat. “I shall see you again as soon as I can.” Veona hugged her and slipped out the door. Would she? Shaking, Verdeen turned to Aurelien. He slid his arms around her, held her close. She took comfort in the slow beating of his heart under her ear. What would she do without her best friend? “Rather mad turn of events, hmm?” His arms tightened, and his lips brushed the top of her head. “Who were you expecting when you entered the hall today?”
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She pulled back, felt the heat of the blush rise up her neck to her cheeks. “What are you talking about?” “You looked about, wilted a bit and then regrouped.” “No one. I—” Aurelien laid a finger over her lips. “I know you too well, wee liar. Well, you keep your secrets for now. I would wager they shall be out of the bag soon enough.” He shook his head, looking dazed and admiring simultaneously. “I knew they had something more in mind for you. Right Hand. Lord and Lady, you rise to the top like cream.” Verdeen smiled and brushed a bit of imaginary lint off his dress greens. Her fingers traced over that coveted horsehead pin. “Don’t you look every inch a ranger. An honor well deserved. I’m so sorry about last night.” She searched his eyes. “Shh. Brannan’s misunderstanding was not your fault. I am fine.” “Are you? What did you mean, ‘Had I been the one, it would have been worth it’?” He sighed. “We have been friends for years. We know all each other’s secrets. I am closer to you than anyone else, and you are a very beautiful woman, whether you choose to believe so or not. I know we are not lifemates, but part of me can sympathize with Brannan.” She gaped at him. What was he saying? He cupped her cheek in his hand, leaned in and kissed her. She stood frozen, unsure what to do, as his lips moved on hers. Aryk’s kiss had made her head swim and her whole body flush with heat. Now, with Aurelian, she felt naught but embarrassment and regret. He was her best friend—but naught else. Aurelien pulled back. “Naught there?” Not a zing nor a tingle. She shook her head and blinked, dumbfounded. He eyed her closely. “It was the human, was it not?” “What?” Verdeen’s cheeks flamed. “How can you think so?” “Mayhaps because your face is the color of a blood rose? You have never shown an interest in any of us, yet the same day the strangers appear, you and the daq both disappear, and you come back smelling hot and looking tumbled. If only your eyes had glowed silver for me.” She punched him in the shoulder. “Ow. I am cursed. The lass I am closest to wants naught to do with my body.” “I’ll be no man’s sensuri.” Not even a hot-eyed bronze warrior who made her toes curl. Nay. Absolutely not. “Mmm hmm.” Aurelien didn’t look convinced. “It is not a foul word, friend. ’Til we meet our lifemates, there is much to be said for some friendly company.” “You truly believe there’s someone for everyone?” “After spending time with King Loren and Queen Dara, how can you not?”
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She snorted. “I pity whoever gets stuck with me.” “Whoever gets you will be lucky to have you,” he stated, “and whoever he is, if he does not treat you right, he and I will have a long discussion, if I have to wear a long fur coat to have it out with him.” Verdeen gasped and hastily changed the subject. “Good luck with your ranger training and Lanakea.” “Good luck in your own journey. You are going to need it.” She flinched. What did he know of it? “Give me some credit for a mind. The day after the humans show up, you become Right Hand. I wager you shall be taking an extended journey west, into the human lands. Just be careful. Come back in one piece, still breathing. I would like to see you again.” She hugged him hard. “I’ll miss you.” “And I, you. Now go. Do not be late for tea.” He turned and strode away toward the war-steed stables and Lanakea, the heels of his polished riding boots clacking against the marble tiles. He’d be all right. Would she could say the same.
Aryk stared at the elven king. He must have misunderstood. Who assigned a cadet to guard a revolutionary? Fantasies aside, he’d not be responsible for the death of a beautiful woman who had her whole life ahead of her. He needed a battle-hardened veteran, not an untried lass. Male veteran. Big, ugly and scarred. Preferably with grandchildren. Not a gentle beauty with big mist grey eyes and silken skin he wanted to lick every bit of. How could Verdeen help to stop the nightmare of Joro’s death from coming true? “Unacceptable.” Loren shook his head. “I gave this a great deal of thought. You need my ablest warrior.” “She’s an unblooded cadet who’s never even seen a battlefield.” “Elven senses are keener than a human’s. She can see and hear danger coming afore you do. She is faster than a human. She is a very good judge of character and can predict who bears watching. She has been trained by the best. You shall find her remarkably hard to kill.” Aryk took a deep breath and uncurled his fists, fighting the panic. She’d been a graceful dancer at the tournament, but a classroom exercise was a far cry from the raw brutality of a real battlefield. “Cianan told me how miserable he was during a Shamaran winter. Have you any inkling of how cold Isadorikja can get?” Oh, the ways he could keep her warm. Hot, even. Scalding hot… “So get her a coat.” Aryk snorted. “She have any sailing experience in rough seas? Ice-climbing experience?”
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Loren nodded. “Both. She’s also a student of history, and our history is filled with precedents for integration and diplomacy.” So Cianan had said. The gods had no mercy whatsoever. “Shall we try a new tack?” Loren suggested. “Tell me the true reason for your objection.” Aryk froze. The elven king did not want to hear the thoughts running through his mind. Both Joro and Verdeen were too personal to discuss with his host. “I know what transpired in the gardens. Tell me the true reason for your objection.” My son is fated to die, and one lush slip of a lass can’t stop it. Aryk ground his teeth together. The elven leader seemed bent on this madness. Naught he said dissuaded him. If Loren knew the erotic thoughts tumbling through Aryk’s mind since that kiss in the garden, mayhaps it might weaken his resolve. “You are a man with noble intentions who dreams of peace. I know you shall treat Verdeen with honor, and she shall see you stay alive to watch your sons have sons.” Well, tisht. He had to play the nobility-and-honor card. Aryk cursed, every foul word he kenned. And paced, nervous, edgy. “She is more than she seems, the best I have to send. We have no desire to see you fail.” Aryk listened for the deception. The elven king’s gaze never wavered. “Three powers am I bound to—truth, justice and mercy. To those three has Verdeen also sworn, a binding oath afore our goddess, the Lady of Light. I think we are similar in heart.” Loren tapped his crown. “Through this, I can communicate with any of my people with but a thought. We would be available to help or counsel throughout your coming trials.” For the first time, Aryk wavered. “We’ll arrive in spring, the most dangerous time. The two big predators are the snow cat in the mountains and the snow bear on the coast. With the birthing of their young, they’re hungry and aggressive. And the thawing snow and ice rots make for treacherous going.” ’Tis not safe to send her with me. Can’t you see that? “She shall stay close and do as you say in those matters. You return with Cianan in the morn. Verdeen shall accompany you as my official, personal representative.” “Staying close” was what had him most concerned. Aryk kenned the discussion over. “As you wish.” He bowed and left the room, confused and still seething. His guard followed him to his chambers, where a bare-chested Valkyn did a set of stretches. His second looked up as he entered. “So, what was the decision?” Aryk ground his teeth together. “Verdeen.” Valkyn’s face flushed. “They insult you with that child. You need a real warrior, someone to guard your back, not warm your furs.” Just the image Aryk needed in his head. He growled. “Cease. He claims she’s the best they have, called her his ambassador.”
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“I never thought to see a king stoop to whor*-mustering.” “Watch your tongue,” Aryk ordered. “He’s a king and our host and due your respect.” Valkyn raked a hand through his hair and glowered at Aryk. “Respect’s earned, not entitled.” “Your truth,” Aryk admitted. What did Verdeen think about hieing off into the wild with them? Had she been given a choice or had her king ridden roughshod over her, as well? “You can’t deny you want her. Take care he doesn’t place a beautiful woman in your path to trip you up.” Aryk watched his second snap to his feet. He should be so lucky to have Verdeen. Nay, ’twas a vivid fantasy. Naught else. “I’m heading for a bath.” Still scowling, Valkyn left him alone in the room. Aryk strode out into the hall to find the very object of their discussion headed his way. Desire struck low and hard. Nay, he couldn’t deny Valkyn’s truth. He wanted Verdeen. Badly. In any number of ways. Even now, when she looked none too pleased to see him. “Dismissed,” she ordered the guard. “I’d speak with your charge.” The elven warrior nodded and left. Verdeen glared at Aryk. “Queen Dara calls you riever. Northern rievers fought on the side of Count Jalad of Westmarche against King Hengist of Riverhead. They fought like madmen, slaughtering many of our warriors and dozens of innocent civilians. Tell me you had naught to do with that butchery.” Tisht. Not again. “No Widowmaker set foot on that field, I swear to you.” He took a step closer, watched her eyes widen, darken. “I’d have such battles cease. I need someone to keep me alive long enough to accomplish it. You weren’t my first choice. King Loren insisted; the gods alone ken why.” “B-because I’m the most qualified for what you require.” “So he says.” Aryk reached out to trail a finger over the smooth white skin stretched taut over her collarbone, and she quivered. Gods, how was he to keep his distance when she reacted like this? His nostrils flared as he drew in her scent, like crisp ocean breezes and warm summer rain. He felt the rush, his stones tightening. His shaft hardened as he contemplated wrapping himself in all that lush sweetness. If she glanced down, she’d get an eyeful. He held her gaze to his. “Takes time to reach my village. Inns and taverns if we’re lucky, campfires if we’re caught out in the open. Few privies and fewer baths with naught but us men for company.” She bit her lip. He found himself tracking that movement. “I’ve camped with men afore.” Sweat glistened on her skin, turned golden by the campfire’s flames, her breasts quivering as she slowly rode him, his aching shaft squeezed by tight, wet pulsing heat… What was it about her that he’d so little control around her? He’d never been so obsessed with a woman afore. “Don’t go,” he whispered. “For both our sakes, don’t go.” Or fantasy would become reality.
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Maiden or nay, honorable intentions or nay, he could hold out for only so long. He wasn’t made of stone, although parts of him were strongly disagreeing at the moment. “I made a vow to my king to do his bidding.” Her mist grey eyes searched his. “’Tis his will I should do so. None other can do what I can. Trust me in this. You need me, Aryk.” He groaned. She had no idea. There was need and there was need. “We’ll be making history, changing the world. There’s something to be said for that.” The underlying innocence in her smile killed him. “Excuse me.” He turned and entered the baths. Wooden benches lined the gleaming white tile walls, folded towels stacked neatly on a shelf. Valkyn’s clothing draped over one of the benches. His second sat in the first pool, steaming water up to his shoulders. Willing his body to relax, Aryk stripped out of his own attire and stepped into the water, momentarily flinching at the heat. “I couldn’t talk her out of going.” “How hard did you try?” Valkyn gave him a pointed, sweeping glance, then poured water over his head and shook his hair like a dog. Aryk scrubbed off the sweat with a sandy-textured substance which foamed with the scent of lemongrass. Once they were clean, they soaked in the soothing hot water. “Like the hot springs back home.” “I’d not want to live here. Luxury makes folk soft.” “Like Verdeen?” Aryk’d wager his favorite shield every bit of her skin was. “Hai. She’s made for bed, not battle.” Valkyn scowled. “Too young, too frail. Hai, she can go through the motions just fine, but when it comes to spilling guts on the battlefield, do you think she’s got what it takes to survive?” That question haunted Aryk. Valkyn was right. They were here for a purpose. A mission, not a dalliance. If only circ*mstances had been different, he could’ve focused on man and woman instead of daq and kyra. Acourse, were things different, they never would have met. Stovak nos briel. “We’ll find out come the morrow.” Aryk leaned back in the water and closed his eyes, troubled thoughts still churning through his mind.
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Chapter Six
Verdeen stood on the palace steps and checked her toshi weapons—short sword, broad sword, longknives, throwing dirks. Also her unstrung ash longbow and the ensorcelled quiver which never ran out of arrows. Her ironwood staff was a gift from the dwarves, an innocuous walking stick that could shatter bones. She picked up her pack of personal items. Dara’s face was drawn, but she smiled past the misgivings in her eyes. “We shall gate to Kunigonde,” Cianan stated. Acourse they would. ’Twas the fastest route, but Verdeen’s stomach lurched as she contemplated that magical transportation device linking Loren’s and Cianan’s homes. Elyria came running up with a wooden sword and shield. Her tangled coppery curls bounced as she waved her sword. “I kill them bad men with Auntie Verdeen.” Dara grabbed her wayward daughter, muttering dire threats against incompetent nannies. “Oh nay, you don’t, wee virago. ’Tis too early yet to be about. Back to the nursery with you.” “I don’ hafta go. Do I, Patre?” Elyria turned pleading turquoise eyes on her father. Loren frowned. “You need to listen to your matre, princess.” Elyria scowled, screeched and kicked him in the shin afore Dara dragged her away. “You are going to have a time of it with her,” Cianan commented. Loren grimaced and rubbed his leg. “Wait ’til it is your turn, friend.” “Not going to happen.” Cianan smiled with the confidence of the yet-childless. “We plan on having all lads.” “Good luck with that.” Loren looked downhill toward the academy. “Speaking of lads…” Verdeen swallowed a curse as her heart skipped a beat. Aryk’s tawny mane glistened in the pale morning sunlight, gleamed gold against the deep crimson of his daq cloak. A flash of memory from yesterday afternoon hit her, the intensity in those changeable hazel eyes when he’d begged her to stay home, to not go with him. Aryk and Valkyn strode up the hill with a big-boned red dog and ascended the marble palace steps. The daq shook his head at Verdeen. “You going through with this madness?” “Are you?” she challenged. They glared at each other for a long moment. Up close, she felt the tug, the pulling, of his burning gaze. He stole her breath. Heart pounding, she shivered and looked away first.
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“Well, this should be more entertaining than last time,” Valkyn commented. “Whenever you’re ready, my lords.” Loren and Cianan led the way to the gate room. Dara awaited them by the body-size mirror which was more than it seemed. Verdeen grimaced as Dara touched her spirit-torque and whispered a command. The reflective surface shimmered into swirling iridescence. “Well, time to get this horror over with. Secure your weapons afore you enter.” Cianan took a deep breath and disappeared into the gate. Valkyn’s face was pale, his ice-blue eyes wild as he stared at the unnatural device. “’Tis safe enough, human,” Dara stated. “’Twas how you got here, remember?” “Still trying to forget.” Afore Verdeen could blink, he leapt in and was gone. Aryk turned to Verdeen. “See you on the other side. Fiske, come.” The dog growled at the device and backed away. Smart dog. Aryk sighed, picked up the dog and stepped through. This was it. She was leaving. Would she ever return, or was she destined to die on that frozen distant battlefield? “Be strong, warrior.” Dara sounded hoarse. “Eyes and ears, vertenya,” Loren added. “Keep us apprised.” “I won’t let you down.” Verdeen eyed the dreaded gate. Waiting made it worse. Taking a deep breath, she stepped in. A chaotic cauldron spun her every which way. Up was down; down was sideways. Butterflies the size of cart horses tumbled in her stomach. There was an infernal buzzing in her ears, like an entire hive of bees. The gate flung her out the other side. Aryk caught her against him with one big, calloused hand. The room tilted as she staggered, but she widened her stance to compensate. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her stomach. The warm, male scent of Aryk curled around her, through her, and her stomach flipped anew for an entirely different reason. “Are you all right?” he asked. Don’t look up. Don’t look up. She raised her gaze to his, reading the concern in his eyes. Time froze for a heartbeat afore she shook off his hold and stepped back. The floor solidified beneath her boots. “I’m fine.” Fiske retched in the corner. Maleta handed Cianan a goblet. He grimaced but took a drink and handed it to Aryk. “Concoction’s almost worse than the gating headache.” “Why do you use that infernal device?” Valkyn was still green as he took his sip but doggedly rearmed. Cianan grimaced again. “Expediency.” “We need to get started,” Aryk stated. Verdeen gagged on the bitter syrup Valkyn handed her.
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“Better now?” Aryk asked, forcing the last of the vile brew down Fiske’s throat. She nodded and donned the furred garments Maleta handed her. Aryk took his time rearming. His hands shook a bit. Otherwise, he looked the least affected of all of them by the gate. Cianan held out a gleaming toshi knife to Aryk. “I believe I owed you this.” Aryk inspected it closely. “I’ve never seen anything so fine. My thanks.” “What’s going on?” Verdeen asked. “Cianan lost a wager,” Valkyn reported. “Aryk announced about a quarter mark into it that you’d win the tournament.” Verdeen wasn’t sure whether to be angry they’d wagered on her at all, outraged Cianan had bet against her, or flattered Aryk had bet on her. She turned to Aryk. “What made you say it?” “I’ve been playing that game for twenty years,” Aryk stated. “I saw the way you strung the other team out, the way the other leader fell for the bait. You handled it like an experienced commander.” She blushed at his praise, distracting herself by noticing the strange four-pronged items Valkyn carried. “What are those?” “Throwing cheqs,” he replied. “A distance weapon.” “He’s an expert with those,” Aryk added. Ooh, a new weapon. Judging by the curve of those prongs, they looked difficult and painful to remove. “Are they deadly or merely incapacitating?” “They pierce bone,” Valkyn stated. “Thrown at a man’s head, they’re fatal enough.” “There’s a trick to it, though,” Aryk warned. Valkyn shrugged. “’Tis all in the wrist.” “I’d love to learn.” “We’ll see.” Valkyn sounded noncommittal, but Verdeen didn’t miss the glare he fired at Aryk. Why wouldn’t he want to share weapons’ training after Cianan’s gift? This partnership was all about exchanges. Maleta led the way through the keep to the front gate, Cianan brought up the rear. Shamari guards held four horses’ reins. Stolid, stocky geldings in full winter coats, three saddled, one loaded with gearpacks. Verdeen mounted the dark bay and grabbed the pack horse’s lead, tying it to her saddle. The northmen followed suit with the hopping clumsiness of horseless folk. “You don’t have horses where you live, do you?” she asked. Aryk grimaced and shook his head. “Too cold. Not enough fodder.” Had that influenced the war mares’ decision? Had they somehow known this was where she’d be headed? Verdeen stared down at the big red dog aside the daq’s horse. “Yours?” He nodded. “Hai. Fiske is a seeker dog, more hunter, though he also guards.”
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Verdeen studied the dog. Squarely built and big boned, with pricked ears and a plumed tail which curled over his back. Another guard around the campfire was always welcome. Cianan turned to Verdeen. “Wind at thy back, vertenya.” Her throat tightened. “May the Light warm thy heart, friend.” Clucking to her horse, she rode out. Aryk and Valkyn followed suit. No sooner had she cleared the keep when a gust of icy wind blasted her full in the face, ripping her hood from her head. She fought to pull it up. She dropped her reins to tuck her mitted hands under her arms, using her legs to guide her mount. Valkyn and Aryk pulled up alongside her, bouncing in their saddles. Steam curled around them with every breath. Aryk frowned at her as Fiske bounded through the roadside drifts. She watched the dog to avoid the Isadorikjan daq’s chastising stare. He doubted her fitness to accompany them. Was he also one of those “chivalrous” men who deemed women suitable for but two things—bedding men and bearing younglings? She focused on the surrounding whiteness. “How long ’til dark?” “Half-dozen candlemarks,” Aryk replied. “Won’t make the village ’til nightfall.” Valkyn grinned at her, waggled his brows. “Pleasurable company and comfortable beds.” What was it with men? “Your lips are turning blue, lass.” Valkyn’s eyes twinkled at her. “Stop staring at her lips and pay attention to where you’re going,” Aryk ordered. Oh, for the love of— Was the entire journey to be like this? There was limited shelter in the pines, but the spicy boughs blunted the worst of the wind. It still whistled around her. Icicles jangled like wind chimes. ’Twas peaceful here. The snow muffled the sound of the horses’ hooves. She scanned the area. No cover for attackers, but she couldn’t assume Wolf and Tzigana had contained all the bandits in the country and determined to keep her wits about her. A thundercloud of discord rolled over her from the two northmen. She’d just ignore them, all the way to Ravenscroft, all the way to the northern coast and the great salt sea. What would it be like, asides cold and grey? What she’d read mentioned white whales and mysterious sky lights. Her determination lasted a candlemark afore the weight of the silence grew too heavy. “You said you’ve no horses,” she observed. “I can tell by the way you ride you’re not accustomed to it. What have you asides dogs?” “Wondered when you’d speak to us again,” Aryk said. “Talking keeps her face from freezing,” Valkyn teased. “We’ve flocks of sheep, goats and another pack animal called a yaga,” Aryk replied. “A taller, longerlegged relative of sheep and goats, with long necks and thick wool. They’ve big feet to travel across the snow and weigh twice as much as a man. They can carry half their body weight when they choose.”
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“There’s the rub,” Valkyn added. “Yagas have minds of their own. If they think a burden too heavy, they lie down and refuse to move ’til you lighten it to their satisfaction. No amount of cursing helps. If you annoy them, they just spit at you. Nasty stuff.” Verdeen looked to Aryk for confirmation. He nodded. “You said the dog guards.” Verdeen waved to Fiske. “What from whom?” “Asides raids?” A shadow crossed Aryk’s face. “We’ve two main predators on the island. A giant white snow bear hunts by day, mostly seals but snags whatever crosses its path. The stealthy night-stalking snow cat’s more dangerous. It has thick white fur with pale grey spots and a tail nigh as long as its own body.” He held up a tooth on a sinew cord around his neck. “Male snow-cat fang.” She stared at the hand-size fang. If their heads were proportioned like a regular cat’s, then that was one big animal. The books hadn’t mentioned them. “What should they prey on?” “Wild sheep and goats, snow hare and rock coneys,” Valkyn said. “Sometimes though, tame stock’s easier to brave than wild critters. We aim to make it not worth the effort.” “Do they ever prey on people?” “Hai.” Aryk’s face darkened. “This tooth belonged to an old male. He’d injured a paw and couldn’t hunt. Killed two children and a woman, stole them from their beds, afore we were able to track him down. I slew him and gave the pelt to my mother.” Verdeen shuddered. Imagine wakening to glowing eyes and the feel, the smell, of hot, fetid breath as jaws closed around your throat… She jerked herself back to sense. “Tell me about yourself,” Aryk ordered. “Why did your king insist on you?” “Were your parents great warriors?” Valkyn prodded. “You once save the king’s life?” Verdeen shook her head. “Nay. I was the queen’s lady’s maid afore she became queen. My parents are perfumers, the finest in the kingdom. There were no female warriors afore me, not for generations.” “We look like we need help with hair and gowns, wench? What does your king play at?” Verdeen watched the tic in Aryk’s clenched jaw at Valkyn’s pointed question. His hazel eyes spoke volumes. “They must have been surprised at your change of duties.” That was an understatement. They hadn’t seen her, nor spoken to her, in five long, cold years. Rage burned. How dare these men belittle her dream? What did they know? They couldn’t even begin to guess at the trials she’d faced to get here. “And did you never wish to be more than you are?” Her voice was low, icy, brittle. “Did you break body and soul to reach for something others declared beyond your reach? Did you stand alone against all to see a dream become real?” “Hai, lass.” Aryk’s voice was quiet, his expression thoughtful, almost…respectful. “That we share.”
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The word “lass” set her teeth on edge. But she reined her temper in and considered his words. Aye, he might at that, if what King Loren had told her was true. Odd that the one person to mayhaps truly understand her was a near-stranger from a distant land. What was it about him that made him easy to talk to? She turned to him. “The king called me kin. ’Tis all you need know. You saw the tournament. Should you question my abilities further, a demonstration can be arranged.” “It takes more than fighting spirit to make a warrior,” Valkyn argued. “Are they all as hardheaded as this one?” she asked Aryk. He smiled, even as he leveled a measuring gaze on her that made Verdeen uneasy. ’Twas a look reminiscent of Loren’s. “Hai. Every last one.” “You poor bastard.” “His twin sister Erlynda would agree with you.” Aryk’s smile widened to a grin which lit his angular face, and she cursed as her heart gave an appalling little flip. This she didn’t need. Brannan…Brannan…Brannan… Didn’t help. She was in deep, deep trouble. Never had she been so glad to see the lights of the village and the inn. Lads swarmed from the stable to take the horses. Aryk and Valkyn took the packs into the inn and strode up to the barkeep to see about room arrangements. “Only got one left.” The man eyed Fiske. “Upstairs, last on the right, in the corner.” “We’ll take it. Same rate as afore?” Aryk asked. “Extra copper for the dog?” The barkeep accepted the money from Aryk as Verdeen watched Valkyn exchange a heated glance with one of the servers. A buxom blonde in a low-cut, stained bodice and flounced skirt. Verdeen rolled her eyes. The man didn’t waste any time, did he? They hauled their gear upstairs to the room. “Do we cut for the bed?” Valkyn teased. “Fiske sleeps outside the door. He snores.” Aryk shook his head and caught Verdeen’s gaze. “You take the bed. I’ll take the floor.” “Nay. We guard you. I take the floor just inside the door. Valkyn beds down on the floor next to the bed. They come through us to get to you.” Verdeen strode over to the windows. The glass panes looked easy enough to break, and the shutters were in good repair. She tied her rope to the foot of the bed and laid the coils in the corner betwixt the two. “Anything happens, go out this one. Hit the first floor roof and roll to the side alley. Make for the stable.” Verdeen shook her blankets out, preparing to make her bed on the floor. Aryk crossed the room in two strides. “I can’t sleep in a bed whilst you sleep on the floor. I’ll lie awake all night. And I’m not running from a fight.”
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Valkyn made up his own bed. “Now you’ve done it. I’ll grab us a table downstairs whilst you two sort this out.” He strode out of the room. Verdeen glared at Aryk. “Your job, daq, is to get home alive. I say go, you go. That’s my job.” “I already have a full-time nanny-bodyguard. You’d have better luck convincing me had you more scars and wrinkles, lass.” “Stop calling me lass.” She fisted her hands on her hips. “Recall the tournament?” “You’re well-trained, I’ll grant you, and fast. But you’ve no true field experience, and we both ken there’s more complicating this mission now, don’t we?” He circled her, a stalking wolf. Awareness prickled in his wake. “’Tis a mistake,” he whispered. “I told you, stay home.” Verdeen frowned. “The kiss was a mistake. Forget it. I already have.” “Have you?” He moved behind her. She couldn’t see him, but she felt him. His heat warmed her back. Rough fingers trailed down the side of her neck. She shivered at that light caress. Surely he felt her pulse pounding against his skin. “Mayhaps”—his lips brushed her ear—“you need reminding.” She locked her knees and fought to keep her eyes open. She remembered only too well the breathless heat, the restless yearning… “Cease, Aryk. I’m no sensuri to warm a man’s bed.” She needed distance but couldn’t move. A jolt struck her as he worried her earlobe with his lips. ’Twas just what she’d longed for— and feared. To her warrior’s dismay, her eyes closed as she tilted her head away. She reached back to slide her hand through his hair. She bit her lip, but a whimper escaped when he rained openmouthed kisses down the curve of her neck, tongued her skin. Stars, that felt incredible. Her breasts tingled, but he kept his hands on her shoulders. “You didn’t forget, little liar,” he whispered. “You recall it just as I do.” He slid his hands down her arms, reaching around to brush the outer curves of her breasts. They tingled with anticipation. “How you burned for me.” Just a little closer… Her nipples tightened as he teased, not quite cupping her breasts as she wished he would. She needed his touch, his hands on her. “You got so hot for me.” His voice was rough, a bit uneven. “Just as you are now.” “N-nay.” The woman in her yearned otherwise, but the warrior fought back. “I’m no different from Valkyn.” She cursed the breathy tremor in her voice. “You don’t seduce him.” A dark chuckle shook his frame. “Sassy wench. I’ve never been tempted to seduce Valkyn. You, on the other hand…” He scraped his teeth over her nape. Her sensitive flesh pebbled at his actions. “Gods. So sweet… Temptation itself.” Stars, he made her head spin. What was wrong with her? “T-temptation was meant to be resisted.” She swallowed hard, trying to rally some resistance. “Overcome.” “’Twould be easier did you not melt at my every touch.” Aryk turned her about to face him. His eyes blazed down at her, almost black in the dim brazier light. “’Tis a dangerous path you tread. A less
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honorable man would have you flat on your back in his bed, naked and under him, the moment you didn’t shove him away. He’d end your words of protest with kisses ’til the sensation swamping your body drowned out the voice of reason in your mind. Many an innocent lass has been swept away by soft words and a tender caress.” She blushed at his bluntness, but her lips—nay, her whole body—yearned for more of his kisses and touch. A wicked side of her that wished he’d not stopped, that yearned to be swept away. “A less honorable man wouldn’t have been granted my aid in the first place. King Loren’s not in the habit of throwing lambs to wolves.” “Few lambs are as lethal as you.” He clenched his jaw, closed his eyes for a moment and stepped back. He dropped his hands from her shoulders. “’Twould be best for us both did we remember that.” The loss of his touch was a physical blow. Restless, achy, needy. Her tunic was rough, tight, an agony against her too-sensitive skin. Especially her breasts. Verdeen curled her fingers, let the prick of her nails distract her, distance her from the rest. She focused in on that singular discomfort ’til the rest faded into the background. He tossed his own fur garments on the bed. “I recommend shepherd’s pie and the ale.” She was grateful for the change of subject. “I dislike ale.” “Spiced cider might be more to your liking, then. Come on.” He motioned her to precede him into the hall and down the creaking wooden stairs. As they entered the main room, he laid a hand against the small of her back. The heat was a brand against her skin, as if the thin wool of her tunic didn’t exist. Verdeen scanned the main room. Where was Valkyn? All the tables looked to be full, and he was nowhere to be seen. “I’ll get us a couple of drinks whilst we wait for a table,” Aryk said. “I’ll join you in a moment.” She asked the harried innkeeper’s wife where the necessary was, and the woman pointed vaguely toward a narrow doorway. Entering the dimly lit hallway, she took a moment for her eyes to adjust. When they did, she froze, wanting to close them again but unable to move. Valkyn leaned against the wall, the blonde kneeling afore him. The lacing was undone on his breeches, and Verdeen stared in rapt, unwilling fascination as he rubbed his erect shaft against the woman’s cheek. The blonde purred, opening her mouth to run her tongue around the blunt tip. Verdeen’s cheeks flushed with heat. She’d never seen that part of a man afore. She’d no idea people used their mouths so. Embarrassed but still aroused from Aryk’s touch, she watched as Valkyn pumped himself with his own hand. Once…twice… “Open up,” he growled, his face tight. “Take me in your mouth, wench. Work that tongue as you suck me down your throat.”
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What? Verdeen gasped as the woman wrapped her lips around his erection, and it slowly disappeared as she engulfed him. Valkyn’s gaze ensnared Verdeen’s, and a wolfish smile lit his face. He groaned as his partner pulled back, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked. Verdeen lowered her gaze and stared at the glistening shaft shuttling betwixt the woman’s lips. Valkyn’s hand knotted in her blonde curls, his hips pumping as he worked himself deeper. Verdeen whimpered as her skin flushed, her nipples tightening against her tunic. He threw his head back against the wall, eyes closed as he groaned. “So hot.” Oh stars. Why was she watching this? Verdeen turned and fled, mortified. Back in the common room, she returned to Aryk. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “You’re all flustered.” She grabbed her cider and gulped it down. “Found Valkyn,” she panted. Aryk laughed. “Ah. I take it he’s occupied?” She buried her face in her arms with a groan. “Lass, you survived years with warriors and still maintain the innocence to blush?” “I have a table open if you’re ready,” the barkeep reported. Aryk carried his mug of yeast-scented ale to the corner table, where a round loaf of black bread and a generous pat of butter sat midtable. Verdeen followed, watching with approval as he sat in the corner looking outward. “Two orders of shepherd’s pie, a bowl of pork stew and another ale and hot, spiced cider,” Aryk told the slender brunette server in a stained, low-cut bodice. She nodded and sashayed away, flounced black skirts swaying. He reached for the butter. Verdeen slapped the back of his hand with the flat of her knife. “Wait.” She tore a chunk of bread from the loaf, slathered it with butter and took a bite. She chewed slowly, rolling it around in her mouth. No fire, no tingle, no hint of numbness or bitterness. She swallowed. “You want to find out the hard way the cook’s favorite seasoning is bitteralm, be my guest.” Aryk growled. “Poison’s dishonorable—a coward’s tool.” “Dead’s still dead. You die, Beloq wins. ’Tis one truth you must never lose sight of.” Aryk’s gaze was level, measuring. “You’re a taster.” She nodded. “Amongst other things. Never assume things are as they seem.” “There’s more to you than meets the eye.” “You’ve no idea.” A glint in his eye warned her he might enjoy finding out. She swallowed hard at the lingering shimmers of heat. “I’m to help keep you alive. This is part of it. You eat and drink naught afore me. Understand?” “I drank two ales afore you.” His tone was one of humoring her.
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“You were at the bar. You watched him pour them.” Aryk nodded. “Then you’re probably safe. ’Tis what’s prepared where you can’t see bears scrutiny.” Valkyn joined them with an ale, his face flushed but composed. He caught her gaze and grinned. “You left afore it got interesting.” Aryk frowned and growled at his second. The serving wench brought their drinks and food. Verdeen took a swig of Aryk’s ale, but her whole face screwed up at the bitter flavor as she swished and swallowed. “Pgah, wretched stuff.” She took a drink of cider to wash the taste of it away. “You sure you want to drink it?” Valkyn laughed. “Puts hair on your chest.” “The last thing a woman wants is a hairy chest.” Verdeen tested both pies, deemed them harmless and delicious. She slid Aryk’s across the table to him. “You’re right. ’Tis wonderful.” Tender shredded lamb in rich gravy, with potatoes, turnips, peas, carrots and celery, seasoned with onion and herbs, topped with mashed potatoes under a bubbling crown of melted cheese. “Times like this I wish pigs could survive on Isadorikja,” Aryk mourned. “They’d freeze.” Valkyn tore off a chunk of bread. “Our home’s not for the weak.” Verdeen had the sinking feeling Valkyn didn’t refer just to pigs. They finished their meals in silence. The server brought another round of drinks and a hot bubbling dish of sliced pears baked in honey and sweet spices. Verdeen swooned at the taste. ’Twas the most amazing thing she’d eaten in ages. She curled her arms around the bowl. “You can’t touch it. Have to save you from yourself and keep this dish all to myself.” Aryk smacked her with his spoon. “Hand it over, greedy wench.” He slid his mug over to her. “Here. Put some more hair on your chest.” Eew. How cruel to hand her ale after honeyed pears. Valkyn laughed, snagged the serving wench about the waist to whisper something in her ear which made her giggle and blush. But she nodded. He rose to toss her, squealing, over his shoulder afore he crossed the room and carried her up the stairs. Verdeen blinked, dumbfounded. Again? Already? Aryk grinned. “They’re old acquaintances.” Heat scalded her cheeks. He shook his head. “How can you have survived years with warriors and yet still blush?” “Anything short of a lifemate’s naught but a sensuri. No honor in that at all.” “Sensuri? There’s no dishonor in shared company.” “You sound like my friend Aurelien. Most maidens dream of more. A home, a family. We deserve security, respect and love. Why should we settle for less?”
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“How will you ken this mate when you meet him?” “Cianan says he knew from first glance Maleta was meant to be his.” Verdeen locked gazes with Aryk. “All else is illusion, but a shadow of the real thing. I’ll not settle for a mere shadow.” She turned away to stare into the distant fireplace but felt him watch her. “Says one who kens not what she speaks of. Give less credence to minstrels’ tales.” “You don’t believe in love?” That surprised her somehow. She turned to search his face. “I love my land and my folk. I love my children. But the flowery drivel minstrels call romance?” Aryk snorted and took another swig of ale. “Doesn’t exist in the real world.” “I don’t believe you. I’ve seen it.” “You’re young yet, lass.” That stopped her. She narrowed her eyes. “How old do you think me?” “No more than twenty, mayhaps twenty-two.” She choked. “How old are you?” “Thirty. I was your age when Joro was born.” “Your son?” “Hai.” His gaze grew distant. “I miss him.” “Aryk? You couldn’t have been my age when he was born.” His lips quirked as he leaned back in his chair. “And why’s that, lass?” “I’m older than you.” Verdeen braced herself, elbows on the table. He turned and for the first time focused on her face, held her gaze. “Reeeal-ly?” His disbelief was palpable. She shrugged and nodded. “Well? By how much?” Verdeen ensured no one was near enough to overhear. “I’m one hundred and two.” “What kind of fool do you take me for?” “I speak the truth. ’Tis why Cianan wanted one of us to protect you. Loren selected me. But ’twill only work if you take me—and all this—seriously.” He shook his head, looking dazed as he stood. “We should head upstairs. Leave early tomorrow.” He looked as if he was going to say something else, then thought better of it. “What?” “A hundred-year-old maiden.” “Why is that so hard to fathom?” Verdeen rolled her eyes. “Sex doesn’t sound like so great an entertainment.” Little liar, her woman side taunted. Verdeen ignored her. Aryk laughed. “Oh lass, you’ve not met the right man.”
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Chapter Seven
Mocking female laughter, Joro’s hoarse, gurgling cry as she slid the sword free and he sank to his knees afore her… Aryk’s eyes snapped open, his heart pounding in his temples. ’Twas what he suspected. Free of the elven blocking influence, the nightmares returned with a vengeance. He took a shuddering breath, drifting in a half doze. Fiske’s growl jarred him awake. The dog’s cold wet nose nudged his hand. Something was wrong. What was Fiske doing inside the room? ’Twas still dark. The stinging scent of smoke seeped around the closed door. “Fire?” Tisht. A sudden surge of tingling energy akin to lia skittered beneath his skin. The gooseflesh raised the hairs on his arms and had him wide awake. He hopped up and headed for the door. The sound of shattering glass made him turn. Valkyn nodded and tossed their gear from the broken window. “Don’t open that—door’s hot.” Verdeen wrapped weapons in bedding as Aryk rose. “No going out through the door,” she reported. All the others in the inn. The innkeeper’s small boy, the old healing cleric… “We have to get these people out.” Verdeen shook her head. “First we get out. Then we look to help others.” Valkyn grabbed Verdeen’s bundle and tossed it out also. “Out across the roof and over the side, like she said. Let’s go.” He went down the rope first. Aryk scooped up Fiske, lay down on his belly and lowered the wriggling dog as far as he could afore dropping him into his second’s waiting arms. Verdeen tossed their bundles over the side afore she followed Aryk down the rope. Fiske disappeared into the darkness. A crowd milled around in the yard. Disoriented, some half-dressed, others in night attire. A few like themselves who apparently slept in their travel clothes. A few unidentified bundles of salvaged belongings littered the ground. No one seemed to be organized enough to act—not even the innkeeper, staring in bewildered dismay at his burning home. Creataq, help them. “Everyone grab a bucket,” Aryk ordered. “Form a line.” They lined up betwixt the well and the burning inn, passed buckets and threw water against burning walls. He tried to do a head count as he got them moving. “Is everyone here? Is anyone missing?” Glass exploded from a first-floor window. Flames shot out through the opening and curled up the wall. Thick acrid clouds of smoke hung in the air.
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“Lindy?” the innkeeper’s wife shouted. “Has anyone seen my son?” His heart faltered. Nay. Lindy was Joro’s age, just a child. Trapped somewhere in that inferno? Aryk grabbed her arm. “Where was he?” “He sleeps beneath the stairs. I thought Dar had him.” How had his parents not stopped for him? Gone back for him afore now? If it were Joro or Birgit… Aryk studied the building. The stairs were close to the door. If he got through the door— “Don’t be mad,” Verdeen snapped, muscling the innkeeper’s wife farther from the burning building. Her wheaten braid lay twisted and half-unraveled over her shoulder. She brushed it back with an impatient huff. “You’d be no good to anyone dead.” “That’s a child in there,” he snapped. “I’ll not leave a child to burn.” “Aryk.” Valkyn wrapped a waterlogged blanket about himself. “I’ll go.” Aryk tossed another bucket over his second. Gods, the smoke would get him afore the flames. “Beneath the stairs, but hurry. Stay low—smoke rises above air.” Smoke poured from windows. Flames licked walls. Horses’ shrieks added to the din. Valkyn nodded and crashed through the front door. More glass shattered above their heads. A flaming comet fell screaming from an upper window, manshaped, nightshirt ablaze. There was a sharp crack as the man landed. Cuts slashed his face and arms, and his left lower leg bent awkwardly. Aryk ran to him. “Roll.” He scooped bloody snow over burning cloth to put the flames out. Gods, who else had they missed? Aryk dragged the man to a safe distance from the inn and swept the bucket-passing crowd with a quick glance. There—the small mousy man in a healing cleric’s robes. “You.” The cleric jumped. “Help this man.” The cleric handed his bucket to the next man and hurried over to the bloodied, moaning jumper. “Be easy, my son.” Verdeen still struggled with the innkeeper’s wife. A smoldering, blanketed shape appeared in the doorway, staggered clear to fall to the ground. Valkyn. Aryk tore the blanket free. “Lindy.” The innkeeper’s wife tore free of Verdeen’s restraint. “My baby.” Aryk pulled the unconscious lad from Valkyn’s arms and passed Lindy to his mother. His second’s blue eyes were bloodshot in a blistered, scratched-up face framed by a singed blond beard. A choking, smoky stench, tinged with the scent of burnt hair, clung to him. As Aryk ensured Valkyn was all right, a striped grey kitten bounded out from beneath Valkyn’s sleeve, spitting madly, to disappear into the darkness beyond the stables. “He wasn’t breathing.” Valkyn coughed.
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Aryk’s heart nigh stopped. Nay. They couldn’t be too late. He turned to where the sobbing woman rocked her son. He pulled the lad free, laid his head on the boy’s chest and heard the faint sound of a heart still beating. “He’s not crossed over yet.” Taking a breath, he pinched the lad’s nostrils closed and puffed into his mouth, felt the chest rise. Let the child exhale. He breathed again…and again. “Come on, come on—” A trickled gasp preceded a weak cough. The lad took a deeper breath on his own and began coughing in earnest. “That’s it, laddie,” he coaxed. Creataq willing, this was one child to stay on this side of the Beyond. “Come on back now.” The child opened his blue eyes, looked at his mother and dissolved into tears. Aryk fell back, dizzy with relief. Still here. Still with us. The woman looked at Aryk with awe. “You saved him, saved my lad. Bless you.” The innkeeper, Dar, hurried over. His wife turned on him. “I thought you had him.” “I thought he was with you,” Dar said. “Enough.” Tisht. Lindy was safe, and all they could do was point fingers? “Smoke,” the boy wailed. “You’re safe now,” Aryk reassured him. “’Twas what he named the kitten,” Dar’s wife stated. “It ran toward the stables.” Verdeen piled snow onto the blanket, then cut the section free to bundle up into an impromptu cold pack for Valkyn’s face. He took it from her with a nod, hissed as he placed it against his skin. She wrapped more cold cloths about his arms, brushed the rumpled gold hair from his eyes. No helpless maiden act from that one. She’d handled herself like a daq—cool and decisive, even standing up to him. Here, as in the tournament, she showed command potential, and he hoped her people one day recognized that quality and rewarded it. Aryk watched Dar’s wife weep on Valkyn’s shoulder. She should be weeping on Dar’s. Families needed to support each other in times like this. His second patted her back. The serving wench from last night draped a dry blanket around him. The inn collapsed in on itself with a thunderous roar. Aryk motioned folk back, conceded its loss, letting it burn itself into a smoldering, blackened ruin. People who’d thought to grab their belongings now thought to claim them. He looked around. “Where’s Fiske?” Verdeen looked about also. “I don’t know. He disappeared after we hit the ground.” Valkyn strode up, finally free of the women, the blanket still wrapped around him. Aryk frowned at the scratches littering his second’s face. “More broken glass?”
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“Nay.” His second scowled. “’Twas that wretched wee scrap of a kitten. I went in for the lad, found him under the bed with the little terror. Couldn’t just leave it there, now could I? Ungrateful beast shredded me the entire way out.” Aryk fought a grin and glanced Verdeen’s way. Oh, hai, there was an “awww” look on her smokesmudged face, her mist grey eyes all but melting. The amusem*nt faded under a sudden stab of jealousy. Valkyn was the hero of the hour. One of the prices of leadership—making the decisions but delegating the actions to others. Valkyn deserved the credit. If only ’twas anyone’s adulation but Verdeen’s. The sound of pounding hooves reached his ears, and Fiske burst into the firelit clearing, followed by several mounted men from the nearest way station. The leader nudged his restive, snorting black mount over to Aryk. “We saw the glow of fire from the watchtower. Recognized your dog from when you passed through yesterday afternoon. We’ve wagons coming. We’ll get these folks to shelter and see to the injured. Word’s been sent to Ravenscroft.” Praise Creataq, these people wouldn’t be left freezing in their nightclothes in the snow. No one had been killed. Things could be replaced. ’Twas the best anyone could hope for. Aryk glanced at Lindy and his mother. He had to get home to Joro and Birgit. Verdeen knelt aside the red seeker dog and hugged him, rubbing his ears. “Good lad.” Fiske’s tongue hung out the side of his mouth as he panted, appearing to grin as his plumed tail wagged. He looked immensely pleased with himself. Aryk noted the lightening sky in the east. He turned to Valkyn. “Can you ride?” Verdeen snorted. “He couldn’t ride when he wasn’t injured.” Valkyn looked offended. “My arse is the one thing which doesn’t hurt.” He grinned at Verdeen. “My mother used to kiss my injuries when I was a lad.” “Nay she didn’t.” The woman who’d birthed Valkyn was the least maternal female Aryk had ever met. Looking at Verdeen, though, Aryk couldn’t fault Valkyn’s suggestion. Her brusque tone and impatient air seemed incongruous with her sleep-rumpled tunic and mussed hair. She’d kept her wits about her, getting all their gear out and keeping him—and Lindy’s mother—from doing something rash. But somehow she still managed to look beautiful in the moonlight, her hair glowing in the flickering firelight, smudged face and all. Having tasted the sweetness of her kiss once, he yearned to feel that lush mouth on any number of his own aches. Especially the new one developing. Verdeen tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear and examined Valkyn’s hands. Save for the kitten scratches, the backs appeared sunburned, but the palms were untouched. “You can hold the reins just fine.” “Can’t you stay?” Dar strode up to them, his arms around his wife and son. Finally, peace was restored.
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“Nay.” Aryk shook his head. “We’ve a long way to go, and I’ve a son awaiting me.” They’d almost lost their son. He hoped they never took each other for granted. He couldn’t imagine what he’d do had it been Joro. Fire, sword—life was precarious, and too precious to waste. Each day should be one to treasure, with naught left unsaid. “We’ll never forget what you did. Nerthus’s blessings on your journey.” In their tie-stalls, the horses snorted and shied. Verdeen got them bridled and saddled, tied their packs behind the saddles. Aryk’s gelding stomped on his foot afore he could haul himself into the saddle. Shoving his throbbing limb into the stirrup, he swung his leg over. The horse set off afore he was settled. He turned onto the northward road, sawed on the reins to keep the animal from bolting and leaving his companions— and the scent of fire—far behind. Valkyn’s horse flew past him, wild-eyed. Verdeen galloped alongside as she reached over to grab his second’s reins and haul the distressed animal to a halt. Once they were together and clear of the burning site, the horses calmed down. The snow glistened as the sun lightened the sky from a pale orangish-pink to a thin blue. Crows cawed in the treetops. Aryk watched Verdeen pat her horse’s neck and flip a stray lock of mane over to the other side of its neck. One hand on the reins, the other resting on her thigh, she sat perfectly straight and perfectly relaxed, moving with the horse as if she and the horse were one. Shoulder, hip, knee and heel in alignment, heels down. She never seemed to move—how she guided the horse was anyone’s guess. “You ride as if you were born to it,” Aryk observed. Unlike himself and Valkyn, who were lucky and grateful to be able to walk when they got off the beasts. “Nay, not born to it.” Verdeen’s voice was brittle, with a hard, bitter edge. “Just well trained at it, for all the good it did me.” “What do you mean by that?” “I’m not in the elven cavalry now, am I?” Her defensive tone couldn’t hide the sorrow in her eyes. So that’s what she’d referred to in the gardens. Aryk reached out to briefly touch her hand. “Mayhaps Destiny has other plans for you.” Like coming home with me to Isadorikja. He found himself looking forward to bringing her home to Svaaldur, to introducing her to his mother, and quickly tempered that hope with a daq’s logic. She’s an ambassador, not a bride. No good would come from forgetting that one small, pertinent fact. She looked startled at the gesture and eased her horse out of reach. “So it would seem.” Her clipped tone declared the subject closed. Mayhaps ’twas for the best.
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The rough, bouncy trot soon took its toll. Valkyn groaned when they stopped to water the horses midmorn. “I take it back. My arse aches same’s everything else.” “I’m not kissing it.” Verdeen handed each man a hard roll stuffed with cheese. “Walk it off so you don’t stiffen up.” Aryk stretched his legs, limping about on his still-aching foot to try to work the vicious cramp from his left hamstring afore they had to mount up again. He’d wager her mouth on his skin could make him feel a whole lot better, if only to get his mind off the various aches and pains. The wind changed afore midday. Clouds obscured the sun. Tisht. Aryk shared a long, grim look with Valkyn. “We won’t make the next town ’til nightfall. Judging by how fast those clouds pile up ahead of us, we’re best off seeking shelter in a cave.” “Sooner’s better than later,” Valkyn agreed. ’Twas impossible to judge time’s passage. “Fiske, séancetez,” Aryk ordered. “Takka.” The dog trotted off through the trees. Verdeen cast Aryk a glance full of curiosity. “I sent him to find shelter. Storm comes faster than I thought.” Unlike the straightforward northern winds which swept Isadorikja, this wind swirled about Aryk from every direction, lashed his hair, burned the back of his neck. No way to turn from it when it hit everywhere at once. His eyes watered from the sting of icy snowflakes. Valkyn’s face had to be a raw agony. “…see…markers.”
The
wind
swallowed
Verdeen’s
words.
“Wander…road…lost.
None…knows…country.” “Hold up.” His horse stood head down, sides heaving, misery in every line. Aryk couldn’t blame him. Even snow bears holed up in such storms. How far to the next relay station? He tried to recall from their last trip. Hard to judge time or distance in such conditions. He dismounted, dropped in snow to his knees, but the indigo marker to his left told him they were indeed still on the road. It had been on their right on the southward journey from Ravenscroft to Kunigonde. So long as they kept the markers on the left, they’d arrive in Ravenscroft. Verdeen and Valkyn led their shivering geldings over to him. “We keep to the road as far as we can go,” he said. They led the horses along the marked trail for an interminable length of time. Fiske’s distant barking heralded his return, and he tugged at Aryk’s cloak. “Follow him,” Aryk told them. “He’s found something.” Verdeen produced a rope from her pack to tie everyone together. Stepping off the road was to enter a sea of snow. Never had Aryk envisioned it piled so deep. Isadorikja’s winds kept the snow managed for the most part as they swept the plains. Fiske bounded along a route known only to him. Aryk trusted the seeker dog’s instincts.
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Verdeen hunched against the wind, huddled against her horse, most likely for warmth. Aryk couldn’t wait to get to Ravenscroft. The wind tried to steal his very breath. He could imagine how cold she must be. But she didn’t complain, and she didn’t fall behind. Aryk almost ordered her up on her horse, but the animals struggled to slog through the snow, and he hadn’t the heart to add to their burden. He glanced across to Valkyn. What remained of his second’s beard was a mask of ice. A great fissure loomed afore them, and Fiske led the way into shelter. ’Twas a small cave big enough for three folk and a dog. The horses crowded together at the opening and pressed inside, out of the wind, sheltered up to their shoulders. No room for a fire. ’Twould have to do. At least they were out of the snow, and the horses blocked the worst of the wind. Verdeen struggled to untie the ropes. Valkyn helped Aryk strip saddles and packs off the horses and put them against the far wall. Unrolling layers of bedding, they built an impromptu tent by stacking the saddles and packs and draping their wet cloaks over them. Verdeen laid a blanket over each of the horses, a bit of protection from the snow. Then she joined the men in the shelter with their blankets and food. Verdeen nibbled on another cheese-stuffed roll. “I feel like this piece of cheese.” “Best way to keep warm is to huddle together,” Aryk said. Valkyn glanced at Aryk. “We should set watches.” Aryk nodded. “I’ll take first.” “I always greet the dawn, so I’ll take last,” Verdeen said. Valkyn shrugged. “Looks like now I get to be the cheese.” “Rotate the horses when you do. Move the two inner ones to the outside so the ones outside get some relief from the wind,” Verdeen ordered. She shivered against Aryk. “This must be what hell feels like.” “Being in the dark with two good-looking men under a pile of blankets?” Valkyn teased. Aryk growled afore he could stop himself. Mine. Valkyn looked startled, then amused, by Aryk’s reaction. Verdeen burrowed closer to Aryk. Trying to tamp down the flash of relief that she sought him out for comfort, he put an arm around her shaking body and drew her in tight to his side. I’ve got you. I’ll keep you warm. “You’re wrong, lass. Hell has naught to do with cold.” She looked at him, her face inches from his. “We worship the Lady of Light, personified by the sun, and greet Her each morning as She rises. Without Her there is no life. Dark. Cold. Like what surrounds us here. So what’s hell like for you?” Aryk tore his attention from the distracting way her lips formed the words to the words themselves. “The Beyond is the same place, whether paradise or not. The banquet halls of the gods with music and dancing, wine and women and song, telling boastful tales of past prowess and fighting to prove one’s worthiness to be there.” She looked puzzled. “Then what’s the difference?”
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“The difference is in the how and why you get there,” Valkyn replied. He’d almost forgotten Valkyn’s presence. “How you live is how you’ll spend eternity,” Aryk explained. “If you die in noble battle, young and in your fighting prime, you spend eternity hale and hearty. Forever young, forever strong. If you live to old age, helping your folk and honoring the gods, you likewise return to your youthful state. Heroes get precedence.” “Then what’s hell?” “Evildoers, cowards, those weak and dishonest or selfish and cruel are judged unfit by the gods. They remain—or become—old and frail, bent and withered with twisted joints and worn teeth, spending eternity sick and weak.” Valkyn scowled. “Every ache torments them forever.” “So not only do they suffer throughout eternity, but everyone else kens what an unworthy person they were in life,” Aryk finished. Her jaw dropped. “What about younglings?” “Babes and children grow to adulthood and live out their lives with the warriors,” Aryk assured her. “The gods judge our hearts and take pity on the innocents.” “But if heroes get special precedence and favors, wouldn’t everyone just throw their lives away in some fruitless battle?” And weren’t there a lot of lia-influenced warriors who thought along those same lines? “Nay, the gods read our hearts,” Aryk argued. “We’re to live for others, not ourselves. The older and more experienced help and counsel the younger, lead by example. We face every day with courage and honor. An oldster who wanders off in a blizzard to spare his kin is nobler than a young warrior who dies at another’s hand because he fears aging. Any who’d rob their folk too soon of their experience and wisdom would be dealt with in the Beyond.” She looked thoughtful at that. “What about you?” Aryk asked. “What of your afterlife?” She froze. He saw the lie forming on her face. Secrets. “You know I’m not human. We live a very long time if we’re not killed.” Her voice conveyed truth, but her face proclaimed secrets withheld. “Are the tales true?” Valkyn asked. “You’re immortal?” She shook her head with an impatient air. “Were I immortal, I’d not have said killed, and there’d be no use for an afterlife. We too have a Hall of Fallen Heroes. When we die, we’re buried with all our possessions. But oathbreakers and traitors are forbidden the Hall. They fade away as if they never were.” Where did those shades go? Aryk eyed her. Loren had said he’d find her hard to kill. What had the elven king meant? “Your kind must be wounded on occasion, killed.” She nodded, tensing as she braced herself.
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Aryk wondered at the look of dread on her face. “We are.” Taking a deep breath, she drew a knife and drove it up through her hand. “Tisht.” Aryk watched her blood spurt around the blade. “What’ve you done?” Verdeen bit her lip as she pulled the knife free. Her eyes went blank and opaque as she whispered a chant under her breath, and he watched, spellbound, horrified, as the bleeding slowed, then stopped, and the wound closed afore his very eyes. Long breathless moments passed as the cut became a scab and then a scar, fading ’til Aryk saw no evidence of the brutal wound aside from the blood on the blade and her clothes. “We can heal ourselves. Minor wounds quickly, major injuries longer. Anything save an outright deathblow can be overcome with trance-healing and enough time.” His head spun. “’Tis why Cianan suggested one of you as a bodyguard.” “Aye. ’Tis pretty difficult to recover from, say, having my head lopped off, but short of that I’ll come back good as new. Stars. Still hurts, though.” She flexed her fingers with a grimace and wiped the knife on her sleeve. “Our afterlife isn’t as crowded as yours.” She’d be young-looking long after he vanished into the echoes of time. The gulf betwixt them was an ocean. Time. His greatest enemy. Something all but meaningless to her. Valkyn shook his head, held his hands up. “Most of us mortals have to heal slow.” “But surely the gods must put extra weight on the good scale for saving a youngling.” “Unless the lad was fated to die, and I cheated the gods of their prize.” “Then the gods will just find another way to take him,” Aryk said. “Nay, I refuse to believe some are born fated to die as younglings. When it happens, ’tis a tragedy, not fate.” Her voice was husky. Even in the dim light, her eyes shimmered. “You can’t have it both ways, lass,” Aryk reproved. “Either Destiny moves you, or you move Destiny. You can’t pick and choose which for your own convenience.” “Asides, when we die’s not as important as how we die,” Valkyn stated. Verdeen squirmed free of Arm’s arm, lay back and closed her eyes. Aryk frowned at the empty feeling of loss that simple withdrawal invoked, and found himself watching her, unwilling to entirely sever their connection. She came from a different world, one with less urgency, more leisure. No wonder their arts had reached such heights, with centuries if not millennia to perfect them. With time stretched endlessly afore her, what motivation was there to accomplish anything? Aryk had mere months to implement his changes, mayhaps a few decades to solidify his new regime for his successor—Joro, did the gods will it—afore the gods took him to the Beyond. Urgency gnawed at him. Here he was, trapped by the weather. Aryk tore his gaze away from Verdeen and turned to Valkyn. “You both should get some sleep.”
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“Wake me when ’tis my turn.” Valkyn rolled so his back was to Verdeen, and within moments, his heavy, even breathing told Aryk he slept. ’Twas one of the first things warriors learned, how to fall asleep within moments. One grabbed sleep where one could. But should Fiske so much as growl, Valkyn would be on his feet, weapon in hand. Fiske lay head on paws. He had to be exhausted. At least Aryk had the luxury of horses. The poor dog had run every league on his own paws, including the extra distance seeking help for the inn and shelter for them now. “Good lad.” Fiske’s tightly curled tail waggled. Aryk spent his time cleaning their weapons, missing Joro and watching Verdeen sleep. She rolled onto her left side facing him, curled up into a little ball and snored. A quiet vibration of sound, almost unnoticeable beneath the blowing from the horses and the snorts and whimpers Fiske made as he dreamt. An oddly endearing flaw, reassuring him she wasn’t perfect. He considered her self-healing ability. Would that and her speed offset her inexperience? How would she handle the raw brutality of the battlefield? The harsh conditions of everyday life in the north? She’d teared up just imagining the death of a child. What would she do when faced with the harsh reality of it? A lot of folk would die afore this was over. How many friends and brothers, like Valkyn, sought a glorious death? How many would choose that over a lifetime of peace? This entire feat hinged on others with the same secret dream. What if he was the only one?
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Chapter Eight
Verdeen had never been so glad to see anything as the towering coastal fortress of Ravenscroft. Two days shy of a fortnight it had taken, changing horses as slogging through the deep snow exhausted their mounts. She was cold, tired and dirty. Her nails were broken; her hair itched. She must look a fright to Aryk. The fact that the men were in similar straits didn’t make her feel any better. She longed for a hot bath and a warm bed. For once her warrior and woman were in complete agreement. Ugh. How many sunless dawns had she greeted? Did even the Lady turn Her back on her? She still mulled over her companions’ views on the afterlife. How to guard someone who not only didn’t fear death but seemed determined to rush headlong into it? Aryk reined in his horse aside her. “Never fails to impress.” On the other side of him, Valkyn scowled up the cliff at the imposing black silhouette as if it were an affront. “Naught but a symbol of greed and vanity.” She jerked her mind back to the here-and-now. “What?” Valkyn glared. “Such stone structures. Their sheer size. Quarrying and stonework are brutally hard work.” “The amount of labor to build that”—Aryk pointed to the royal estate—“is astounding.” The implication worried her. She noted the awe in his voice. “You’ve no stone buildings?” “Oh, hai, we do. Just on a much smaller scale.” Verdeen sagged with relief, having pictured mud huts with hide doors in her nightmares. They made their way to the gateway, where the guards went through a thorough disarm-and-search procedure afore escorting them into the keep antechamber. A servant took their sodden cloaks and muddy boots. A well-dressed Shamaru woman greeted them and showed them into a small salon, where wine and food sat on a sideboard. “Please, refresh yourselves whilst quarters are prepared.” “Could I have a bath?” Verdeen asked. “If ’tis not too much trouble.” Amusem*nt lit the woman’s gaze as it swept Verdeen from head to toe. “’Twas ordered for each of you. Appears ’twas a long hard journey.” Verdeen’s cheeks burned. Compared to the woman’s rich clothing and exotic beauty, she was a muddy mongrel puppy. Aryk poured a glass of wine. Verdeen had never seen wine the color of ripe plums afore and took a cautious sip. ’Twas heavy and rich with plum and blackberry, a hint of spice. Much better than the accursed
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ale. The woman poured water in a basin. Aryk motioned for Verdeen to go first. She washed her face and hands. Then she sampled each food, nodded and helped herself to a scone with dried-apple compote and sharp yellow cheese. An older Shamaru man leaned against the doorframe, walking cane in hand. “I’m Andorjan. I’m to ensure ye have all ye need whilst we get ye settled. Household’s in an uproar.” “What’s going on?” Verdeen asked. “Queen Tzigana’s time has come.” “Our congratulations,” Aryk said, “and apologies for our poor timing.” “Nonsense.” Andorjan waved him off. “What’s more auspicious than the peoples of our three lands gathered together to welcome the heir and a new era of peace?” A maid tapped on the door. “The rooms and baths are ready, m’lord.” “Show them up, lass. I’ll send someone along with supper.” Never had Verdeen looked more forward to a bath. The Shamaru woman’s expression still stung. She shed her filthy clothing as soon as she shut the door, happy to be rid of them. Ugh. Astounding they didn’t stand all by themselves. She unbraided her hair. “Will ye require assistance, lady?” Verdeen shook her head as she stepped into the steaming tub. She’d always done without a lady’s maid. She’d been a lady’s maid. She could just imagine what her valet-less fellow cadets would have thought of that, her having a personal attendant. “Nay, I can manage.” The maid curtsied and took her leave. The heat soothed, but she didn’t linger, scrubbing skin and hair twice. No sooner had she donned clean tunic and breeches from her pack than a knock sounded at the side door. “Enter.” Aryk strode in. Wet tendrils of hair curled over his bare shoulders. Verdeen gaped at his sun-bronzed chest ’til she noticed the leather breeches. Thank the Lady for small mercies. He looked different without his beard. Less scruffy, more princely, with naught to hide his granite jaw and those mesmerizing eyes… “You shaved,” she blurted, tearing her gaze away from the hypnotic snare of his. He grinned. Was he laughing at her? “Beards itch. Food’s in my room. Shall you take long?” She gritted her teeth as her comb caught in yet another sodden snarl. “Ow. Depends.” He came over to the side of the bed. “You want assistance with that?” She blushed at where her gaze was drawn, the bulge of him right at eye level. Curse Valkyn anyway. “I-I didn’t know you hired out as a lady’s maid.” “I have all sorts of hidden talents.” His deep murmur sent a quiver of awareness through her. That rich, slightly rough sensual tone was nigh a physical caress.
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None she wanted to dwell on. Truly. Verdeen tried not to notice the leather pull taut across his muscular thighs as he took the comb from her. Even the brush of his scarred, calloused fingers against hers affected her. “I-I can manage.” Aryk moved to sit behind her on the bed. “Best to start at the bottom, work your way up.” The comb picked its way through the first section. Verdeen bit her lip at the intimacy of him running his hands through her hair. “I should just chop it off as Maleta does.” He growled at that. “That should be outlawed. Her hair’s part of a woman’s beauty. Especially yours. So thick and fine.” So wet and scraggly. “Not so beautiful when plastered with sweat and mud or in knots because she hasn’t time to keep it in order. Asides that, it takes forever to dry.” Heat radiated from his hard body. She fought the urge to relax against him. “Something’s missing.” He sniffed. “The scent you wore.” Her skin prickled. “I left mine at home. Rather extravagant for a warrior to cart spa oils around on campaign. Their soap was adequate, just not scented.” “Pity.” “This isn’t proper.” “But you told me you don’t always do what’s proper.” He ran his fingers through her hair, coaxing the worst of the snarls out afore using the comb. Verdeen sighed at how good that felt. At last it pulled through freely. “I can’t tell you how many fantasies I’ve had that involve your hair.” “What?” He’d fantasized about her? That sounded wicked—and intriguing. Her face burned, but at the same time she couldn’t help turning and asking, “Like what?” He quirked a heavy eyebrow at her. “How improper do you feel like being?” His gaze heated. “Sharing fantasies would be most improper, but I’d be happy to oblige.” She gave in to temptation, sighing as she leaned back against him. Aryk swept her wet locks aside to plant a kiss on her nape. Verdeen yelped. “What’re you doing?” His low chuckle caused a dance of awareness up her spine. “Being improper.” He slipped his hands beneath her tunic. “Remember? Start at the bottom and work my way up?” She gasped at the shock that zinged through her. “W-we were referring to brushing hair.” “But that instruction has so many more interesting applications.” His fingertips slid across her belly and up her ribcage. It tickled and aroused at the same time. Her breasts swelled in anticipation as his roughened fingers glided closer. She should smack his hands and pull away. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Could but wait and choke down a whimper as his large warrior hands curled around her breasts. She gasped as he
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rubbed and plucked her nipples into taut, aching points. It felt better than she’d imagined, better than when she’d done it herself. “Aryk.” Something this blissful must be wrong. But no one afore Aryk, asides Aryk, had ever made her feel this way. Beautiful. Desirable. What else could he make her feel? How far would he try to go? How far would she let him go? “Say my name again.” He nibbled at the tender skin beneath her ear, teasing her breasts with lethal skill ’til she drowned in a sea of pure tingling sensation. “Aryk.” She squirmed against him, restless and needy. “Please.” She barely recognized the breathy whisper as her own voice. “Please what?” He suckled on her skin. “Want me to stop?” Did he jest? Not yet. Verdeen arched into his hands and shook her head. Turning to him, she froze at the fierce, predatory expression on his face. She leaned in, pulled him close to capture his lips with hers. He took control of the kiss with the slide of his tongue. He stole her breath. Must be lack of air making her lightheaded. She scarce noticed as Aryk fell back onto the bed, beneath her. Her entire body flamed with yearning. More, she wanted more. Only when his lips left hers and nibbled across the bared skin of her belly did she realize she hovered above him, her tunic shoved up high enough for… Verdeen cried out in shock and helpless arousal as he latched on to one aching nipple, teasing the tip with his tongue afore suckling hard. Oh, stars, the sensation was indescribable, more intense than she’d imagined. A sharp dart of pure need struck. She moaned, curling her fingers into his chest. Her stomach clenched with need as he growled and switched to her other breast, rasping his tongue across the nipple, which seemed even more sensitive than its twin. The sizzle traveled south, down betwixt her thighs. She panted and shifted. Her woolen breeches dampened with wanting and chafed against her sensitized flesh, aching for his touch…there. He pulled back, eyes blazing. “Sit up. Raise your arms.” She obeyed. Her tunic sailed off to distant lands as he pulled her down flush atop him. The feel of skin on skin thrilled and terrified. Out of control, awash with sensation and at Aryk’s mercy. Torn betwixt moving away and moving closer. He rolled her beneath him, tongued her nipple whilst she writhed, panting, against him. “Aryk—” The word choked off as he devoured her with gentle, biting kisses to her belly. Oh, aye, just like that. Just like in my late-night fantasy. She gasped and shuddered as the cool strands of his still-wet hair caressed her flushed, overheated skin. ’Twas something she’d not thought of. They generated so much heat ’twas a wonder their hair hadn’t steamed dry already. “There’s naught like the sweet scent of an aroused woman.” His voice was strained. “But the soap wasn’t scented.”
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A dark chuckle shook him. He looked up to capture her gaze with his, his eyes all but black in the dim light. “Oh, sweet innocent, that scent has naught to do with soap and perfume.” He drew her knee up over his hip, settled himself against her core, eased the ache a bit. “So beautiful when you burn.” The intimacy of his gaze was too much to sustain. Her eyes drifted closed. She barely recognized the needy wanton within her own skin. Her whole body pulsed, ached, hungered as he pressed and rubbed himself against that sweet spot. The tightening was unbearable. She needed…that flash, relief…so badly… So close… “Aryk, please. I need—” “Oh, hai. I ken what you need.” He pulled back, and she nigh wept at the loss. Then he captured her breast, drew on her nipple. All thought flew right out her mind. Her eyes snapped open as he unlaced her breeches. Startled back into clarity, she caught at his hand. Her heart hammered in her throat. “Nay, wait, cease.” “I’ll not leave you in this state. Trust me. I’ll make you fly—” A banging on the dividing door brought her crashing back down into the here-and-now. Oh stars, she’d forgotten where they were. With a yelp, she shoved Aryk off and looked about for her tunic, nerves jangling as she grabbed her drying cloth to clutch afore her. “What?” “Maid wants to know if she can empty the tub,” Valkyn called. “Food’s getting cold.” Verdeen’s whole body crackled. “B-be there in a moment.” She glared at Aryk. “I… You… Cease laughing.” He erased the grin with his hand. “Come back here. ’Tis nowhere near finished.” “Oh, nay. Aye. ’Tis.” Mortification heated her cheeks. She found her tunic in the corner and yanked it over her head backward. With a huff, she righted it, hissing as the material scraped her erect nipples. Stars, she wanted to crawl out of her skin. “What if someone had walked in?” “Had someone walked in, they’d apologize and leave. Forget Valkyn.” He patted the mattress. “Come back here. You ken you want to. Let me ease you.” With Valkyn waiting on the other side of the door? Not likely. She stomped into Aryk’s room, where Valkyn waited. “I was brushing my hair.” Valkyn crossed his arms and raised a brow. “Leave me to starve whilst you brush your hair.” He frowned at Aryk, who stood behind her. “Takes two to brush hair?” She turned to see Aryk shrug. “Someone’s surly.” Valkyn gave first Verdeen and then Aryk a pointed once-over. “Should I have given you two a few more marks?” Aryk growled. “Hai.” “Nay.” Verdeen turned away to sample each dish, choking on a vegetable mixture. The men looked alarmed. “Tainted, lass?” Valkyn’s voice was tight.
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She shook her head, face scrunching, and held up a hand. “Nay. Not poisoned. Just…awful.” She took a big gulp of wine. “Easy, lass.” Aryk helped himself to everything except the vegetables. “’Tis heavier than you’re used to. Stronger. Wouldn’t want to see it go to your head.” “You can learn a lot about a person drunk.” Valkyn tried the vegetables first. “Not so bad. Just heavy on the pickling brine.” “Pgah. ’Tis all yours.” Verdeen swished the wine to dull the sour-salt taste. She sat down on the floor against one wall, heard the servants moving in her room. “So, we leave tomorrow?” Aryk nodded, fed a strip of beef to Fiske. “Should reach the landing in two days.” “Took us three without the snow,” Valkyn disagreed. “We were afoot last time. Horses can shorten it. I want to get home.” “Hai. I hate this place. The weight of it presses in on me.” Valkyn looked around. “Stone walls and bolts on doors make for an easy prison.” Verdeen swallowed hard. “These are friends, Valkyn. They won’t imprison you.” Valkyn waved a hand. “This civilization is what you wish? To grow soft behind walls, surrounded by useless luxuries?” Verdeen watched the tic in Aryk’s jaw. “What I wish”—Aryk’s eyes blazed—“is for the madness to stop.” “This fortress took years of hard labor to build. Slave labor. Blood. Sweat. Lost lifetimes. Folk died for one family’s greed. You don’t see those who built it living here. They’re dead. Would you kill entire generations of our folk so one day your grandsons can live in a palace built on the bones of their lessers? Is that what our folk are? Less than you, almighty daq?” “My folk aren’t lessers.” Aryk clutched his goblet. “I never dreamt of palaces.” “I’ve seen envy and lust grow in your eyes this entire journey. You’d have us die to become them. Us, our way of life, all we are. Bears to become sheep.” “You speak of me furthering inequality? You won’t utter kyra to those who’ve earned it. Not even your own sister. The old ways die with every warrior and babe who travel to the other side. We must change.” “Leave Erlynda out of this. I won’t have you spit on my father, on my grandfather.” Valkyn slammed his plate on the table. “And I won’t stay in this room whilst you crawl into bed with witches and spies.” Verdeen flinched. “Hold your tongue,” Aryk ordered. “Can’t order an equal, brother. You order a lesser. So which am I?” Aryk looked heartsick. “You are my brother. I ask you respect the kyra Verdeen.”
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“Respect’s earned. You’ve shown me clear enough a kyra’s naught but a woman.” Valkyn’s scathing glance raked over Verdeen. Turning on his heel, he stormed from the room. Verdeen flinched anew as the door shook on its hinges. Aryk sighed and closed his eyes as he banged his head back against the wall. “He looks to the past whilst you look to the future,” she observed. “He sees naught but the past. All thought for his fathers, none for his sons.” She blinked. “Valkyn’s a father?” “No warrior can hie off to battle or raiding afore he sires a son to replace himself. No daq can take a medallion without an heir. Joro’s five and dreams of being a great warrior.” He snorted. “War doesn’t make one great. He’s all that survives of my sons. And I’ll be damned by the gods afore I see him spitted on the end of someone’s spear.” No wonder Aryk was so driven to get home, to change things. But if he’d younglings… “You’re wed?” She choked at the image of him touching another woman as he had her… Jealousy most unwelcome. She’d no claim on him. He shot her an irritated look. “Nay.” That stopped her. She eyed him uncertainly. “But you’ve younglings.” “Children come from breeding, not marriage. A woman accepts a warrior, stays true to him ’til she becomes pregnant, to ensure a child’s parentage. Each person must provide at least three children for the clans. Asides Joro, I’ve a daughter, Birgit, who’s Valkyn’s niece. They’ve different mothers. There are few lifelong unions. Folk aspire to earn the right to wed, but the unions must be sanctioned and approved by the council.” Her heart stuttered at his coldness. Animals bred; people had lovers and families. This seemed to confirm what she’d read, but if there were no families, then what was left? “But who raises the younglings?” “Sons stay with their mothers ’til they turn six, when they join the warriors’ camp to learn the ways of their fathers. He becomes a man when he has his first successful solo hunt. Girls stay with the women. They’ve little to do with their fathers.” Did he not know Birgit at all? The elven library had said naught about this. Was their childhood so brief? “So Joro would come to you next year?” Aryk nodded. “His mother Dagmar prepares him for that day. ’Tis all she speaks of, when her son becomes a daq among men. ’Twas all our union meant to her.” Was there no softness in his people at all? No tenderness? No love? What had she let herself in for? She’d be a fool to take his attentions for anything more than a physical attraction. Mayhaps naught but the challenge of her innocence. Naught but a conquest. Her heart clenched a bit at that realization. Was she to
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be counted as but one of his women? Just how many women were there? She was bodyguard. Counsel. Spy. Right Hand. There could be naught else. A knock sounded on the outer door. “My lady Verdeen, Daq Aryk,” Andorjan called. “The heir’s about to be born. Come.” “About time,” Aryk commented. “Poor woman looked near to bursting, last I saw her.” Verdeen opened the door. “Valkyn?” “Out walking the parapets with my daughter.” Andorjan locked eyes with Aryk. “Some souls find it difficult to breathe behind stone walls. They shall join us momentarily.” Verdeen followed them up two flights of stairs. Andorjan struggled, but she sensed he’d not welcome an offer of assistance. Wolf paced afore a sturdy oak door. It opened, and a wizened Shamaru hurried out. He grabbed her thin shoulders. “What’s taking so long, Polkara?” “Births can’t be rushed. Babes come when they come.” Polkara creaked away, skirts rustling. He whirled on Aryk. “You’ve sons?” “Hai.” Aryk nodded, looking sympathetic. “How did you stand it?” “With plenty of warriors for company and lots of schnae to drink.” A woman’s muffled scream came from behind the door. Tzigana. Aryk caught the king’s arm afore he could storm the birthing chamber. Wolf punched the stone wall instead. “If he doesn’t come soon, I’ll go mad.” Polkara returned with an armful of blankets. “Excuse me.” She shoved into the room, slammed the door in the irate king’s face. He raked a hand through his already mussed white hair. “What’s schnae?” “Strong spirits distilled from potatoes, flavored with aiso moss.” “Sounds disgusting.” Wolf paused. “You bring any with you?” “’Tis an acquired taste.” Aryk caught Verdeen’s eye and winked. “Puts hair on your chest.” Verdeen choked on an unexpected laugh. Valkyn and Ildiko charged up the stairs. “We miss anything?” Ildiko puffed. “Naught but a king’s tantrum,” Andorjan replied. Aryk’s lips twitched. “I’m not throwing a tantrum.” “Acourse not, Sire. My mistake.” How he managed the words with a straight face was a marvel. A thin wail sounded behind the door, gaining in strength to the lusty cry of a newborn. Aryk grinned. “Congratulations, Sire.” Wolf paled and swayed. “I need to sit down.” Valkyn hastily shoved a chair beneath the descending royal backside afore it hit the floor.
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Polkara came back out with a bundle of reddened, scrunchy-faced fury. Tiny clenched fists waved in the air. “Your son, my king.” She handed the squalling infant to his father, turned and bustled back into the room. Wolf stared dumbfounded at the babe, who stopped screaming and met his gaze. The king unwrapped the blanket, inspected him from black curly hair to tiny toes. “He’s perfect.” The tiny prince retaliated by punching his father in the nose and watering his royal sleeve. Like Wolf’s, the babe’s eyes were a murky green. “I name you Antal,” Wolf declared. “My son. My heir.” Another piercing scream behind the door was followed by a thin cry. Everyone froze. Wolf whitened. The two Shamaru fled into the birthing chamber, leaving their guests with the Shamari king. Once again the door opened, and Polkara stood there with the oddest expression on her wrinkled face—a mixture of awe and reverence. “Come in. All of you. ’Tis a miracle.” Verdeen followed Wolf into the room. Jana perched on a chair at Tzigana’s bedside, patting her brow with a damp cloth. “What is it, Polkara?” the king asked. “We have a daughter.” Tzigana cuddled another wrapped bundle. She looked sweaty and exhausted, her dark curls plastered limp to her head. “Antal has a sister. Her name is…Piroska.” The candles flickered, and Verdeen felt a tickle of breeze against her neck. “We’ve long awaited ye, lass,” Polkara said. “Ten lifetimes. Welcome.” Verdeen crept close and gasped. Tzigana’s daughter had her mother’s dark curls, but she had one brown eye and one green eye—and a red birthmark in the shape of a hand on her right cheek. A Daughter of the Destiny Hand. A witch.
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Chapter Nine
Aryk stumbled back from Tzigana’s bed. Horror chilled his very bones. His recurring nightmare had come to pass. Joro lay dead in a pool of his own blood. A raven-haired woman with the mark of the Hand stood over him, blood dripping from the sword in her hand. His sword. His blood. The very sword Aryk now carried, which Joro stood to inherit. The sword which would one day lead Joro to his death, at her hand—this tiny babe lying in her mother’s arms. The future he’d determined to thwart by seeing to it Joro never picked up a sword. The wars must cease afore Joro turned six. That future started here. Now. With the birth of her. “Piroska.” He all but hissed the name. The inflection gave it the weight of a curse. Verdeen shot him a startled glance. Wolf’s face darkened as the queen’s arms tightened around her daughter, enough to draw a mewled protest. “What’s wrong?” Verdeen grabbed Aryk’s arm. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” “Nay.” Valkyn’s voice shook. “A witch.” “Aye,” Tzigana retorted. “The most powerful eya in ten generations.” “Every night I prayed this day to never come.” Aryk clenched his fists. “That she’d never be born.” Wolf’s entire body tensed as Tzigana hissed, “Take it back, you riever bastard.” “I’ll not. She kills my son,” Aryk raged. “I’ve seen it, night after night. Him lying gutted at her feet like a fish, killed by his own sword. The Hand of Destiny mocks me with seeing her living face—one brown eye, one green eye and the red Hand that wields my son’s doom. All I seek to prevent—negated by your witch-daughter’s birth. Your joy heralds my greatest sorrow. I can’t share in it.” “Get out,” Tzigana cried. Antal screeched. Piroska watched him with those accursed mismatched eyes. Young Jana likewise stared wide-eyed from her brocade chair. “But…” Polkara grabbed Aryk’s arm. “Visions aren’t always what they seem. There are many sorts of deaths.” Verdeen also laid a hand on his other sleeve. “Everyone has family to cherish and protect. A ruler also acts as a parent of all. Don’t let one child jeopardize the future of all children. They’re counting on this peace, whether they realize it or not. You’re not the only one who wants more for our children. Let’s not lose sight of what we started here.” He shook both women off.
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Her expression frantic, Verdeen turned to Wolf. “He risked everything for peace.” She was talking too fast but plunged on as if to finish afore someone stopped her. “You know what ’tis like. Don’t let the fathers ruin everything the rulers attempt. Time to take a break.” Aryk took a deep shuddering breath, attempting to slow his racing heart. It did no good there, but it did force a moment of daq clarity. Verdeen was right. Time to withdraw afore he said something more to damage the fragile peace he and Wolf had laid the groundwork for. He and Wolf shared a long, heavy look. Father to father, ruler to ruler. “I’m sorry. We’ll go.” He led Valkyn and Verdeen back to their rooms. Blood pounded in Aryk’s temples. She lived. She breathed. She had a face. A name. Piroska. Joro’s fate was sealed. Unless Aryk accomplished peace at home. Never had it seemed less certain. Must he sacrifice Joro for a future of peace for everyone else? With a renewed sense of urgency, he grabbed and sorted their outerwear garments, yanked on layers of furs, not even looking at Valkyn and Verdeen. Verdeen wriggled into her fur breeches. “You speak of peace but foment a war?” “That’s what the nightmare was?” Valkyn pulled on his gloves. Aryk nodded. “Let’s get out of here.” The door burst open. Jana stumbled in, a teenaged whirlwind in brilliant silks and gold jewelry. She raked a hand through dark, tumbled curls and muttered an unladylike curse as a strand caught on one gold hoop earring. Fiske trotted up, greeted her as a long-lost friend. “Why do you follow us?” Aryk demanded. Her dark eyes flashed, looking oddly old in such a young face. “Polkara sent me to talk, with Wolf’s blessings. He recalls what it was like to lose his first son to a woman’s treachery. He understands a father’s need to protect his son, that that was what prompted your rejection of his daughter. Sole reason you still breathe.” “What do you want, child?” “To assure you this isn’t over.” Jana spoke as fast as Verdeen had. “Polkara was right. There are many sorts of deaths in visions, and foreseeing the future is never certain. If your son is fated to one day meet Piroska when they’re adults, you should take heart.” “Why?” Take heart? How was Joro’s death in any way heartening? Verdeen nodded. “It means he grows up, for one thing.” What did they, childless lasses both, ken of a parent’s fears? “The sword you carry—the sword of a daq, of a king,” Jana continued. “He will one day carry it, wield it. The kingship as well as the sword.” “But she kills him.” Aryk glared down at her. She rolled her eyes and glared back, her exasperated expression clearly relaying she thought him a simpleton. “A witch has no need of a sword to do her slaying. Not an eya with the power to summon
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lightning. Aye, you saw the warrior Joro die. But did the man die with the warrior? When is a sword more than a sword? When is a man more than a warrior?” Her mystical talk made Aryk’s head ache. The young lass-old seer combination that was Jana unsettled him profoundly. He wanted to hit something. “Sleep on this, riever daq. You one day return to finish what you start, and when that day comes, you will be welcomed.” Jana stared hard at Valkyn. “Change comes, warrior, and you alone decide how to greet that day.” Valkyn scowled at her, his expression uneasy. Jana rose. “I swear you remain unharmed this night, so long as you leave and head out on the morning tide. May you one day return in peace.” She and a handful of armed guards escorted Aryk, Valkyn and Verdeen from the room and from the castle. Andorjan greeted them at the portcullis with Fiske. “See to it they’re given all their gear and weapons outside the gates.” Once they were armed, Aryk led the way west into swirling snow, toward the coastline where their boat was beached. Kept the markers to the left of the road. Mismatched eyes burned his back, haunted his every step. He set a brutal pace, slogged through snow and darkness as if he could outrace the prophecy along with Jana. Fiske bounded aside him. Verdeen struggled in his wake. Valkyn brought up the rear. No one spoke. Verdeen looked shocked, Valkyn closed off. Through the night and into the thin light of dawn, they drove toward the sea, ate and drank on the move, stopped for base necessity but no rest. Aryk’s legs burned with fatigue when Verdeen called a breathless halt to greet the dawn. He ground his teeth at the delay but dared not anger any more gods. He’d jeopardized the truce with a great ally. But if there was one thing Gefjun had taught him, ’twas to ignore a vision at his own peril. A man was defined by his sons. Joro was all he had. Verdeen knelt, head bowed to the rising sun. What did an immortal ken of death? Spy. What did she think of this fiasco? What would she be reporting to her king? He stared at his best friend, who challenged him at every turn. Would he stand alone? Was there none he could trust? None who believed in him? He glanced down at Fiske. None save his dog?
Could things get any worse? Verdeen remained kneeling in the snow, her prayers long ended, eyes closed whilst she tried to think. No brilliant solution presented itself. Verdeen staggered to her feet. “How far?” “A day and a night,” Valkyn replied. “Midnight, if we don’t stop,” Aryk added. “We can rest there.”
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This took on the brutality of Lord Elio’s more challenging marches, but Aryk’s urgency pushed their flight into a new realm. The rising sun to their backs cast long shadows on the ground afore them. Those shadows shortened as the sun rose higher in the sky. The snow glittered in blinding patches, made it much harder to see through to the shadows beyond it. The hours dragged on. They didn’t stop at all now, scooped up handfuls of snow, gnawed on dried strips of beef. Verdeen pressed her hand against the stitch in her side; a sharp cramping stab of pain struck with each breath. Her legs wobbled. She scented the faint tang of salt in the frosty air as the sea drew ever nearer. Jagged black cliffs grew in the distance. She discerned the whoosh of waves against the rocks. “Are we almost there?” “Hai. Mayhaps a couple of marks to where we left the boat.” Aryk glanced at her. “We can rest there, go out with the morning tide.” Rest was good. Verdeen had considered herself fit—’til now. She glanced at the humans. Other than reddened faces, which could be blamed on the icy wind, they looked like they might have been out for a morning stroll. Tough men. The boat was high up on the black-sanded beach, above the waterline. Aryk yanked off the tarp to reveal a sturdy fishing vessel. Shallow draft, single mast and sail, a rudder and two sets of oars. Mayhaps as wide as Verdeen was tall and as long as four of her lined up head-to-toe. Looked more suited to coastal waters and rivers than the wide open seas. Verdeen swallowed the acrid taste of trepidation. If the men had made it here in that thing, then it must be safe. “What do you think of her?” Valkyn asked. “You two are braver than I thought.” Aryk’s eyes crinkled. “’Tis more a channel than a true sea. Even in rough weather, the swells aren’t too bad.” Valkyn stashed their gear in the bow. “How long to reach the other shore?” Verdeen asked. “Couple sunrises, weather stays clear.” Valkyn gathered driftwood for a small fire. “One watch, two sleep,” Aryk ordered. “Same shifts as afore.” “You think any of us can sleep tonight?” Verdeen demanded. “Hai.” Valkyn nodded. “We must rest for the long row home.” Verdeen shivered in the misty sea air, moved closer to the tiny flames. They reminded her Dara was never far away. Dara. Loren. There was no avoiding it. They needed to know. “Get some rest,” Aryk advised. “Fiske can guard.” Valkyn curled up in his own blanket on the other side of the fire, his back to them. She lay down and pillowed her head on her arm, blinked up at Aryk. “Do her words put your mind at ease?” “Naught about this makes me easy.” He brushed the hair from her eyes.
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The tender gesture surprised her, and she turned to rest her cheek against his hand. He stroked her skin with his thumb, then withdrew. “This nightmare of Joro dying at Piroska’s hand,” she whispered. “It haunts you always? Every night?” His eyes were pained. “Every night for the past nine moons.” When Piroska and Antal had been conceived. ’Twas a wonder he wasn’t half-mad. Lack of sleep could do strange things to the mind. “Except”—his gaze turned intent, probing—“when I was in Kunigonde and Poshnari-Unai. Almost as if”—he hesitated, looking unsure—“they were warded against nightmares.” Verdeen nodded. “The elven kingdom is where the Lady of Light reigns supreme. No negativity is permitted to dwell there. Nightmares included.” “And Kunigonde?” he pressed. “That lies in human lands.” “Cianan is a former Lady’s Champion for the Lady of Light. He petitioned the Lady to extend Her powers there, and She granted his wish.” “Through the gate? Is that what enables the power?” “Aye.” It did no harm for him to think that. She closed her eyes, leaving him to his thoughts, and willed her muscles to relax. Now was as good a time as any to report the entire debacle thus far. “My King?” There was a rustle, a touch of Light in her mind. “What news from my Right Hand?” Stars, she missed that Light, more than she’d realized. “We leave Shamar on the morning tide for Isadorikja,” she began. “Wolf and Tzigana have twins, a lad named Antal and a lass named Piroska.” “A joyous event indeed, given the tragedy Von Berend suffered in his past.” “Not as celebratory as you would think.” Verdeen grimaced and braced herself. “Explain.” So Verdeen related Aryk’s nightmares, the altercation with the Shamaran royals and subsequent conversation with Jana. “We’re not leaving under the best of circ*mstances. Relations are really strained.” “You did well, mediating.” His praise surprised her. “Jana grows in strength and ability. The time soon approaches when her choice shall be made. A new era is nigh upon us, and it would do well to herald a new age of peace.” “Aryk almost ruined it.” Verdeen heaved a mental sigh. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to look upon my son’s killer.” “I doubt anyone would have handled that well.” He paused. “Yet he pulled back, listened to reason and took himself off afore crossing that final line. He shows amazing self-discipline.”
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“He saved a small lad several days back. There was a fire at an inn, and the lad wasn’t breathing from the smoke. Aryk used his own breath to revive the wee one.” “He sounds like a good man. I hope he succeeds. Stay close to him. Keep his eye on the goal. It is possible to tire on a long, uphill journey. Do not let him lose sight of the summit.” “Valkyn’s an obstacle. He doesn’t see things the same way as Aryk. I fear he won’t be the only one. Hard for someone to struggle alone.” “He has you.” That comment was the last one she expected. “My King?” “You must believe in him when no one else does. When he himself does not. You are stronger together than apart.” Loren withdrew. ’Twas the last thing Verdeen remembered ’til Fiske’s cold nose nudged her awake. The darkness had lightened, but ’twas not yet dawn. “Time to be on our way, lass,” Valkyn said. “Up with you now.” “You let me sleep,” she accused. “I’d have taken my turn.” “Tide’s in.” Aryk helped her to her feet. “Let’s shove off. You handle a rudder?” Verdeen nodded and helped Valkyn fold the tarp; then she and Fiske hopped into the boat, moving back to the stern as Aryk and Valkyn pushed the craft into the water. Each man settled in with a set of oars, labored against the wind to distance themselves from Shamar. Verdeen helped them turn their small vessel northward, heading for the distant horizon. As the sky lightened to dawn, she focused on the sparkling crests of the choppy waves. She reached down to touch the surface and jerked her hand back with a squeak. The frigid water made her teeth ache. The boat plowed through the swells, bobbing like a cork, and she did her part to hold a steady course. Fiske stayed still throughout the long hours. An explosive stream of mist in the distance drew her gaze. “What’s that?” “White whales,” Aryk replied. He and Valkyn pulled their oars in as the pod drew closer. The creatures she’d read about. Verdeen heard a chorus of clicks and whistles as the ghostly whales swarmed around them. One of them raised its blunt head clear of the water to splash her with droplets of freezing water, eyeing Verdeen with a glint of mischief. It seemed to smile at her, heavy pink tongue behind a mouthful of blunted, dagger-looking teeth. Definite carnivore, but Verdeen caught a sense more playful and curious than menacing. They were cuter than what she’d envisioned from the descriptions she’d read. Another bumped the boat, made Fiske lurch to keep his balance. They were smaller than Verdeen expected, smaller than the boat. “No dorsal fins, so they can glide under the ice floes. They exist only in the northern waters. ’Tis good luck to see them,” Aryk commented.
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The creatures moved off, and the men resumed rowing. The long hours of the day passed in silent labor. Another distant pod of white whales passed but did not approach. Night crept nearer. Aryk studied the sky and smiled. “You’re in for another surprise.” The mythical sky lights? Twilight deepened into night. A shimmer of red was her first indication. Verdeen frowned. Did her tired mind trick her eyes? The red lightened to pink, high in the sky, underplayed with a pulsing swirl of pale green. She rubbed her eyes and gasped. The effect intensified. A dance of sparkling lights wavered in the middle of the starlit sky. No book could prepare her for the sheer splendor. “What is it?” Her voice shook. “Northern magic, the dance of our ancestors’ spirits,” Valkyn replied. “Our folk have traveled far, but you only see this at home.” “Tells us we’re home,” Aryk agreed. The men put their backs into rowing, as if the lights gave them a new burst of energy. When the lights faded, the men used a constellation they called the Northern Bear to mark their course. Verdeen stared at the unfamiliar stars, marveled still at the whales and the remarkable beauty of the sky lights. The winds shifted as dawn approached. Aryk and Valkyn took turns manipulating the sail, giving each other a chance to rest. Aryk spelled Verdeen at the rudder. The winds were kind, because a distant shore fast approached with the second nightfall. Valkyn dropped the sail, and the men resumed rowing. The coast grew ’til Verdeen discerned towering glaciers crowning snowy plains. “We’ll stay with the fisherman,” Aryk told Valkyn, who nodded agreement. “We borrowed his boat,” the daq explained to Verdeen. “He’ll have a meal and a place to sleep ready. Tomorrow we climb the Horn and make our way to Widowmaker Mountain. Since you’ve climbing experience, we take a shortcut. We went around when we brought Ildiko home, as she’d no stamina for so physical a challenge. Added weeks to the journey.” “Gave you time to learn her language and her time to learn to trust you,” Verdeen retorted. “Neither a small thing.” “Hope Gylfi’s of a mind to release the power he wielded in your absence,” Valkyn said. Aryk grinned. “How little you ken the old man. He does no more work than he must.” He turned to Verdeen. “He’s the senior I put in charge while I was traveling. Someone with a clear head and no ambitions has to maintain order on the home front when a daq is absent. After weeks of ruling, he’ll be begging to shuck the responsibility and hand me my staff back. He threatened to follow me to the Beyond if I dared die on this journey, just to cause me an eternity of aggravation.” Verdeen’s lips twitched reluctantly. “I think I’m going to like the man.” They pulled ashore near a sod-and-hide roundhut. Smoke rose from the center. “Hail, lord of the fishes,” Aryk called.
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A bandy-legged old man tottered out on a walking stick. Valkyn looked pained as the frail elder neared. “Welcome. Ye traded women.” The old man inspected Verdeen with cloudy blue eyes. “She’s an improvement over that other one.” Her temper flared at being compared to anyone. “I agree,” Aryk commented. “Any schnae left, or did you finish the whole cask already?” “I saved ye a swig.” The elder held the door open for Verdeen. “I’m Haakon, lady.” “Verdeen.” The inside of the hut was small and utilitarian but warm. They stashed their gear and stripped out of their furs. Fiske sniffed at the bubbling pot with a whimper and a look of longing. “Fiske, kes.” Aryk dug a dried fish and chunk of fat from a cache under the floor. He set those outside the hide door for the dog. “Fish and seal fat are a dog’s usual fare,” he explained to Verdeen. He turned to the old fisherman. “I’m in your debt.” “I’m in the fishes’.” Haakon shrugged. “Would be naught without them. All comes ’round in the end.” He dished out thin, watery stew. Verdeen took a cautious sip from her spoon. It tasted of smoked fish and seaweed, with a few still-hard potatoes. She grimaced as she sat on the floor. Ugh. At least ’twas hot. Haakon’s joints cracked as he joined her. Valkyn visibly winced. Aryk poured clear liquid into small cups, handed one to Verdeen. “Now this will put hair on your chest.” The first wary sip seared her tongue. “I can’t breathe,” she gasped. Valkyn grinned. Haakon cackled, pounding her on the back with a gnarled hand. Now she was breathless and bruised. “’Tis horrific.” “I told Wolf ’twas an acquired taste,” Aryk said. His eyes danced. She handed him the cup back. Exhaustion settled into her bones as the warm food and the fire worked their magic. Soon they settled into bedding to sleep. Valkyn lay on the other side of the fire, to the left. Haakon in his established bed to the right. Fiske flopped by the door. Verdeen tensed as Aryk settled next to her in his blankets. The floorspace was small, but not to the point that there weren’t other places for him to sleep. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was staking some sort of claim to her. But that was foolish. She swore she heard his heart beat behind her and froze as his heavy arm curled around her waist. His hand rested but a fingerspan from her breast as he pulled her back against him. Time stopped, sizzled for a long breathless moment. “Relax,” he whispered. A thread of humor laced his husky tone. “Go to sleep. If ever you come to my bed for more, rest assured it won’t be with an audience across the room.”
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A wheezing rattle of a snore proclaimed Haakon fast asleep. Aryk’s warmth seeped into her back, and his deep even breathing lulled her into a gradual slide from tension to relaxation to sleepiness. It had been a hard, physical journey. She longed for a lengthy soak in a hot tub. Stars, his arm was heavy. He made her side ache. Verdeen gave an experimental shove, so his arm settled over her hip instead. Better…’til his hand curled around her backside for a light squeezing caress. She stiffened all over again at the tingle that zinged through her, but when naught came of that one gesture, she relaxed into sleep-counting. She dreamt of white wolves floating through shadowed tree lines, of a flock of ravens taking flight. She thought she heard a distant howl. Startled awake again, she froze and listened…to an eerie stillness. Haakon no longer snored. The howling…was Fiske. Verdeen sat bolt upright, startling Aryk from sleep. “What is it?” he asked. “’Tis too quiet. Haakon’s not snoring anymore,” she reported.
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Chapter Ten
Aryk padded over to where Haakon lay. He touched the old fisherman’s whiskered cheek. The flesh was waxen and cool; no breath tickled his hand. “He’s crossed over.” Verdeen’s eyes glistened in the firelight. “Had he kin to notify?” “He outlived them all,” Valkyn replied. “No kin. Just clan.” “I’m glad he didn’t die alone.” Her voice was husky. “No one should die alone.” “He believed in this mission. ’Twas his boat carried us there and back again. If not for him, it never would’ve happened. I’m indebted to him, and as his daq I act as his near-kin.” Aryk wrapped Haakon’s body in the blankets so they covered the old man like a shroud. “He was in the fishes’ debt. I’ll carry him to his boat.” “Waste of a good boat.” Valkyn handed him a pry bar. Verdeen looked puzzled. “If there are no close relatives, is there anyone who might be able to use what he left behind?” Aryk glared at his second, then nodded at her. “Hai. You two, strip this place of everything useable. I’ll be back.” Haakon’s weight was negligible, like a child’s. Regret squeezed Aryk’s chest. He carried him across the rocky beach to the boat, laid the body in the craft. Selecting two places below the waterline, he separated the boards just enough to ensure a slow leak. “My thanks, lord of the fishes. Go in peace. I’ll see you again someday on the other side. Save me some schnae and show patience with my brother Myrtaq. He can be a trial.” He unfurled the sail, let the wind fill it and shoved the boat free of the shore. It should make its way a goodly distance out to sea afore foundering. A fitting end for a man who’d spent the greater part of his life out there. When he returned to the hut, Verdeen packed up the last of the food and Valkyn shouldered an extra bundle of tools and implements. Aryk wrapped Haakon’s clothing in his spare blanket and slung it across his shoulders. “We’ll distribute these in the next village,” he told Verdeen. “Share with those who need it, in place of his near-kin.” She nodded. “I’m sorry. He was a kind old man.” Valkyn waved a hand at the empty hut. “Do we burn it?” Aryk shook his head. “Leave it for travelers seeking shelter afore or after crossing.” Valkyn’s jaw tightened. “’Tis not how we do this.”
Riever’s Heart
“’Tis what I order now.” Tisht, must Valkyn argue every little detail? Couldn’t he just once do as he was told? Verdeen stepped afore him. “My daq, which way? We’ve food to deliver to children. Sooner’s better than later.” She reached out to cup his cheek with a mitted hand. Her attempt at comfort stopped him. He didn’t ken what to make of the unexpected gesture. He turned away to face west toward the village of Eidar, halfway across the plain to the Horn. “We’ll trade Haakon’s belongings for climbing gear. ’Twill take all day to cross to the glacier. We climb her in the morn.” “You ken they’ll offer the climbing gear without trade,” Valkyn noted. “I’d not strip a village of much-needed items without recompense. They need the food and furs.” Aryk turned to Verdeen, willed her at least to understand. “It begins here.” She nodded, those mist grey eyes soft with an unspoken emotion he dared not name. He led the way on the familiar trail to Eidar, tried to see the barren windswept plains through her eyes. Frozen ground, scattered rocks amidst dried tufts of brown grass, intermittent patches of snow, the occasional ice-laced creek. The Horn rose in the distance, a majestic white monument against a smoky grey sky. A hard land, but handsome in its way. Home. What did she see when she looked about? Verdeen was the first outside woman to come to Isadorikja as anything other than a captive, a slave. Anyone who assumed that to be her position would have to be corrected. She was a symbol of their agreement with Shamar and Poshnari-Unai, a symbol of hope and a gesture of peace. What would she report to Loren? What would she think of his people? His home? She came from a place so much more advanced. Would she be able to appreciate the strength and spirit of his people, or would she get caught up in the rough, primitive surroundings? What would they think of her? His mother? Erlynda? Would Verdeen be able to fit in as a kyra, or would she set herself apart? Even a blind man would notice the attraction betwixt himself and Verdeen. Where that would take them, he kenned not. But a part of him wanted her to stay, to be accepted. He kenned what it was to stay in a hostile environment. ’Twas the last thing he’d wish for her. Fiske wheeled off the trail midmorn to plunge into a rocky copse. A muffled shriek was followed by silence, and he emerged moments later with an enormous snow-hare in his jaws. “Good lad.” Aryk tied the hare by its hind paws to his belt with a bit of sinew. Fiske’s tail waggled as he trotted ahead. ’Twas midday when the village appeared on the horizon. A scattering of stone-and-sod roundhuts, with smoke curling through the holes in the roofs. Flocks of sheep and goats nibbled on the dried grasses at the edge of the settlement, under the watchful eyes of the older lasses and a couple of red seeker dogs. The younger children ran out to greet them, high-pitched excitement in their voices. The village headman followed, extended his clenched fist and bowed his bald head in greeting. “My daq, you honor us.”
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“Sudaviq, I bring news of Haakon’s passing.” Regret crossed the man’s broad, weathered features. Haakon had been well-liked, a skillful provider. “He shall be missed. He’d no near-kin left.” “I act in their stead.” “By your command, my daq. We shall gather.” Sudaviq led the way to the Center, which all the homes encircled. Some adults clustered around a central fire. The headman raised his voice to call the others. “My folk, gather ’round. Our daq would address us.” Aryk dropped Haakon’s bundle at his feet. Valkyn and Verdeen did likewise as more folk approached. Aryk took their measure as they gathered—the pinched faces and ragged clothes. It had been another long, hard winter. When Sudaviq nodded, indicating all were present, Aryk began. “The fisherman Haakon has passed into the Beyond. I’d share what he left behind with you, his nearest neighbors, so it not go to waste for lack of near-kin. Take this. Remember him always for all he did for us in his lifetime.” He handed out food, bedding and tools to those who needed it most or could make the best use of it. Not one single family was left ungifted. “Please, stay the night with us,” Sudaviq urged. Aryk shook his head. “We must make the Horn afore dark. I request gear for three.” The headman’s eyes widened. “Acourse, my daq. You ken you need not ask.” Aryk gripped his arm. “I’ll not take from my own. But I appreciate the aid. I’d be indebted to you, old friend.” “’Tis we who are in debt to you.” Sudaviq outfitted them with spiked boots, ice picks, harnesses and rope. “Take care crossing. Warming’s come early. It may be mushy.” Aryk untied the hare Fiske had caught, squatted down to hold it out to a small lad with enormous eyes in a too-thin face. “Take this to your mother, have her cook it for your supper.” The child nodded and scurried home with his prize. “How do they fare since his sire was killed?” Aryk asked Sudaviq. “Well enough. The woman raises him well. He’ll be ready for his claiming day.” Aryk nodded. The semi-annual day when the men claimed the of-age lads for training. The gods willing, this young lad—like Joro—would have other options available to him. They made their way out of the village, strode ever closer to the Horn. Verdeen approached to walk aside him. “’Twas a kindness you did them.” Aryk shrugged. “What Haakon would have wished.” She gripped his sleeve, forced him to stop and turn to her. Valkyn kept walking. Stray wisps of pale wheaten hair had escaped her braid and fluttered about her face as Verdeen searched his eyes. “You’re a good man, Aryk.”
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Time stopped. How to respond to that compliment? “Worth keeping alive?” He’d intended it as teasing, but the joke fell flat afore her serious expression. “Aye.” Again was the odd, thoughtful softness in her eyes. What to make of it? He started to reach out a hand, to touch her cheek, but then thought better of it. Curling his fingers in his mitt and lowering his arm, Aryk resumed walking, kept his gaze on the growing glacier rising afore them. “There’s a way station at the foot. We’ll camp there tonight. We’ll need the whole of the day for the crossing. We can camp at the station on the other side.” “Remember what Sudaviq said about the going being mushy,” Valkyn warned. Aryk nodded. “We’ll cross slow and quiet, watch for cracks. Should avoid any slides.” “Slides?” Verdeen’s voice was tight. “Avalanches?” “And softened crevasses like to drop out from beneath your feet,” Valkyn replied. “We’ll rope together,” Aryk said. “Valkyn, carry my gear whilst I carry Fiske. Verdeen, you stay roped betwixt Valkyn and me. Don’t worry. We’ve done this hundreds of times.” By the time they reached the way station, tucked in beneath a rocky outcropping, those magical lights shimmered overhead. Aryk started a peat fire whilst Valkyn scooped up two pots of snow for water to heat for stew. “Aren’t you afeared of getting buried?” Verdeen asked. “The rocks above funnel any falling snow away from the station itself,” Valkyn assured her. “Why we built it here. I’ll take a look around if you want to get the stew started. Should be some dried stocks from Eider.” Aryk nodded. “We’ve got mutton strips and some carrots and turnips, looks like.” He dug out Fiske’s portion of fish and seal fat as Valkyn stepped outside. He stripped off his furs. “Take the bedding to the back—through there,” he told Verdeen. As she disappeared through the hides separating the sleeping chamber from the main room, he dropped a handful of each aforementioned ingredient into the pot of water. Leaving the water to boil and rehydrate the tough dried-and-salted meat and vegetables, he carried his gear into the back room, where he dropped his furs on the floor and sat to unlace the spiked boots. “’Twill be fine, the climb on the morrow.” Verdeen turned to face him from where she prepared her bed in the corner. “I’ve climbed afore.” He caught the quaver in her voice. Weariness or fear or something more? “Come here.” “Why?” Her eyes narrowed, but she shifted uneasily. “Because I said so.” Aryk was gratified at the annoyance which crossed her face at his imperious order, and fought a smile when she frowned. She was fun to rile. “Since when do I do as you say?” She rose and came to stand afore him, hands on hips.
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“Since now.” He tugged her down, rolling so she stared up at him. She froze, eyes wide. He brushed a stray lock of wheaten hair from her face. “You’ve had quite an adventure thus far. The morrow shall be no different.” “You believe I can’t do it. You’ve doubted me since the first.” He shook his head. “Nay. No longer. You’ve more than proven yourself.” She reached out as if to push him away but swallowed hard as his hand covered hers, holding hers against his chest. He watched her eyes grow hazy and dark. “Then what? Asides the mission, what do you want from me?” Good question. Hard to reconcile the warrior with the woman in his arms. Aryk recalled Valkyn’s earlier dismissal: “You’ve shown me clearly enough a kyra’s naught but a woman.” The contempt in his second’s eyes. “We don’t all feel as Valkyn.” “Speaking of Valkyn, won’t he be back soon?” She bit her lip. “Aren’t you worried about him barging in here?” Aryk grinned at the blush in her voice. “Not as worried as you are. Relax. He kens enough to stay out.” He sobered. “Women can be warriors. We have several kyras—starting with my own mother.” “Then why were you so against me coming?” “’Tis dangerous. I’d hate to see you get hurt or worse.” “I’m not some shrieking maiden,” she chided. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Aryk.” “Your abilities don’t make you invincible. Training aside, you’ve led a sheltered life.” “Sheltered how?” She frowned, confrontation in her gaze. “I’ve been to your city, seen the grandeur of your home,” he clarified. “Look around you. Recall Haakon’s home? Eider? Now you’ve seen the starkness of our existence, mine and that of my folk. Look me in the eye and tell me you’ve not noticed a difference.” Verdeen shook her head. “Challenge builds strength. You have naught to be ashamed of or apologize for.” Her eyes misted. “I can’t believe you’d think me so small.” Tisht. Was she going to cry? “If you stay here, with me, everything will change. Bit by bit you’ll lose your innocence, and I’ll be responsible for it all.” Her cheeks flamed, assuring him she kenned full well what else he implied. “Whilst I’m grateful you care so for my safety, there’s more to it.” She searched his gaze. Time for full honesty. “Let’s have no secrets betwixt us. I’ve wanted you since we met. Do you stay, the time will come you’ll lose something you’ll never get back. I’d not hurt you for anything.” “I know that. ’Tis not your way.” Verdeen reached out to trace his lips with her fingers. “You make me feel things no man ever has.” His lips tingled at her touch. Her eyes drew him in. A warning jangled in the back of his mind at her words. Why him? Why now?
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She bit her lip again; the blush crept down her neck. “I’m drawn to you, also. Were Valkyn probably not in the next room, I might kiss you now.” Her ability to blush reminded him of just how innocent she was. He should let her up and quit the room afore they went any further. But dawning desire lit her eyes to that molten silver, and he was helpless to stop himself. “Forget him.” Aryk leaned down to capture her mouth with his. His tongue surged in to tease hers, and his entire body hardened at the sexy moan she made as she pulled him closer. “So sweet, so hot,” he whispered. “Touch me.” What was it about her? He needed her hands on him more than his next breath. She clutched his tunic, and he guided her hands beneath the woolen cloth. Her touch was incredible, light with shyness and growing curiosity. He burned at her exploration, groaned as her tongue tangled with his. She kissed him back as her fingers traced along the muscles of his back, followed the line of a wicked scar along his right side ’til it disappeared into his breeches. Verdeen faltered as she slid her fingers along the edge of his breeches, curling them into his sides. She whimpered. Her unique combination of youthful enthusiasm and shy uncertainty was unbearably erotic. He broke off the kiss to nibble along the sweet curve of her throat. Her skin was so soft. Flushed with arousal, it burned under his sensual assault. Her pulse pounded beneath his lips. He scraped his teeth over it and was rewarded with her gasp as she arched against him, panting. “Aryk.” Her breathy, needy whisper made him as hard as granite. He fought the need to strip her naked and bury himself deep. ’Twas all new to her. Despite her vulnerability to him, he couldn’t take her here and now. He shouldn’t take her at all. This wasn’t why she was here. Valkyn was just in the next room. Where was his warrior’s control? What was it about her that made him lose all sense? He’d kenned desire afore, but never a need like this. He struggled to focus beyond the raging demands of his own body. But by the gods, he felt her heat, her arousal. Tisht, he smelled the sweet, tangy salt building betwixt her silken thighs. It drove him wild. She squirmed, seeking the release which had eluded her afore. She might not ken what she sought, but he did. “Verdeen, look at me.” The wild, dazed look in her stormy grey eyes, that silver wash of light, was nigh his undoing. He could get lost in those eyes. He swallowed hard, fought for control. He’d never seen anything so beautiful. She made him ache. “Do you trust me?” Uncertainty crossed her face as she tried to discern his meaning. He slipped his hand beneath her tunic, gliding across her satiny skin to her breast, the nipple taut and sensitive. She gasped as his thumb circled the peak, her pink lips swollen and glistening from their kisses. She trembled with unfulfilled need, squirmed at his touch. He kenned that restless edgy wanting all too well. He might not be able to take any pleasure for himself, but he’d give anything, everything, to watch her go over that edge.
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“Trust me.” Gods, he needed to know she trusted him. With this. With everything. “We’ve been here afore. Let me finish it for you this time. You have to trust me. You’re going to want to cry out, but you have to be quiet.” She shook her head, eyes huge in her tense face. “Nay.” “I ken what you feel. ’Tis like you want to jump out of your skin. You’re crawling with sensation, and ’tis going to get worse.” Verdeen burst into breathless laughter. “Is this your way of reassuring me, Aryk? Because, I must say, ’tis not working.” He grinned at her show of spirit. “Trust me. Just let the tension build. I’ll be right there with you, and I swear I’ll keep the promise I made afore.” “To make me fly?” “To make you fly.” Even if it killed him. He slid her tunic up so he could savor the sweetness of her skin. She whimpered, clutched his hair with her fingers. He flicked his tongue against the underside of her breast, tasted the salty sheen of sweat. “Sit up. Let’s get this off.” “I’ll freeze—” “I’ll keep you warm. So warm.” He vowed he wouldn’t stop until she went up in flames. He tugged her up and yanked her tunic off afore she could summon another objection. The tips of her breasts had flushed a deep rosy hue. “So beautiful,” he whispered. He cupped the firm mounds in his hands, cradling her as he captured the taut nipple betwixt his lips, teased the tip with his tongue, then suckled hard. So sweet… She gasped and bucked against him, rubbed against his arousal. He gently squeezed her backside, drew her leg up over his hip so he could slide his leg betwixt hers. Pressing his thigh against her molten core, he groaned at the searing heat. He fumbled with the laces of her breeches. She moved to stay his hand. He fluttered his tongue against the tip of her nipple, felt her every muscle clench in reaction, heard her bite back another needful whimper. Aryk unlaced her breeches, stroked the exquisite silkiness of her belly, kissed his way down. No line of hair brushed his lips, just hot, satiny skin. The sweet scent of her excitement intensified. She shook in his arms. He lunged up to capture her lips with his, silencing her shocked reaction as he slipped a hand betwixt her thighs and felt for the first time the strength of her desire. Unlike human women, no hair shielded her most intimate flesh. But she swelled and creamed the same, her folds slippery and sensitive. His fingers slid through scalding moisture, stroked her need to feverish heights, found the tiny nubbin of flesh and nerves which made her entire body jerk. Her nails dug into his shoulders. He welcomed the pain. He caught the moment just afore her final surrender. Her eyes went dark, the silver but the thinnest band. Her breath caught in her throat.
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“Trust me. I’ve got you.” He captured her scream on his tongue. The strength of her shattering nigh threw him off her. She trembled, dazed and breathless. Wave after wave of aftershocks coursed through her, around him. He felt it, a wave of dizziness, as if he flew, airborne, with her. His body screamed with the agony of an unfulfilled need for release. But each pulsing wave of satisfaction storming her body eased his. He’d never felt such an elemental connection with another woman. He rubbed her back, her belly, helped her clenching muscles relax. Peace flowed through him as she relaxed, as if the Light within her somehow transferred to him. Verdeen gasped for air, stared up at him in wide-eyed disbelief as her body went boneless in the aftermath. He hissed as she shifted against him, and she blushed crimson. “I… You…” She bit her lip. “You didn’t—?” Aryk shook his head, groaning when she reached out to rub his aching erection. Her touch was incredible, all the more arousing for its unexpectedness. He moved helplessly in her hand, just for a moment yielding to the burning need. He couldn’t believe his own actions when he moved to stay her hand. Somehow he found the strength to pull back, when everything begged him to let her touch to her heart’s content. Let her stroke and squeeze… “’Tis all right.” He cursed the hoarseness in his voice. “’Twas for you. So beautiful when you let go. You’re incredible.” Her trust humbled him. Never had he felt closer to anyone. A part of him never wanted to let her go. That was worrisome. There was naught permanent betwixt them. To think otherwise was a dangerous road to travel. He clung to the peace that surrounded her, tried to blunt the edge of his unfulfilled hunger. Were they truly alone, he’d have stripped her naked and tasted every bit of her afore joining her in the race toward satisfaction. But that was an all-night journey, and he vowed they’d be making it together soon. She’d likely die of shock did he tell her what he intended to taste first. But with her sweet tangy scent lingering in the air, ’twas all he could think on at the moment. All that melting heat on his tongue as he drove her wild. That was definitely not helping the current situation. “I can’t believe you—we—just did that.” She shivered, reminding him of where they were. Aryk rolled over to scoop her tunic from the floor and hand it to her. Still pink with embarrassment, she donned it with haste. “We should see if the meal’s ready and then get some sleep for the climb tomorrow.” A smile tugged at his lips. “You should sleep well.” Verdeen choked, and her face flamed anew. “You’re a wicked man.” “I never declared myself otherwise. This was but the beginning. Next time we’re alone, be warned, lass. We finish this for both of us. ’Twill be one unbelievable night.” “Is that a threat?” Her eyes were wide.
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“A promise.” He pulled her in for a quick kiss. “Next time, you can scream all you wish.”
What had come over her? Verdeen rubbed her arms, tried to ignore the lingering flickers of awareness which warmed her. “Next time…” He’d given her pleasure without taking any for himself. ’Twas not the action of a riever, the brutal bandit Dara’d described. Aryk could be trusted. But this man was doubly dangerous. He could take her body and make it sing. She was so vulnerable to his touch. Goddess help her if he took her heart. She strode out into the main room dimly lit by the peat fire. Shadows flickered on the thick earthen walls. The scent of bubbling stew made her stomach gurgle. Aryk strode over to test the stew. “’Tis done. You want some?” She was starving. “Where’s Valkyn and Fiske?” He handed her a bowl. She spooned up a bit of turnip as Valkyn came in with the dog. “We didn’t find any tracks.” Valkyn grabbed a bowl for himself. “Ice sounds firm.” Aryk nodded. They’d been out scouting? Verdeen glanced at Aryk’s second. Valkyn’s blue eyes glinted at her, as if he knew what they’d been up to. “Figured if I gave you two a bit more time, you might be in a better mood.” Verdeen squeaked and bolted outside. Stars, he’d known exactly what they’d been up to, she and Aryk. Would she never get used to the men’s matter-of-factness regarding physical togetherness? She recalled the way he’d just strolled up to the table after being with the maid at the inn. Now she’d have to strive for the same nonchalance. ’Twas foolish to pretend he didn’t know what had transpired. She’d just have to brazen it out somehow. The frigid air cooled her cheeks, and she could stand it for but a moment afore she had to go back in. Fiske approached her, eyeing her bowl. What was it Aryk had said? “Fiske, kes,” she ordered. The dog flopped on the floor with a huff, looking betrayed. She leaned against the wall and stared into the fire, picking at her food. “Brushing your hair wear you out?” Valkyn asked. “Stamina builds up with practice.” Aryk flung his second a murderous look as Verdeen gave up on being brazen, fled to the sleeping chamber and burrowed into her bedding. Stars, what was she doing? She shivered depite the warm layers. Destiny made her Loren’s Right Hand, a witness to Aryk’s monumental task. She was to help him unite the clans and achieve peace. She was mad to think herself suited to the role of sensuri. Every time he touched her, her objectivity crumbled. He was getting too close, and goddess help her, she was letting him. This was a straight, sure shot to a broken heart. She had to keep her mind on the mission. Warrior over woman…warrior over woman…
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The men soon joined her, but thankfully, no one spoke.
Fiske’s cold wet nose roused her in the morning. She struggled out of the covers, rolled up her pack with the quick ease of much repetition. The men and their gear were already out in the common room. She yanked on her fur pants and laced up her climbing boots. She eyed the metal points in the toes, taking a closer look. Not bronze, not toshi. Almost but not quite either. Similar but different. Dark grey, with an almost powdery sheen. She’d never seen anything quite like it afore. She clomped out to the other room. “What is this metal?” “Creataq’s Blood,” Aryk replied. “Why we settled here. Veins of the ore run through Widowmaker Mountain. When handled right, makes tools and weapons of incredible strength.” “Who’s Creataq?” “God of the forge,” Valkyn replied. “Greatest of the gods.” Aryk buckled Fiske into the carrier harness Sudaviq had supplied. Valkyn frowned. “Halzyaq is king of the gods.” He turned to Verdeen. “God of war.” Didn’t it say a lot about a people when their ruling deity stood for war? The books in the elven library had mentioned Halzyaq, but very little was known of Creataq. “I give Halzyaq His due, but I pay true homage to Creataq,” Aryk stated. “Without His help, tilling this land would be impossible. Climbing the Horn would be much more hazardous.” A leader who placed craft afore war was one they needed up here. Hopefully others swung toward honoring Creataq over Halzyaq, as well. She dreaded the thought of a holy war betwixt the gods—and their followers. Aryk had enough to deal with. “Best get moving.” Aryk pulled up the fox-trimmed hood on his heavy white snow-bear coat and turned to Valkyn. “Help me get him up.” Verdeen watched with astonishment as Valkyn helped Aryk don a tangle of leather straps and got Fiske buckled in across Aryk’s back. The dog hung quietly, apparently well used to such goings-on. She donned coat, mitts and ermine-trimmed hat. Aryk helped her step into a leather harness of her own, buckled around her hips and thighs, and got the three of them roped together. Then she and Valkyn slung on their own packs. Aryk handed her two climbing axes. “Some holds are hammered in already but not up the entire face.” She nodded. “I’m ready.” Outside, long blue shadows stretched out across the landscape from the Horn. She shuddered as she eyed the sheet of ice above the rocky wall. The rock was easy enough to scale, with juts and cracks aplenty. The men let her take her time, pick her own route up the unfamiliar surface. By keeping two points of contact with the rock at all times, she managed to scale it without difficulty. She squinted at the gleaming
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expanse of ice overhead. The powdery sheen of a metal peg drew her notice. Aryk used it as the first step onto the ice. She watched where he stepped, tried to follow the same path. She stretched for the next peg, leaned out to the left in a precarious one-footed stance. Her hip popped at the awkward position. She wiggled her fingers as she strained to reach the next handhold. Her foot slipped off just as she grabbed it, and she hung suspended in midair for one heart-stopping moment ’til she hooked her axe into the ice for her second point of contact, then dug her boot in for a breather. The rope betwixt her and Aryk never even went taut. “Tisht, you wee fool.” Valkyn climbed up aside her. “What were you doing? Two points of contact at all times.” He frowned. “If you can’t reach it, skip it. Use the axe instead.” Her cheeks burned. She knew that. “Now again,” he ordered. “We’re almost to the flat. See where Aryk’s axe bit, up there?” And they were off again. Aryk knelt in the snow at the top of the waterfall, and Valkyn unhooked Fiske from his master’s back so the dog could bear his own weight for a while. Aryk tied a long rope to Fiske’s harness. “Flat” wasn’t quite the right term for the snowy incline, but it was climbable by stomping with the spiky boots. Aryk led them around a long fissure, which Fiske refused to approach. The pack grew heavy; the left strap pressed into Verdeen’s shoulder. She shifted the pack up, holding the strap away from her shoulder for a bit of relief. Aryk called for a halt near midday. Verdeen dropped into the snow, wriggled out of the pack and scooped up a handful. He crossed over to her. “How you doing?” “Fine.” The snow numbed her lips, but she ate another handful anyway. “We’re almost to the summit. There’s a pass below it, an easy crossing to the other side. Winds around and down. The other side is a broad angle down. Only need to rappel in one place. Otherwise ’tis naught but a march. The worst is over. We’re making good time. You’re doing well.” They crossed over the pass without incident, and Verdeen was greeted on the other side by an ocean of white which seemed to go on forever. Straight to the sky. They had descended for mayhaps a mark or so when Fiske stiffened, head and tail up as he eyed a small crevasse and growled. Verdeen studied it and could just make out a shimmer of heat coming from within. Breath? She turned to Aryk in silent question. He motioned her to be quiet and led them on an exaggerated detour around the area. When they were clear, he whispered, “Snow-cat den. They’re night-prowlers, so we’ll be well clear of it when it awakens.” A part of her wanted to see the legendary animal. They continued on. Rounding a clump of boulders like scattered marbles, Aryk paused and frowned as he eyed the path ahead. A fine latticework of ice crystals covered the surface, as if it had melted and refrozen. He crouched down, pointed to a jagged line transecting the snow. Valkyn studied it as well and nodded.
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“What?” Verdeen whispered. “Partial thaw,” Aryk replied. “Might’ve weakened this area. We cross above that line.” “Spread out,” Valkyn advised. They proceeded with caution. Verdeen watched Fiske. The dog’s fur stood on end as he sniffed the air and paced back and forth, stayed close to Aryk. Snow creaked and crunched underfoot, as if the Horn groaned at their intrusion. Verdeen shuddered. Ominous clouds crept across the sky. The dim light pressed like a physical weight against her. She tried to convince herself ’twas just her imagination, but the Horn no longer felt benign. It felt like ’twas waiting… A sharp crack and Fiske’s startled yelp were the sole warnings as the snow collapsed beneath the dog’s paws, and he dropped. Verdeen choked down a scream as he disappeared into the ground. Aryk hurled himself to the snow, clutching the line. Slowly, he wound the line around his hands, drawing the dog back up with every coil. Verdeen didn’t dare move, scarce dared breathe, as Valkyn crept forward on his belly to the edge of the newly opened crevasse and grabbed Fiske’s harness when the dog came within range, hauling him back onto solid ground. The shaking, whimpering dog tottered over to Aryk, who wasted no time in yanking off his gloves and pulling the dog close enough to bury his face in Fiske’s red fur. Verdeen’s heart thundered as Valkyn eased away from the treacherous opening. They’d almost lost Fiske. She’d gotten attached in just a few days. How much worse for Aryk, who’d raised him from a pup? The sharp cracking continued. With a monstrous roar, everything on the lower side of the opening fell away, thundering down the slope in a wall of frozen white. They flung themselves to the ground as the slide fell away, shaking the Horn. Aryk and Valkyn crawled over to her as the shaking stopped. Aryk reached across the snow to lay a reassuring hand over hers. She was grateful for the comfort as she clambered to her feet and looked down in dismay. Their way was blocked; too unstable to risk it. “We can’t go this way,” Aryk confirmed in a harsh whisper. “We’ll have to continue higher up, rope our way down the Face.” “That’ll put us on the wrong side of the Blood River.” Something in Valkyn’s tone… “That sounds like a bad thing?” Verdeen tried. “Adds time,” Aryk said. “If we don’t reach the Face afore dark, then we have to den in for the night and rope down in the morning. Leaves us in prime snow-cat country when they’re waking, hungry and hunting.” Mayhaps she didn’t want to see one. “Roping down the Face in the morn lands us on the fringes of White Plains territory,” Valkyn added. “Friends to neither Widowmaker nor Blood River.”
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“Can’t we go back across the river?” Verdeen asked. “Not this high up,” Aryk answered. “The source of the Blood River’s a huge waterfall feeding into wide rapids. Can’t cross ’til nigh a day farther downstream.” Hungry predators, unfordable rivers and unfriendly natives. This journey just got better and better. Verdeen tromped along behind Aryk and kept a wary eye about her. The light continued to dim at an alarming rate. “We’re not going to make it, are we?” Aryk shook his head. “Nay. Another cave-camp. Too dangerous to traverse in the dark.” “I ken a place.” Valkyn changed places with Aryk and led the way to a rocky overhang. When they got closer, Verdeen saw it protected a dark hole—an ice-cave big enough to have held the horses. Protected. Not warm. She was glad for every furry layer as she made up a thick bed on the frozen ground. They nibbled on dried rations and took their usual watch rotations. Fiske’s growl awoke Verdeen from her doze. Valkyn stood at the entrance, a throwing cheq in each hand as he peered out at the darkness beyond. “What is it?” “Cat tracked us from the den earlier.” He nodded. “See them?” One of the advantages of not having a fire was the wane moonlight gave her a clear view of the approach to the cave. Eyes. Glowing gold eyes approached on silent paws. The furry lines behind the eyes were blurred. A shadow. A whisper. She trembled. Those eyes captured her, held her gaze. Verdeen caught her breath, mesmerized. She blinked, and the cat was closer. She never saw it move. It was simply…closer. Fiske showed all his teeth, growling in earnest now. The cat ignored him, almost contemptuous of the smaller dog. It flowed closer to them, padding atop the snow like a spirit. “Fiske, kes.” Aryk joined them. He jostled Verdeen and put an arm around her waist, allowing her to tear her gaze away from the beautiful predator. She focused on the fang hanging around his neck. She’d imagined correctly—’twas a big animal. She turned back, and it was again closer. With a flick of his wrist, Valkyn let fly on of the cheqs he held. It sliced the frosty night air with a zinging whistle, and the cat froze, tilting its head to the right. It drew its whiskered muzzle back in a silent hiss, its ears flattened as it crouched in the snow. “There’s naught here for you,” Valkyn stated. “Go find something else to feed your kits.” The snow cat took a single, hesitant step forward. When the human tossed the other cheq, just missing her front paws, she leapt backward with a snarl and disappeared into the dark. Fiske whined to give chase, but Aryk didn’t allow it. “You’d make a fine snack for such as her, laddie.” He turned to Verdeen. “A pack of dogs, mayhaps. But one-on-one, he’d have no chance of success at all.” “She was beautiful. I didn’t expect her to be beautiful.”
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“Beautiful and deadly.” Aryk lowered his voice and leaned in, sliding his hand down to rest over her hip. “Much like someone else here. Also unexpected.” Her gaze flew to his. He just smiled, crinkles forming around his eyes. She took off a mitt and ran her finger along the fang around his neck. Cold and smooth, like old ivory. “Are the males that much bigger than the females? Is that how you knew what we faced was a female?” Aryk shook his head. “The males are the same size. They’re saber-toothed—the fangs hang down below the upper lip. If you don’t see fangs, then it’s a female.” They spent the remainder of the night in silence, too keyed up to truly sleep. Propped up against the wall, Verdeen leaned into Aryk’s side with his arm across her shoulders. Surrounded by his warmth and strength, feeling oddly secure, she managed a light doze. At first light they continued on to the Face—and the enemy territory which lay just beyond it.
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Verdeen stared at the raging rapids behind them. Her legs ached from the treacherous climb down as they stopped to catch their breath and get their bearings. Lack of sleep didn’t help. Her nose stung from the icy mist hovering over the churning water. There was no way to ford the foaming expanse. They’d have to take their chances with the White Plains people. A whole day to the safe crossing, Aryk had said. An entire day of watching for anyone who might take exception to their uninvited incursion into White Plains territory. Aryk scanned the snow-covered landscape. “We follow the river downstream.” “When was the last time you encountered the people here?” “The Blood River clan’s always been a buffer betwixt us and them. Other than the occasional clandestine raid, the last over a year ago, we have no contact.” “They’re herdsman—large grey deer with flattened antlers, used to pull burdens rather than carry them,” Valkyn added. “Sometimes they bring their stock to the river for water. They have seeker dogs too—white instead of red.” “What about the bears?” Verdeen hoped she sounded less nervous than she felt. “You said they hunt by day.” “They prefer the coastal ice, nearer their seal prey. Not common to see them inland this far south once winter’s past,” Aryk assured her. “They don’t like the heat.” Heat? Was he jesting? Granted the snow lay in patches, but ’twas nowhere near to approaching warm. Verdeen’s nose tingled with every breath. Aryk must have seen the skeptical look on her face, because he grinned. That lethal, heart-stopping grin which crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Believe me, the worst is over. Another fortnight or so and we can start breaking ground for planting.” “And Creataq’s Blood or nay, ’tis still bitter hard work,” Valkyn groused. “Without the tools, ’twould be nigh impossible. We’d be reduced to hunter-gatherer barbarians…like our northern neighbors.” Aryk turned to Verdeen. “Raids are the worst at the end of the growing season, when the crops are ripe and laid aside for the winter. Those who can’t grow them think to try to steal them.” “They ever succeed?”
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“Nay.” Valkyn’s flat response spoke volumes. “But we help them out by leaving their kin fewer mouths to feed.” She flinched at the hard gleam in his eyes. “Won’t reach the crossing standing here talking.” Aryk started out along the rocky path. The water surged past them with boiling force, creating white-foamed eddies as it crashed over and around rocks. The musical sound drowned out all others, including the wind—and any approaching enemy. Verdeen kept her eyes sharp for recent deer spoor or prints. Fiske sniffed the ground with due diligence as he trotted along, but naught seemed amiss. The ground was rough, and she had to watch her step to avoid a turned ankle. The Blood River wound through leagues of windswept tundra, strewn with rocks and icy patches of snow. She spotted the speckle of granite, the sparkle of quartz and crystal, the flat chalky grey of flint. It narrowed and then widened. The lessening of the sound made Verdeen’s ears ring. Fewer rocks, deeper water, she surmised. More mud at the edge of the water than rocks. Now there were tracks— hoofprints, shaped like deer’s but nigh cow-sized. Dog tracks. Booted feet. Recent. A bugling whistle, akin to an elk but not quite the same, split the air. Dogs barked in the distance. Fiske growled an unnecessary warning. Both men stood at alert, spear and shield ready. Verdeen strung her bow and eased closer to Aryk. The slower flow made for a perfect watering spot—relatively safe, as the river was still too wide to cross. But did the herds approach or had they just left? Approach. Verdeen made out the jagged shapes of antlers in a fog of breath, heard the drumming of many hooves growing louder as they shook the ground. More bugles, more whistling—both deer and human. She glanced at Aryk. There was no place to hide. He rejected the notion of moving on in favor of just bluffing his way through the encounter. Eyeing his weapons, she wondered what percentage would be bluff. She drew strength from his calm. The herdsmen seemed surprised to see the three of them waiting. The deer scented water, and there was no turning them back. They milled at the edge of the river, jostling to take their turns. One of the older men in a long fur coat and brightly dyed knit cap eyed Verdeen’s weapons with an air of disapproval afore turning to Aryk. “Long way from your lodge, Widowmaker. What business do you have being on this side of the river?” “Mayhaps they think to raid us, Hawyl,” another herdsman said. “With naught but the three of us?” Valkyn scoffed. “Just traveling home and got caught above a slide on the Horn,” Aryk stated. “We’re following the river to the ford, naught more.” “Mayhaps you think to hunt on our land? Take our game to fill your worthless bellies?” “I ken you don’t speak for Daq Nomok, Hawyl,” Aryk replied. “But you can carry a message to him for me.”
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“I’m no Widowmaker’s word-runner.” The old man spat at Aryk’s feet. Verdeen got the impression he was careful to miss. Aryk’s jaw tightened. His eyes remained flat, watchful. “You tell Nomok that Daq Aryk followed the river to the ford and took no game on his journey.” “I’m thinking you should come with us and tell him yourself.” Valkyn growled. ’Twas a dozen armed men against the three of them. Not bad odds. Aryk caught his second’s eye and shook his head. “I would treat with Daq Nomok and barter passage through his lands. I’m sure we can reach an understanding.” “I thought you’d see things our way.” Verdeen studied the North Plains men. Tangled blond hair, matted beards. Bronze weaponry—spear, sword, long-knives. Layers of furs that looked like they could use a good cleaning. A lot like the men they covered. She sniffed and crinkled her nose. The acrid scent on the wind wasn’t all deer. The cut and style of the coats differed from Valkyn’s and Aryk’s, made mostly of deer hides, trimmed in fox, longer than the Widowmaker’s coats. Rabbit-skin mittens. Those knit caps with their bright, multicolored horizontal stripes. Valkyn sidled next to her. “Long walk to water. None to spare for vanities.” She cast him a curious glance. “I saw that expression on your face,” he whispered. “You could try holding your breath.” She pictured herself holding her breath until she turned blue and fell over. “Thank the Lady for the wind.” Verdeen had every intention of standing upwind during negotiations. He grinned. She took heart from the fact that he didn’t seem too worried. “What’s going to happen?” “Big ugly man in a bearskin will make a lot of noise about us trespassing, set a ridiculous toll for our safe passage through his miserable lands. Aryk will talk him down to something more reasonable. We’ll be on our way afore supper.” “We’ll not pass the night with them?” “Bet you get an offer, but I’d not recommend it. No telling the vermin in those furs.” She shuddered; her scalp itched. She hoped ’twas just her imagination. “Asides, anyone lays a hand on you, Aryk’d cut it off. You’re under his protection.” There was a wealth of unspoken meaning in Valkyn’s tone. Verdeen bristled. “You mean he’s under my protection.” He shot her an amused glance. “Whatever.” Verdeen watched Aryk stride ahead of them, up by the insolent Hawyl. He strode easy and confident, hood back, tawny hair gleaming in striking contrast to the red daq cloak he wore. Fiske trotted along aside him, ignoring the white dogs and the deer swarming around them in a steaming river of warm stench. Stars,
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she’d thought cows smelled bad. When he united the clans, who’d give them bathing lessons? Surely they knew how to heat water? “Walk behind Aryk and keep your mouth shut. White Plains aren’t as progressive toward women as we are. There are no kyras. There are no free women.” She wasn’t sure she liked Valkyn’s tone. He didn’t sound disapproving enough. The village appeared from her worst nightmare—mud-and-sod huts with hide roofs and doors. Smoke trickling through holes in the roofs. No windows. Women worked at various tasks, from scraping hides to milking deer to drying dung. They glanced at the newcomers from beneath veiled lashes, their faces expressionless, unreadable. The men looked to be putting the finishing touches on a new hut, half again as big as any of the others. They stared more openly, and a general rumble rolled through the group. “Looks like life’s been treating you well, Nomok,” Aryk called. A giant troll in a bear suit lumbered out of the newly erected dwelling. “Long way from home, Widowmaker.” He even sounded like a bear. Coarse, growly voice. Matted hair and unkempt beard. A daq’s red cloak and bronze medallion about his thick neck. “We got rerouted. Slide on the Horn.” “So Hawyl tells me.” Nomok’s eyes were piggy slits above a bulbous nose. “Dangerous time of year for travel. Man might not make it home at all.” Verdeen tensed. Valkyn flashed her a warning look and mouthed, be still. Since Aryk seemed unconcerned, Verdeen held her peace. But she waited and watched. “Mayhaps you thought to take our game. Mayhaps you thought to cheat me of my due.” “I’d never dream of crossing your territory without proper compensation. Let’s talk.” “Lyra, bring schnae, ye worthless cow.” Verdeen tensed as a battered blonde woman, eyes downcast, brought a jug of that wretched drink. She moved with an unmistakable stiffness, and Verdeen’s blood boiled as her fingers inched closer toward her long-knife. Aryk too noticed the woman. “Seems I recall a Blood River woman by that name once residing in another village. On the other side of the river.” “Some heartless bastard left her without proper protection. I could do no other than take her into my own household, kind soul that I am. You should be grateful. You should pay an extra penalty for leaving your folk alone and undefended like that. Now I’m burdened with extra mouths to feed, thanks to you.” Mouths? How many Blood River people did Nomok hold? Verdeen looked around her, unable to tell who was who. “I’d relieve you of those extra mouths to feed. The goods, acourse, are yours. For your trouble.” Aryk sounded bored. The tension in his back as he drew himself up spoke otherwise.
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“The goods, Widowmaker, are already mine, and I keep what’s mine.” Nomok’s eyes glittered cold and hard. “You could take lessons on protecting your folk. Now it’ll cost you.” “I’d ken what I’m paying for. I’m to take it on faith you’ve more than the one woman?” Nomok waved, and a dozen downtrodden women came forward. “Where are the children?” Why didn’t Aryk ask after the men? “What do I want with Blood River brats? We left them there. I assume they scurried off to the next village to spread word of your negligence.” Verdeen’s heart froze. Had Nomok destroyed an entire village? Left children to die? Was this the kind of place the elven tome had described? Lawless and brutal? Aryk shrugged. “A dozen and one women who don’t even ken how to work plains deer can’t be worth all that much.” Verdeen watched his back straighten to rigid. She heard none of that tension in his voice. Nomok eyed her with an avid speculation that made her skin crawl. “You travel with a woman. Not the young one you took off Ulryk, either.” “Traded the Shamaru to her kin for profit. Got this one in an alliance with an eastern ruler. I’ve chosen her to bear my heirs.” What? Verdeen willed the shock not to show on her face. “You’ve already got one.” Nomok stripped her naked with his gaze and licked his lips. Verdeen shuddered. Aryk hauled her close and laid a hand on her belly. “She’s breeding now.” She was? When did that happen? Nomok’s shoulders sagged. “Pity.” Aryk turned to her, a warning in his eyes. His face remained expressionless. What were the rules governing here? He clearly improvised, but she’d never been good at that sort of thing. Advance notice would have been nice. How was she to respond? “What do you need with more women? Not worth more than a goat each.” “But you need to salvage your reputation, little daq.” Nomok bared his teeth. “I ken what you Widowmakers hoard to yourselves. Creataq’s Blood. That’s what I want.” “Useless to you without the forges.” “As if I’d haul forges about to new pastures. I want the finished workings. Two knives for each woman. A sword for each woman to cross the river.” Aryk shook his head. “No swords. I can give you one knife per woman now. I carry those on me. But why settle for that? I can make you a better offer.” “What’s that?” “Six hoes to cross the river and two plows to get there.”
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“What use have I for those? We’re not farmers.” “With plow and hoe you could be.” “What would I plant?” “We could negotiate a trade for seeds. I have an idea.” Nomok looked suspicious but curious. “What’s that?” “Join with me.” Aryk held up the two medallions. “I took Blood River in combat. Ulryk was a fool. Why not become allies? Word is, Beloq’s united the north. Folk tire of fighting each other and are looking to unite.” A shadow darkened Nomok’s face. His eyes clouded as he scratched absently at his beard. ’Twas known to him, Verdeen sensed. “Would you have Beloq’s hordes descend upon you, three to one? I bring Blood River and Widowmaker to the fight. Together we can hold the south, three clans against three clans, south against north. You ken what Beloq’s like. You wish no part of that.” Nomok’s eyes narrowed. “And what would a Widowmaker wish of White Plains?” “Trade. Yaga for deer. Wool for hides. We have salt from the sea. You have dyes from the plains. You grant us access to wood from your western forest. We give you seeds and access to our stone quarries.” “In exchange for?” “A truce. Save your fighting strength for Beloq—for he’s coming. As sure as we stand here, he’s coming. You’ll make a better deal with me than with him.” The women shifted. “I’ll take the two knives each now.” “One knife each. Creataq’s Blood. I’ll send the hoes and plows, you have my word.” “I’ll need more than that, Widowmaker.” Aryk removed the snow-cat fang from around his own neck and handed it to Nomok. “I’ll send you the pelt with the tools.” “I think I’ll keep your woman, as surety—just in case.” Verdeen’s blood turned to ice. Her fingers tightened around the handle of her knife ’til her joints creaked. There was no way she was staying here with Nomok. Blood would run first. Again that warning look from Aryk. “I leave my second in her stead. And the other?” “I’ll think on it.” Nomok watched as Aryk and Valkyn tossed thirteen knives at his feet. He motioned for Valkyn to disarm, and Aryk took all the additional weapons—especially the cheqs. “You may go,” Nomok told the Blood River women. “A word with my second, first.” Aryk motioned to Valkyn and Verdeen and led them out of earshot. “Work on him,” he instructed Valkyn. “I’d speak further with Nomok. He’s greedy but not stupid. He can’t
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make an alliance with Beloq. ’Tis the best way to save his daq medallion, and he kens it. He can’t beat me. Beloq’ll kill him. Convince him this deal’s in his best interest.” “You owe me for this.” Valkyn scowled. “You’d best hurry with those plows.” Verdeen didn’t like the idea of leaving Valkyn here, but she liked the idea of staying here herself even less. Guilt struck her. She’d forced Aryk into an impossible position. “As soon as I’m home. I need to get these women out of here. They’ve suffered enough.” Aryk turned to Nomok and raised his voice. “If he’s not in the same condition I leave him in, my blood price is your entire herd. And I’ll bring every man I command for the slaughter.” Nomok paled. For all his bluster, he’d not the resources to withstand the combined assault of two clans, and he’d the sense to know it. “He’ll be fine. Don’t take too long, Widowmaker. Accidents happen.” The women crowded around Aryk, looking dazed, as if they feared ’twas some kind of trick. Aryk motioned them to silence, including Verdeen, and led them away. Verdeen brought up the rear, watching the stiffness in the way the Blood River women moved. They’d not been well-treated by the White Plains men. They headed back toward the river, then downstream to the ford, above a set of mini-falls. “The water’s shallow but knee-deep, and the bottom’s flat rock,” Aryk explained to Verdeen. “We cross here.” He motioned the Blood River women to go first, then he and Verdeen followed. Icy knives plunged into her flesh from the water, but her legs were numb by the time they reached the relative safety of the other side. “Thank you, my daq.” Lyra knelt at Aryk’s feet. The other women crowded around, their voices a jumbled chorus of thanks and explanations. Verdeen could make out only bits and pieces, but she burned at the women’s subservience. “Nay.” Aryk raised Lyra to her feet. “You kneel to no one. Take me to your village.” “Excuse me, daq.” Verdeen glared. “Want to tell me what all that was about?” He motioned the Blood River women to go on ahead so he and Verdeen could speak privately. “That last thing you’d have wanted was for that beast to claim you as tribute,” he stated. “You want to end up as Lyra and the others—or worse? They’re not warriors. They submitted to brutality and degradation—and they survived. White Plains don’t hold with arming women. You’d have fought, and you’d have died—an ugly death.” His eyes blazed and a muscle ticked in his jaw. “I just saved your life.” “I could have beaten him.” She really wanted to beat Nomok to a bloody pulp. “Someone needs to make him pay.” “Mayhaps.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You might defeat one. Mayhaps ten, or a dozen.” His gaze burned into hers. “But twenty? Thirty? Nomok and all his men? Do you want to go back there and find out what your limits of self-healing are?” “You’re just going to let him get away with it?”
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“I’ve a mother and daughter. I can change things only so fast. Each village under my rule is one more safe zone. Days like this make me want to succeed all the more.” She ground her teeth together, frustrated. “Why pregnant?” “A daq understands Heir Law. Only way he wouldn’t touch you.” Aryk reached out with a mitted hand to brush her hair from her cheek. “And he considered taking you. I saw the lust in his eyes. I would have stopped him. I swear I’ll not let any harm come to you.” His gentle touch, the tender look on his face, deflated her anger like a burst soap bubble. ’Twas not just business. Just who guarded whom here? “Valkyn said that.” Verdeen considered his words. “You might have stopped him, but they would have stopped you. We’d both be dead right now. Will Valkyn be all right?” “If we don’t take too long, hai. Nomok and I made a pact.” He curled his hand behind her neck to draw her close. “You don’t improvise very well, lass.” Nay, she didn’t. She didn’t have a closed face at all—’twas why she was an abysmal card player, and why she really wasn’t cut out to be a spy. In fact, Aryk could probably read her thoughts right now… His eyes crinkled. “Later,” he whispered. Stars, he had. She turned away, cheeks burning.
The ruins of the buildings came into view soon enough. The sod-and-stone walls of the Blood River village remained—the hide rooftops and doors were gone. Food and implements gone. Children gone. The frozen bodies of the men, stripped of their weapons and furs, had been moved from where they’d fallen to a central area and laid out in a row. Verdeen’s throat tightened as she pictured the children working together, dragging the bodies of their fathers together afore heading off for safety and help. Please, Lady, let them be all right. Each woman approached and knelt by her man. The silent lack of visible grief unnerved Verdeen. Was it shock, or was death such a common occurrence people were no longer moved to react? Were relationships betwixt men and women devoid of emotions as love and mourning? “How long ago did this happen?” Aryk asked. “Four days.” Lyra’s voice and eyes were flat. “Nomok took everything.” “Where would the children go?” Verdeen asked. “The closest village is Apaaryk, a day to the north.” Why hadn’t anyone come from there to lay these men to rest? Aryk shared a grim look with Verdeen. This was what he fought to stop, she knew. “That’s where we head after we finish things here.” Aryk knelt aside Lyra’s man. “My blessings, warrior, brother. All the gods ken you stood by your brothers and gave your life defending kith and kin. I
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swear to you, to take your kin under my protection, to see your children raised as our own. To see these senseless raids cease for all time.” His simple, heartfelt sincerity moved Verdeen beyond words. He made what she perceived as a sign of blessing on the dead man’s forehead and moved to the next fallen warrior, repeating his words and the blessing for each man. At the end of the line, he drew a knife, still kneeling. “Let all here, gods above and kin below, witness the truth of my words. It ends here. I swear it on my own blood. No more.” He slid his palm along the blade, clenching a fist as his blood dripped through his fingers onto the ground. “May this be the last blood spilled on my land.” Verdeen gasped at the implacable resolve in his eyes as he rose. “Take them into their homes,” Aryk instructed. He and Verdeen helped carry each man into a hut and then pulled the ruined walls down around them, providing enough substance for a pyre. After the flames died down, all that would remain were a few rock cairns and charred bones. “At least they have the hall in the Beyond,” Lyra said. “They’ll earn the rest soon enough,” Aryk assured her. “Halzyaq sees to it no hero is cheated for long. Let’s go.” They headed north toward Apaaryk. The stench of burning flesh followed in their wake. Tufts of long, dried grasses curled around Verdeen’s boots as she picked her way over the rocky ground. So the Isadorikjans also took naught to the other side, like the Shamarans. Would Aryk ever appreciate the similarities betwixt their two peoples? Those mysterious green and pink lights danced in the sky again. Were the spirits of their ancestors looking out for them? The women pushed on through the night as if driven. Verdeen imagined a dual set of demons haunted their steps, the need to put distance betwixt them and the tragic ruins of their homes and a desperate need to see their children. She passed around what food she and Aryk had, they scooped up handfuls of snow when needed, and Aryk turned his back when necessity called. When dawn broke, Aryk called a halt for Verdeen’s prayers. That he thought of her foreign religion in the midst of all else surprised her. The women watched, curiosity in their eyes, as she knelt facing the east, where the rising sun should have been, except in this weird northern land where the sun came and went, not daily but on some unknown seasonal cyclic basis. Lady, I greet Thee. Bless this day and our mission. May I bring strength to the Light and honor to Thee. Verdeen paused after the ritual words. Lady, I am a stranger in a strange land. May I help Aryk bring peace and prosperity to these people. May we succeed in making his hope for peace a reality. May he be safe—and happy. Her heart bled for the constant state of loss and rebuilding these people endured. She rose, and they continued on. She watched Aryk as they walked and noted she wasn’t the only one watching him. What thoughts behind those blank faces and furtive glances?
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The sound of approaching people reached her ears first. The stomp of boots, the clank of weaponry. Angry men’s voices, sounding less army and more mob. They weren’t a funerary procession. They were an avenging force. “Aryk,” Verdeen called. He halted and turned to her. “We’re about to be met by the village men from Apaaryk.” They came into view—wind-reddened faces, hard eyes that sparked with fury and promised retribution. These were the men Dara had warned her about. Verdeen moved to Aryk’s side, drawing her long-knife and sword when she saw him do the same. He took naught for granted. The men stopped short when they saw the women with him; jaws dropped. It would have been amusing save for the banked menace still pulsing in the air. “If you men are on your way to honor the dead, they’ve already been laid to rest. The slaying was four days ago. You’re late.” Aryk’s gaze swept the group. “You waited to gather the other villages. Why?” “To avenge the slaughter,” one of the men retorted. “Not to lead a rescue?” Aryk scowled. “Who ordered an attack on White Plains?” The men shifted, looking uncomfortable. Lyra stepped forward. “As you can see, Daq Aryk brought us home, alone and without your aid. A Widowmaker succeeded where Blood River didn’t even try. We are your own, yet you did naught.” She spat in the snow. “This for your vengeance.” “What does vengeance breed but more slaughter, more death?” another rescued woman demanded. “You’d throw your lives away to leave more women and children unprotected?” So more were seeing things Aryk’s way? Verdeen shot him a startled glance. He nodded. “What of our children?” Lyra demanded. “Safe in Apaaryk, with our women.” Thank the Lady. Verdeen watched the women’s shoulders sag with relief. Even Aryk seemed to relax his stance. At least Blood River had done something right. “When I return to Svaaldur and hear Gylfi’s accounting, will he mention runners carrying messages?” Aryk’s smoky voice dropped to a lethal quiet that sent a shiver of dread up Verdeen’s spine. “Will he say he gave his blessing, as acting daq in my stead, to a sanctioned raid on White Plains? Or are you foolish enough to risk my wrath in a clandestine strike that would imperil my second’s life? He even now stands as surety of my personal honor, my agreement with Daq Nomok that certain demands will be met. Would you betray your daq’s pledge?” He took a single step forward. They all took two steps back.
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“Who goes to the other side a traitor, a betrayer without honor? Who faces Halzyaq? Not in some distant future but this day? For I swear, do you not stand down I’ll send you to the Beyond now, no blessing, no rites. I’ll leave your rotting remains for the ravens to fight over.” Verdeen took a deep breath and held it. Would this be her first real battle? There had to be fifty armed men facing Aryk. The implacable resolve on his face… When they were fledgling first-year cadets, a lifetime ago, she’d giggled over Aurelian practicing his “war face” in the mirror. Aurelian had naught on Aryk. One man against so many, and they were backing down. She saw it in their eyes. Mayhaps one man in a thousand could command that kind of influence and power. “Nay? No one thinks today’s a good day to greet Halzyaq? Then lower your weapons and get these women to shelter.” They sullenly obeyed, turning around and leading the way back to their village. Verdeen let out the breath, dizzy in part with relief, a bit of awe and something else. Something womanly that made her tingle when she looked at him. ’Twas a touching reunion as mothers found their children with tears and hugs. Not a one seemed unaccounted for. The elders led Aryk to the council house. Verdeen followed into smoky warmth. Her raw cheeks burned in the absence of the wind. It whistled through the cracks in the hide-covered walls, enough to be heard but not felt. As her eyes adjusted to the fire-lit gloom, she saw shadows dancing across the walls festooned with weapons, farming implements and a pale tanned hide covered in markings that made her think of counting, some kind of calendar or census tally. An enormous mat of braided grasses crunched underfoot. After a single startled glance at Aryk’s face, none objected to her presence. They sat on the mats encircling the peat fire and passed around a jug of schnae. Verdeen demurred when Aryk offered it to her. She needed her wits. Aside, that wretched brew was worse than ale. “I’m sick to death of this,” Aryk groused. His gaze swept the group of Blood River elders. Their faces seemed to pulse with the wavering light. “I mean to end this ceaseless slaughter.” “Then lead us against them,” an old warrior with facial scars and one eye urged. “I proposed alliance with Daq Nomok. Valkyn stands surety for my honor.” “What?” Another man spat on the floor. Verdeen now recognized the sign of contempt. Aryk didn’t deign to acknowledge it. “Would you rather stand alone when you face Beloq’s hordes or on even footing? Each alone, we have no hope of defeating him. United, together, we’ve a force nigh even with his.” Verdeen watched the men’s faces as Aryk outlined the plans she’d now memorized. The recent bloodshed helped bring his points home. She saw doubt, resignation and relief. Someone pointed to Verdeen. “What of her?” “Bodyguard,” she replied.
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“S’that what they call it where you’re from?” She bared her teeth and started to draw a knife. “Enough.” Aryk laid a warm, rough hand over hers, his thumb sweeping across her knuckles. The gentle caress comforted, reassured. The man had more facets than a jewel. She never knew what she’d see from him next. “Put it away. We don’t draw weapon in council.” He glared at Verdeen’s attacker. “Nor do we insult guests. She speaks the truth. She was assigned to me by the eastern king. You’ll show her the same respect you’d show me.” There were some rumbles, but they all dropped their gazes from her. “Now, we leave for home, for Svaaldur, tomorrow. I’d have two men accompany us as your official representatives. I leave it to you to decide whom you wish to send.” Aryk stood and reached down to haul Verdeen to her feet. The ease with which he did so made her appreciate anew the strength in those broad shoulders. Shoulders which seemed to carry the weight of the world on them. Even he must get tired. “We’ll retire now. Send someone with food; then we do not wish to be disturbed ’til morning.” He strode out into the cold night. Verdeen followed in his wake. Just because he could shoulder the responsibility didn’t mean he should handle it by himself. No one should have to struggle alone. She gasped as the wind bit at her cheeks and numbed her nose, jarring her from her thoughts. Such a contrast to the warm, sunlit fields and gently rolling hills of Cymry. She was startled by how much time had passed. They’d been talking for hours. No wonder the knots in her back. What she wouldn’t give for a bit of relief at Aryk’s hands. His strong fingers pressing deep, loosening the tension, gliding across her bare back… “We do not wish to be disturbed until morning.” She gulped. Stars, they’d be alone together for the first time. To distract herself from that dangerous speculation, she stretched and eyed the dancing lights overhead. Those beautiful foreign lights. If they were Aryk’s ancestors, what did they think of the changes Aryk had planned? Of her presence here? Fiske padded along aside them to a hidebound tent. Smoke poured through a hole in the top. She ducked through the doorway first, surprised at how warm it was inside. The layers of hides insulated well. The central fire cast a flickering light that penetrated the shadowy corners. All clear. She dropped her gear, came back out and nodded. “I’ll wait outside ’til the food’s brought, then join you.” He entered the shelter with Fiske. She stood armed, stoic and glaring at no one and everyone. So much had happened, so much that confirmed and contradicted what she’d thought she knew about Isadorikja. The book could have been written about Nomok, about the Apaaryk men. But when it came to Aryk, the book was nigh useless. Someone would have to rewrite the entire thing when this was finished. Time to make another report, since food didn’t seem to be forthcoming.
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“My king?” “What news from my Right Hand?” “We’re in a Blood River village named Apaaryk. We leave in the morn for Aryk’s hometown of Svaaldur. We had an unexpected detour that proved rather interesting.” She described the slide, Fiske’s rescue and the snow cat. “We ended up on the other side of Blood River. That side is White Plains territory, a rival clan. Breeders of draft deer, wanderers like the Shamaru. They had raided a Blood River village, destroyed it utterly.” She relayed the condition of the women and Aryk’s rescue of them. “So these raids are as brutal as we thought,” Loren stated grimly. “Men slain, women taken and abused, children left for dead.” “But Nomok and Aryk negotiated for their release,” Verdeen reminded him. “Once the terms were agreed upon, Nomok let us go, with the women.” “And Valkyn stands as surety of this?” “Aye. In my stead.” She felt a flare of concern from the king. “Explain.” “Nomok wished me to stay. Aryk didn’t allow it. Valkyn stays ’til the terms are met. Odd, Nomok struck me as an honorable man. A brute and a wretch when it comes to women, aye, but once he and Aryk reached their agreement, he held true to his word. I believe Valkyn will be fine. Aryk has him working on Nomok and the idea of an alliance ’til we return.” Loren pondered that for a moment. “Once we reached what was left of the women’s village, things got more interesting.” Verdeen recounted Aryk’s vow. “When we left the village, we were met by the men from Apaaryk. Not a funerary detail but an avenging force. The women were not impressed, and Aryk was angry. Apparently raids are well-thought-out propositions, weighing potential losses and gains. When Aryk reminded them that he was their daq and hadn’t sanctioned a retaliatory raid on White Plains, they stood down. And here we are.” “So there is a sense of community decision-making, and more than one rational head.” “People tire of bloodshed and vengeance.” She described the reunion of mothers and children. “I can’t imagine how horrible it would have been for the younglings, picking up the littlest ones and hieing off to the next village. No food, no shelter. But they made it. Not a one was missing.” No child should have to brave such a challenge. Isadorikjans truly were old afore their time. “And the men backed down when Aryk rebuked them?” “Had to be at least fifty of them, and he alone. I’ve never seen anything like it.” A renewed sense of awe swept through her, recalling that moment. She shivered. “A blood oath over a grave is a serious vow. ’Tis reassuring others see things his way. I feared he alone wished for peace, but it sounds as if his people are ready.” “’Twill be interesting to see Svaaldur, compare it to Blood River and White Plains.”
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“Agreed. Keep me informed.” Verdeen mulled over their conversation. “Stovak nos briel.” She whispered the words Aryk had quoted. Aryk believed this was his destiny. The strange thing was, she was starting to feel like mayhaps ’twas hers, as well. As if she was meant to be here. Here. Now. At Aryk’s side. As Loren’s Right Hand…or something more? A woman approached with her hands full. Verdeen examined everything. Pot of goat stew. Flatbread for dipping. Pitcher of schnae and two cups. She tasted everything but found naught amiss and nodded the woman into the dwelling. She left moments later with empty hands, and Verdeen entered the dwelling that had been granted Aryk for this night. “Thought I’d starve to death waiting for her,” Aryk groused as he took the tray of food from her hands. “Take those furs off afore you roast to death.” He’d shed his tunic as well. The banked peat fire had warmed the dim interior of the small lodge to the point she heard the raspy sound of Fiske panting in the shadows. The smoke stung her eyes as she rolled out her bedding right afore the door, staying betwixt it and the fire, noting Aryk showed the good sense to stay behind the fire and away from the door. The fire turned his tawny hair a richer shade of bronze, and she shivered as she tried to ignore the fine sheen of sweat highlighting the muscles of his shoulders and chest. He reached around to rub the back of his neck, grimacing. “What did you think?” That I’ve never met anyone like you. That you can steal my breath and make me burn with just a single glance. “Old men are slow to change, but they’re not stupid. They’ve something to think about.” Verdeen shook out her furs, ensuring her blades were within reach afore settling by the fire. “Such defensive preparations.” Aryk uncovered the pot, and the smell of hot food made her stomach rumble. “Afeared I’ll attack you in your sleep?” She frowned. His teasing hit a little too close. “I’m here to guard you. I don’t trust these people or this place.” “But do you trust me?” His gaze ensnared hers, and he held out his hand. “Come here.” He wasn’t allowing her any distance. Her heart tripped in her chest, and she swallowed hard as she eyed his hand. They’d been here afore, at this crossroads. Their solitude roared in her ears. “I promise not to attack you unless you’re awake.” Aryk rolled his eyes. “We have to share the food, and there are no plates. Get over here.” She eyed the door and shook her head. Her stomach rumbled again. “Fiske, nat.” Aryk handed him his fish and fat, and the big dog padded over to the door with his own meal. Aryk sat afore the fire and tore the wheel of flatbread in half. “Kyra, you’ve been relieved. Now come eat.”
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She scooted over and opened her mouth to chide him, but he reached out to shove a piece of gravycoated bread in her mouth, and she chewed instead. It was good, for simple stew. She swallowed and frowned. “You need to work on that whole ordering-Verdeen-around habit.” “No doubt one of my many flaws.” He stretched out on his side, head on his hand, leaving the other free for eating. He took a sip of schnae, held the cup out to her. “Here.” “You want to see what I look like with a hairy chest, don’t you?” She shook her head and wrinkled her nose. “I’ll pass, thank you.” His eyes twinkled at her as he leaned in close. “I’ve seen your chest, woman,” he whispered. “No hair there…nor anywhere else, I’m thinking.” She choked. Her cheeks flamed. “You are a wicked man.” He eyed her over the cup in his hands. “I’m making you nervous. Why?” Alone in the dark with a handsome man, with naught but soft bedding and firelight—big red dog notwithstanding… Verdeen trembled as she reached for a piece of bread. She felt like a bow strung too tight, ready to snap. Aryk made a disgusted sound. “You’re so tense. You have naught to fear from me, lass.” “I’m not afeared of you.” She frowned at the disbelieving look he cast her way. “I’m not. But we’ve never been alone afore, and I’m…nervous.” She laughed, breathless. “There, I said it.” He stared up at her with an unfathomable expression on his face as the firelight played over the planes and angles of his half-naked body. Not that she noticed. “What?” she asked. “You’re such a contradiction.” He sat up and moved behind her, his long, muscular legs fencing hers in parallel lines. She shivered as his hands rested on her shoulders. “You say you’re not afeared, but you feel tight enough to snap. You say you’re nervous” —his voice dropped to a whisper—“but your eyes move over my body like your fingers itch to follow. You draw me in. I move closer, and you move away. Confound it all, lass, would you just relax and eat?” She turned to face him. Her neck protested with a sharp, searing twinge. “And then what?” “Then I do something about all that tension, or you’ll never sleep.” Verdeen gulped. Her eyes were so wide she probably resembled an owl. Aryk reached past her, took the piece of bread from her nerveless fingers and scooped up a chunk of gravy-drenched meat. “Open.” Like a baby bird she did, and he popped it in her mouth. She chewed and swallowed. “I can feed myself.” His eyes crinkled as he grinned. “But this is more fun.” Two could play at this game. She reached forward for another piece, this time for him. He playfully nipped at her fingers as he took it from her hand, startling her into laughter. There was a strange sense of
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intimacy as they fed each other bite after bite from the pot, as he leaned into her every time he grabbed a new piece and she turned toward him. A bit of gravy dripped onto her chin as he served her, and without looking, she swiped it away with her finger. “Wait.” He grasped her wrist, his long calloused fingers completely encircling it as he raised her hand to his mouth. She caught a brief flash of the contrast betwixt his tanned, weathered skin and her own paleness afore he curled his tongue around her finger and slowly sucked it into his mouth. Verdeen whimpered at the tingle his action invoked and almost choked as the game’s tenor changed in a heartbeat. She swallowed with difficulty. “Wha-what are you doing?” He blinked innocently as she pulled her hand away. “Cleaning up.” She wasn’t fooled for an instant, bracing herself for the next bite. But naught untoward happened. She eyed him warily as she served him, brushing a crumb from the corner of his mouth, her thumb tracing the firm line of his lower lip. His eyes darkened, but he held himself still. The next dribble, he beat her to it, leaning in to flick his tongue against her chin, his lips suckling gently over the spot afore he moved to nibble along her jaw. She froze, stunned at his sneaky maneuver— and her body’s awakening response. Swallowing, she leaned back into him, tilting her head to grant him further access—and a sharp, hot pain stabbed through the side of her neck. Aryk drew back immediately. Rubbing his hands briskly together, he placed them on either side of her neck, heating her skin. “Now we do something about that tension.” He began rubbing gentle circles into her skin, gradually deepening the pressure to work out the kink. Verdeen moaned, letting her head fall forward. “Stars, that feels good…” His fingers gently squeezed the strip of muscle running atop her shoulders, his thumbs digging in right behind where her neck joined her back, circling just above the shoulder blade. Her head lolled back against him. “Ohh, aye, right there…” He chuckled as he nibbled on her ear. “You ken, acourse, that anyone listening at the door is bound to get an entirely different impression of what goes on here?” “I don’t care what they think.” She sighed. “Harder…a little lower… You are sooo good at this.” His touch was pure heaven. The whole village could have stood outside the door. All she knew was the warm, gentle strength in his fingers, kneading away the stress. “I can’t help thinking I put a few of these knots in your tail,” he murmured. “Is it so fearsome a thought, being alone with me?” “You confuse me,” she confessed. “I never know what to expect from you. It feels like shifting sand instead of solid rock.” “And you don’t like to improvise.” He paused to rub his hands together again, bringing renewed heat to his touch.
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“I’m no good at it…oh, stars, right there…” What was it about his touch that made her melt, made her want to open up to him? They’d never mentioned this technique in interrogation class. “This isn’t a good idea.” “What’s not a good idea?” Aryk nuzzled along the curve of her neck, his beard teasing the sensitive skin. She shivered. “This…” She floundered. “Us… We should keep things professional.” His hands never faltered. “That ship’s already sailed, lass. There’s no going back—for either of us.” Fear jolted through her. “Don’t say that.” “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want me,” he challenged. Verdeen mustered her courage to face him. Stars, those hot hazel eyes blazed at her and stole her breath, drawing her in. She reached out to trace her finger down the cleft in his chin, fighting the impulse to lean in and trace it—with her tongue. She jerked back as if stung. He curled a hand around her neck, gently rubbing along her hairline. “I ken what you fear, lass. ’Tis not me you fear. You fear the loss of control. You fear yourself.” “That’s the most ridiculous…” Her shoulders slumped. “I don’t know how.” “To just close your eyes and jump?” She nodded. “Trust me. Trust me enough to relax.” His hands were so warm. “Have no fear I’ll seduce you this night. Neither one of us is comfortable enough here to let down our guard to such an extent.” Would she ever understand him? Predicting his next move was like trying to hold the wind in her hands. “Let Fiske guard the door. Lie here with me. Just let me hold you,” he coaxed. “It has been a long day. We both need to rest.” He dipped his head, brushed her lips with his. Verdeen swore the earth moved. There was no sizzle, naught so overt as that. Instead, a gentle glow rolled over her, a feeling of security. She would never understand him, but just for a moment, those shifting sands weren’t quite so terrifying. She sighed and melted into his embrace. He broke the kiss off to nuzzle the hair at her temple. “Tomorrow—” she whispered. He shushed her by laying a finger across her lips. “Not here yet. But we greet it together.” He drew her down onto his bed, rolling so he spooned up behind her. Verdeen squirmed, restless, trying to get comfortable. Exhaustion weighed heavy on her eyelids, but his words kept chasing through her mind. “Tomorrow…together…” The warmth of his body seeped into hers, and his arm tightened over her hip to draw her closer. “Tomorrow we go home,” he murmured into her hair. “To Svaaldur.” Oh stars.
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Chapter Twelve
Verdeen stared at the columns of smoke rising in the distance. Svaaldur. A large settlement, carved in snow and granite at the base of Widowmaker Mountain, the source of Creataq’s Blood. ’Twas flanked by milling flocks of sheep, goats and the mysterious yaga. Younglings kept a watchful eye on them, aided by more of the red seeker dogs. One of the lads spotted their approach and let out a loud cry of warning to the village afore running pell-mell toward them. Aryk broke into a grin and strode a bit faster. Was that Joro? Verdeen had seen the warrior, the leader and the lover, but her glimpses of the father had been seldom. That look of pride and—aye, love—lit his whole face, transforming the harsh angular planes to something softer. Something infinitely more dangerous to her heart. The lad crashed into him with open arms and a grunt. He shrieked with glee as Aryk swung him up and spun him around onto his broad shoulders. Verdeen smiled at the happy sound. “I been waiting for you forever.” Aryk laughed. “I’ve been busy. ’Tis good to see you are well. Joro, this is Verdeen. Verdeen, this is my son and heir, Joro.” Joro looked like his father, save the softened features of youth, but his blue eyes must come from his mother. He studied Verdeen’s elven features with open curiosity but no fear. “Are you one of the Vala?” She shot Aryk a questioning glance. Aryk shook his head. “Nay, lad, she’s not one of Halzyaq’s handmaidens. She’s a friend I met on my journey.” “From Shamar?” Joro’s eyes were wide. “From east of there,” she said and left it at that. He seemed satisfied with that answer, grabbing his father’s hair as they continued on toward the village. “Where’s Valkyn?” “Spending some time across the river,” Aryk answered. “He’ll be home soon.” The entire village turned out to greet them, bowing to Aryk with respect but glad faces. They celebrated his return, not the usual reaction to a despot. An old woman with sharp green tourmaline eyes pinned her with her gaze, and Verdeen flinched at the reading. A seer. What had the human read? “Greetings, my son.” She ignored Verdeen. “Welcome home.”
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He inclined his head and lowered Joro to the ground. “Mother. ’Tis good to be home.” An old man stomped forward with a carved staff decorated with raven feathers. His sturdy boots crunched in the snow. “’Bout time you showed up.” He thrust the staff into Aryk’s hands. “They’re all yours now.” He scowled and turned away. “Where are you going, old man?” The twinkle in Aryk’s eyes told Verdeen he wasn’t really upset. “I’d hear your report.” “To take a nap. Wake me in a week, and I’ll make my report.” Aryk laughed. Must be Gylfi, the one Aryk had left in charge during his absence. The one he’d said would be glad to return the power upon his return. Looked like Aryk was right. A woman strode up to take Joro from his father, a cup in one hand, the other staying on the lad’s shoulder. Joro got his blue eyes from his mother. He didn’t get his smile from her. She reminded Verdeen of Minister Raun’s daughter, Lady Alani—if Lady Alani had been a rangy, tanned golden blonde. Beautiful, but looking as if she’d swallowed something sour. “Aryk, we rejoice in your safe return,” she said, taking his hands and bowing ’til her forehead touched them. “As mother of your heir, I greet you and welcome you home.” She handed the cup to him. Aryk caught Verdeen’s eye and shook his head, staying her wordless protest. She seethed whilst he took a swallow and gave it back to the woman, who also sipped afore passing it to Joro. She never looked at her son, having eyes for none save Aryk. “I’d speak with you, my son,” Aryk’s mother said. “Perhaps your companion would like to freshen up whilst we talk. Dagmar can show her to her quarters.” When war mares flew like owls. “Verdeen stays with me,” Aryk said. “There’s naught you’d say to me she can’t hear.” Joro’s mother, Dagmar, frowned. “’Tis entirely irregular.” Aryk’s mother frowned also. “Things are changing for Isadorikja,” Aryk said. “Verdeen’s part of those changes.” The older woman drew herself up, shot Verdeen a look of absolute distrust. “Very well. As my daq commands.” She marched off to a stone-based sod dwelling with hide doors. With a grimace, Aryk followed. He kept a hand on Verdeen’s back, holding the door open whilst the women entered first. Verdeen sensed a touch of power that tingled in the air. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness lit by the central fire, she noticed the trappings of a witch—dried herbs, small carvings, elemental stones and feathers. Aryk’s mother yanked off her fur coat, poured schnae into a cup, took a sip and handed it to Verdeen. The fumes burned her nose. Verdeen shot Aryk a helpless glance. “You refuse to drink with us?” Her tone implied refusal to be the height of rudeness. “Schnae does not agree with her,” Aryk said. “She’s not like us, Mother.”
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“I can see that.” She turned to look down her nose at Verdeen. “We all face things that don’t agree with us during this transition my son commands.” She pursed her lips. There was enough frost in her voice to freeze the flames of the small central fire. Verdeen took a sip, willing her face to stay expressionless even as the drink seared her. Numbness followed the wake of fire. She handed it to Aryk, who tossed back the rest. “I’m Gefjun, matriarch of this clan. I’d have words with my daq.” “Not your son?” Aryk asked. A hint of vulnerability crossed his face. She fired a chastising glare at him. “A mother’s words for her son aren’t meant for others’ ears. As you keep this woman by your side with complete disregard for our ways, then all I shall address is my daq.” Verdeen must have imagined the shadow of sorrow in the matriarch’s green eyes. It never reached the woman’s voice. Aryk took a stiffer stance, his face closed and harder. “Very well. What would you say?” Gefjun ignored him for the moment, spearing Verdeen with a glance. “Who are you?” “Verdeen te Seppala. King Loren of Cymry assigned me to be his representative and your son’s advisor during unification.” Verdeen glared right back. “King who?” “Sit, both of you.” Aryk dropped to the fur-covered dirt floor, motioned them to join him. Verdeen sat behind him, betwixt him and the door. “I returned Ildiko to her home. King Berend and Queen Tzigana sent me to Kunigonde Keep. Van Marete’s mate is one of the eastdawn elves, Cianan, who accompanied me and Valkyn to the elven capitol city of Poshnari-Unai. We met King Loren, who assigned me Verdeen as an ambassador of sorts.” Gefjun frowned. “Where is Valkyn?” “With Nomok, as surety the ransom for certain Blood River hostages would be met.” “He extorts payment from us? Bad enough the raids. Now we pay?” “The prisoners were women,” Verdeen snarled. “They were ill-used, their men slaughtered, their children abandoned. Should he have left them there? Would you have their children orphaned? Is this what passes for honor amongst you?” “How dare you?” Gefjun all but shook with indignation. “What do you, an outsider, ken of our honor? Come in here and judge us?” Aryk sighed and placed a hand on each of their arms. “Enough. They’re home now and safe. I made a promise, and my promise will be kept. He considers joining us in the stand against Beloq. This would go a way to convincing him of my sincerity.” Gefjun eyed him. “Was your talisman part of that agreement?” He raised his hand to his throat. “Hai. He’ll need the pelt, as well.”
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“Will the mainlanders come to our aid?” “Well,” Verdeen began, “there’s a bit of a misunderstanding there.” Gefjun frowned. “Explain.” Aryk stayed silent ’til Verdeen lost patience and poked his shoulder with a pointed finger. “Tell her.” Gefjun’s lips twitched, as Aryk still didn’t speak. Verdeen huffed. “He’s been having this nightmare.” “Oh?” Gefjun pinned her son with that sharp green tourmaline gaze. “Pray tell.” Aryk’s eyes promised later retribution when he got Verdeen alone, but he explained his vision of Joro’s death—and Piroska’s part in it. When he got to Jana’s explanation, Gefjun’s gaze grew distant. “I see a great tree…with an old soul and a young face.” Verdeen’s skin crawled. As both a seer and an earth-speaker, Jana was indeed faced with the future choice of becoming the goddess Orthia’s priestess and mouthpiece, but how would this distant seeress know that? Did she see the lass accepting that fate? Cianan had expressed grave doubts on the subject, as it involved becoming bound to a tree and thus having her freedom taken away for all time. Like him, Verdeen couldn’t see the spirited young Shamaru lass having her wings clipped. But what did Aryk’s mother know of it? What powers did this woman wield? Gefjun rose with the fluidity of a younger woman and smoothed her hands down her tunic. Her beaded necklaces jangled with her movement. “Go and rest, and we shall speak with the council later tonight.” Aryk rose and pulled Verdeen to her feet. Bowing to his mother, they left the dwelling. After the smoky warmth of Gefjun’s home, the wind’s kiss was extra bitter, a raw bite on Verdeen’s cheeks. She ignored the stares as she followed Aryk across the village. She stopped to eye a black yaga that met her gaze and stepped up to say hello. It had long eyelashes, and its rabbity face almost seemed to smile as it waggled its ears and tail and snuffled at her hair. She buried her hands in the thick, greasy wool of its long neck and sighed at the warmth. A tawny-haired lass who teetered on the edge of young adulthood tended the yaga. She smiled at Verdeen. “You’ve made a friend, kyra.” Figures, Verdeen thought, her sole friend would have four legs instead of two. Aryk stopped to tuck a lock of the lass’s hair behind her ear. “You look well, Birgit. It warms my heart to see you.” Side by side, the similarity betwixt them was striking. The lass looked thrilled at the attention from her father. He motioned Verdeen to follow him, his expression stony as he turned and strode away. Verdeen rolled her eyes at his back. “You’re not afeared of him,” Birgit observed. “Why should I be?” Verdeen shrugged. “Even grumpy, he’s naught but a man.”
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Birgit grinned. “My mother would agree with you.” “Who’s your mother?” “The kyra Erlynda.” Valkyn’s twin sister, Verdeen recalled. Birgit brushed a strand of windblown hair from her face. “I can tell you’re going to make things interesting for him. Go on, afore he starts shouting.” Shouting was preferable to the quiet, deadly tone he adopted when he was furious. Would Erlynda resent Verdeen’s proximity to Aryk? She followed in Aryk’s wake ’til he disappeared into a dwelling. She faltered at the door as a weight descended upon her shoulders. Somehow, entering his home felt unsafe. “If you’re awaiting an invitation, you’ll not get it. If you haven’t the sense the gods gave a yaga to come in out of the cold, then you can guard the door ’til you freeze.” Of all the— She yanked the hides back and stomped in, shivering as the hides dropped behind her. A wave of not-cold hit her from the loss of the wind. Someone had started a fire, but it hadn’t burned long enough for true warmth yet. “Your daughter’s lovely.” Verdeen hoped Erlynda proved friendlier than Dagmar—and, at the moment, Aryk. She would like to make one friend in this new land. He grunted a vague acknowledgement. “You’d no right.” Aryk dumped his weapons in the corner and yanked his fur coat over his head. He paused to glare at her afore bending to unlace his boots. “No right whatsoever to bring up a private matter to my mother.” He wasn’t shouting. The controlled fury, masked by a thin veneer of civility, was infinitely sharper. “She’s a seeress. She needed to know.” He peeled off his furred breeches and crossed the room in three angry strides. “And what gives you any right to speak to others as to what I need or don’t need?” She steeled herself not to flinch at the quiet menace in his tone. “When it comes to your safety, I have a say. When something affects your mind state so as to influence your actions, I have a say. When you think with your heart instead of your head, I have a say.” She fisted her hands on her hips. “She needed to know. I made the decision. I can live with that.” “You will do as I say.” He bit off each word through clenched teeth. “When it comes to keeping you alive, ’tis you who must listen to me. You agreed.” “I’m still daq here.” He curled his hand around the back of her neck, his fingers knotting in her hair. “Step over me again and I send you right back where you came from. I’m a man of my word. That’s my honor, woman. Never question it again.” Verdeen’s heart froze, and she swallowed hard. If he sent her away, one way or another his world would vanish in a rain of blood and fire. Verdeen couldn’t fail. How would she face Loren and Dara with
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Aryk’s blood on her hands? Joro, Birgit and all the other innocent younglings? They deserved a future. For their sakes, she had to stay. She had to finish this. “Then why not leave me with Nomok when you had the chance?” He growled and raked his other hand through his hair. “Valkyn can handle himself. He’s familiar with them, and they him. White Plains don’t hold with opinionated women. You’d just have gotten yourself in trouble.” “So what’s it to you?” she challenged. “I’m just Cymry’s observer. You’ve got your children, your mates. What else do you need of me?” A different heat entered his eyes. For a single, wild moment Verdeen wondered if Aryk meant to shake her or kiss her. Her pulse hammered in her throat as awareness crackled over her skin. Dracken rue, she was still angry. Kissing him was out of the question. “Don’t look at me like that.” “L-like what?” She choked down a whimper as his grip loosened and his fingers caressed the back of her neck. His eyes darkened, and time stopped as the very air seemed to shimmer with attraction. The lethal combination of anger and desire made her head spin. A trickle of sweat slid betwixt her breasts. He stood afore her like a golden avenging god, his hair gleaming in the firelight. She felt like a giant stuffed toy bear with too many layers on. “Take it off.” Her knees all but buckled. “W-what?” An unexpected glint of humor crept into those hot, hazel eyes. “Want me to help you?” Did she? She shrugged out of her sword belts, wriggling to pull her arms free of the coat sleeves. He pushed the fur coat up and over her head. She yelped as his fingers brushed the sides of her breasts. The coat dropped at their feet. He tugged at the ties, loosening the waistband to enable her furred breeches to slide over her hips. She clutched at his shoulders as he slid his hands over her backside, caressing, squeezing. His gaze held hers, his eyes all but black as he dropped to his knees afore her. He ran his fingers down the backs of her thighs, which trembled at his touch. She locked her knees to stay upright. They both froze when her fur pants caught on the tops of her boots. Verdeen broke into slightly hysterical laughter, breaking the sensual tension that had ensnared her. Ducking her head to evade his gaze, she unlaced her boots and kicked them and the fur outer pants free, scooping up the pile of clothing and weapons to dump them along the wall, out of the way. She shrugged out of her knife sash, dropping it atop the rest of it and turning— Aryk’s mouth crashed down onto hers, stealing her startled squeak of protest with the thrust of his tongue. Urgent need flared with a rush of heat. He smoothed his hands over her hips, fumbling. He’d released the buckles and unstrapped the rest of her knives. Disarming her whilst she went up in flames and tried to remember how to breathe. A hint of lingering anger added an edge to his dark, male hunger, and
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’twas all she could do to cling to him as every thought scattered. His lips devoured hers, his tongue tangling with hers with a voracious sensuality. She trembled at the dizzying sensations as he shoved his hands under her tunic to cup her breasts, kneading the firm curves, teasing the tips ’til they drew tight and tingled with need. He groaned into her mouth and slid his hand down over her backside to push his fingers betwixt her thighs. She whimpered and moved on his hand. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders at the shock of pleasure, and she squirmed with irritation as the material of her clothing rubbed against her flushed, oversensitized skin. He drew her leg up to curl around his hip, angling her against the heavy, burning swell of his erection. She almost swooned against him. The rasp of her velvety tunic was unbearable. She needed it off— now. Needed his mouth on her, his hands on her. Needed to feel his hot skin against hers. She tugged at his tunic, caressing the hard muscles of his back. Aryk tore his mouth from hers, panting, his face tight with passion. She wondered what he saw in her eyes as he whipped his tunic off over his head. He glistened with sweat, and she leaned in for a taste, raining kisses over his gleaming chest, swiping her tongue across his nipple. He muttered something gravelly and incoherent, his fingers tangling in her hair to cradle her head against him as she licked the salt from his skin. Stars, he tasted good. The underlying muscles clenched under her mouth, and he shifted. He felt like he was burning up. Shyness was the last thing on her mind as she got caught up in the moment. He took one of her hands and pressed it against his erection, closing his fingers over hers and squeezing around himself. Showing her how he liked to be touched, moving against her palm. She would have thought it painful, as hard as he pressed her against himself, but he groaned encouragement as he moved in her hand. Heat flooded her as his need fueled her own. He gripped her backside and raised her up. “Wrap your legs around me.” His voice was harsh, raspy. “Hold on.” Uncertainty reared its head as she obeyed. Surely she was too heavy? Then he angled his hips, rubbing the force of his arousal deep against her burning core. She cried out at the flash of heated pleasure that rippled through her. He staggered around the central fire, every motion driving her higher, closer to the edge. She clung to him as he lowered her to his furs, shoving her tunic up so she felt the knap of the pelts crumpling against her back. “Take it off.” She loosened her grip and slid her legs along his, amazed she could speak. “For certain.” He slid her tunic off. Her skin pebbled under the caress of his rough hands. He lingered on every curve, every hollow, and she writhed under his burning gaze as if ’twere a physical caress. Her nipples tightened, aching with need, and she arched in silent plea. “That’s it, lass.” He cupped her breasts, circling the flushed, tightened tips.
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She cried out in relief as he closed his mouth over her and rasped the rough velvet of his tongue across her sensitive nipple. She shook in his arms, sliding her fingers through his hair and clutching him to her. He suckled hard, and she melted against him. Aryk fumbled with the lacing of her breeches, delved deep betwixt her thighs. “You’re so hot,” he whispered as he switched to her other breast. He stroked the wet, swollen folds, and she whimpered as she moved against his fingers. Every muscle in her body tensed under his mouth, his hands. “Oh, hai, that’s it. Let go. Trust me.” He tugged at her breeches. Verdeen felt the furs on her backside and realized she lay sprawled afore him naked. The sensual haze cleared as she whimpered. “Shh. Easy,” he soothed, raining gentle biting kisses down her belly. She squirmed, half aroused and half ticklish. He moved down betwixt her thighs, drew her legs up over his shoulders and buried his face against her core. Verdeen stiffened in shock. He wasn’t actually going to— The dual assault of rough beard and soft tongue against her wet, aching flesh pulled her under waves of exquisite sensation. Disbelief and desperate need warred, and she cried out, wanting to pull away, wanting to push closer. Never had she known men did such things. He had to stop. He’d best not ever stop. He probed, he teased, ’til she was mindless and begging, moving against him, trying to relieve the ache. But he held her back, not quite letting her cross that last little bit to completion. “Please.” She was beyond shyness. “I need—” He turned his head to nip her inner thigh. “So beautiful when you burn.” She felt everything against her skin—the soft furs, the heat of his breath, the scratch of his whiskered cheek, the rough calluses of his fingers. She writhed in an agony of building anticipation. Verdeen gasped at the fierce desire reflected in his eyes. He held her gaze as his hands moved off her momentarily. She couldn’t look away, mesmerized, as he captured her hand in his and drew it down the rigid muscles of his belly…to curl around the pulsing, meaty weight of his bare erection. Stars, when had he shed his breeches? Her eyes widened, and she swallowed hard as heat scalded her cheeks. Her mouth went dry at the foreign sensation of the masculine flesh sliding along her palm. Hot velvet over solid wood. Not at all what she’d expected. His nostrils flared, his lips thinning as she tightened her fingers around him, stroking from base to tip. She circled the blunt head, and Aryk closed his eyes and groaned as a single drop of fluid kissed her thumb. Curious, she brought it to her tongue, savoring the creamy, salty essence of him. With a groan of something indecipherable, he lunged up to capture her lips in a rough kiss of absolute mastery. She sucked his tongue deep. He growled. Her body pulsed with restless, tingling need. He slid himself through her drenched, hungry folds, and she writhed against him. A part of her braced for what was coming. Most of
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her didn’t care. She needed this, needed him to complete her, to put an end to the exquisite agony that had built up since that first kiss in the garden. He broke off the kiss. “Look at me.” She did, dazed, breathless, taut with mingled anticipation and dread. She trembled at the blatant possessiveness in his eyes. “You’re mine,” he growled. “Say it.” “Yours,” she agreed. The word slid toward a high, keening cry as he thrust hard into her, tearing through her maiden’s barrier to bury himself deep. Tears stung her eyes at the burning fullness. She arched in protest to throw him off, but it served only to push him in farther, deeper, ’til he was all the way in. She swore she felt him against her womb itself. He felt huge, even as she yielded around him. She shook in his arms, scrunching her eyes tight as shock turned to discomfort. She whimpered as her sensitized flesh clamped down around him, stilling his progression. Sweat broke out across his forehead as her body squeezed around him in protest. “Easy, lass. Don’t move. Give me a moment.” She whimpered. “Get off.” “Shh,” he soothed, breathing hard. “Shadow’s edge, but ’tis a sweet haven. So hot…” He hissed as he drew back, the heavy slide burning her all over again. “Wait…” She couldn’t, some contrary instinct driving her to pull him deep again. She gasped as the pinch of pain turned to a sharp hunger. He slid along a path of nerves that danced in unexpected pleasure. It must have shone in her eyes, because he nodded, his face strained, and began another agonizing, slow withdrawal. He groaned as he withdrew just as slowly, bringing a hundred tiny nerves to life. And then he pushed into her again, her traitorous body sucking him in despite her trepidation. It felt so good, in an overwhelming sort of way. Hot. Heavy. She felt her own response as he slid out again, the swelling, the wetness. She mewled in protest, arching to suck him deep, shuddering at the flash, the sizzle, as he rubbed that point again. “Right there?” he rasped. She nodded, beyond words. “Hang on. We’re gonna fly together.” The world dissolved into pure liquid need, sensation and hunger. Fire danced along her skin as he suckled at her breast, trailed his fingertips up the back of her thigh. He fluttered the tip of his tongue against her nipple, his hard shaft shuttling deep within her. He rose up to capture her lips. Tension coiled tight as she clamped down around him, every muscle taut and straining. The first ripple of pleasure started, low in
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her back, spreading over her belly to burst in a shimmering cloud of satisfaction. Her body clutched hard at his, pulsing around him, squeezing him. He froze, stiffened as his own satisfaction boiled up. He thrust deep, and she felt him jerk in her arms as heat spurted deep within her. His triggered hers, and she flew again. All she could do was hang on ’til the shaking stopped, ’til the voracious thrumming of her body subsided to quivering lethargy, and she went boneless beneath him. She shuddered as he slipped free, a part of her mourning the separation. Her body hummed, still sensitive to even the puff of his breath, the chill of the air as the sweat dried on her skin. He drew her into his arms. His heart thundered beneath her ear, and his stomach rippled with lingering shivers of his own. He rubbed soothing circles over her lower back and stomach, and she sighed, wriggling closer against him, sliding a leg over his. She should have been appalled or embarrassed at the ease with which she’d yielded, how they’d gone from anger to passion in the span of a heartbeat. But it had been inevitable. Fate. Destiny. She slid down, his stomach a more comfortable pillow, and snuggled in. He hissed in reaction, his still-glistening member twitching, and he threaded his hands in her hair. She closed her eyes, letting the heat of his hard male body seep into her, the musky scent of sweat and lovemaking, mingled with the peat smoke from the fire, curl around her. Whatever they’d been fighting about seemed unimportant. Words seemed unimportant. Aryk twisted to grab a fur and pull it over her. In her cocoon of Aryk-scented warmth, Verdeen felt herself float away.
What had he done? Aryk watched her sleep, hissing every time she wriggled and her petal-soft skin slid along his. One moment they were fighting, and the next he was stripping her naked and all but devouring her like a starving warrior at a feast. The fact that she’d not thrown him off didn’t excuse the fact that he’d seduced an innocent lass the first chance he’d had to get her alone. After vowing to himself not to. King Loren was bound to be appalled. He wondered what she’d discuss in her next exchange with the elven ruler. “Take care he doesn’t place a beautiful woman in your path to trip you up.” Valkyn’s warning reared its ugly head. By the gods, she’d been sweet…and so passionate his body stirred at the mere memory. He’d surprised her, shocked her even, but she’d never shown fear. She’d been an active partner, giving, even in those first moments when the discomfort was fresh upon her. He recalled the moment when he’d breached her maiden’s head, the flash of primal satisfaction of being her first lover. What he didn’t like was the thought that followed, the need that stirred to be her sole lover. But the notion of her one day taking another made him burn with rage.
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He traced a hand down over her back, over her backside, and curled up to trail his fingers along her inner thigh. The sticky slickness of blood and seed coated her skin, further proof of his possession. She snuffled in her sleep and burrowed closer, so close every breath puffed over his spent shaft like a caress. He gritted his teeth and willed himself not to react, even when she sighed and purred like a kitten. The hide doors stirred, and Fiske padded his way in. The dog’s nose twitched in the firelight, and he flopped down on the other side of the fire. The dog didn’t react at all to the first woman Aryk had ever allowed into his personal space. Always afore, he’d gone to the woman’s dwelling when the need moved him, so as to leave when ’twas over. Never in his life had Aryk considered sleeping with a woman, just holding her…’til Verdeen. And wasn’t that a horrifying thought? Nay, not really, a part of him admitted. She felt right in his arms, sweet and pliant. Acourse, awake she had to challenge him at every turn, doing what she thought appropriate regardless of what anyone else said. She’d turned on his mother as easily as she had him. Gefjun didn’t like Verdeen, but he thought his mother at least respected her. Odd how the animals and the children had taken to the elven warrior and she to them. He wondered what Erlynda would make of her. Erlynda tended to be very practical about things. Despite Birgit, they were friends and naught more. Erlynda had once told him, in a rare schnae-induced moment of clarity, she’d rather be one of his men than one of his women. Dagmar would be trouble. She presumed to rise above her lot, on the sole basis of Joro. He recalled the night he’d taken her—the dancing, the firelight, too much schnae. Erlynda had tried to warn him off, but like a fool, he’d not listened. It hadn’t seemed like such a momentous error, ’til Dagmar had quickened with his child and become an arrogant shrew. Thanks to Joro, Aryk had become a full warrior and later daq. And he had Dagmar to thank for Joro. Joro was the sole reason he didn’t pack the bitch off to some other village. Joro… Aryk brushed the hair back off Verdeen’s face. What if he’d gotten her pregnant? It rarely took the first time, but ’twasn’t impossible. After meeting Dara, he assumed human-elven couplings could produce children. In his society, ’twas not so binding, but the way she’d stressed the word family made him think Verdeen would not be open to a single-parent arrangement. A daughter with her mother’s beauty, a son with his mother’s determination… Could he bind them into a true union, a way to link Isadorikja to Cymry? Would Loren and Dara let her stay? Because he kenned he’d not be willing to let his child go, and for certain she’d not be willing to leave hers behind. Wouldn’t that put a kink in Dagmar’s uppity tail? What would the warriors’ council bring tonight? He’d hear Gylfi’s report and lay out his grand plans. The staff would get some heavy use as warriors and kyras voiced their reactions, their objections. In the morning, he’d return to White Plains with the rest of Nomok’s demands.
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He stared down at Verdeen and then lay back, one arm bent beneath his head and the other tangled in her hair. A new woman heralding a new day for Isadorikja. Jana’s words came back to him, when she’d addressed Valkyn. “Change comes, warrior, and you alone decide how to greet that day.” How many of those hard-headed warriors would struggle as Valkyn did with Aryk’s hopes for peace? He closed his eyes, focusing on the softness of the woman cuddled close. He’d take what peace he could, moment by moment, for all peace would end the moment they stepped out of the dwelling.
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Chapter Thirteen
Aryk rapped the ground with his staff as the murmurs around the warrior council swelled to a chorus. He felt Verdeen’s tension as she stood behind him, and he pictured her restless grey gaze sweeping the gathering. Odd how he could sense where she was at any given moment, could picture her expression and almost read what she felt—even when he wasn’t looking at her. Uncanny, that. Erlynda was the sole kyra present amongst the two dozen men. He caught her eye and nodded. “Sit. I call this session to order. I’d hear the senior Gylfi’s report.” Gylfi stomped up. The old man’s report was mundane. He’d put any real decisions on hold ’til Aryk’s return, dumping the entire thing into his daq’s lap. Thus things were unchanged. In a way, ’twas easier not to have to undo any errors. But ’twas also frustrating to think they wouldn’t make the tiniest little move without his blessing. He felt the pressure…the expectation. Aryk nodded when Gylfi’s brief recitation ended. “That which has waited this long can wait another day. Why did you not send aid to Blood River?” “We had no knowledge of the raid.” Aryk turned to the two Blood River representatives present and waved them forward. A rumble rippled through the council. He ignored that. When they stood afore him, he demanded, “Why did you not call for aid from Widowmaker? You fall under the banner of my protection, and ’tis your right to request such.” “’Twas a private matter.” Aryk stood, glaring down at the Blood River fool who’d spoken. “Your brothers were killed, your women stolen and violated, your children left fatherless and homeless. I’m your daq and you’re my folk. Whoever attacks mine attacks me.” “Then why did you stop the raid? We’d have made them pay.” “Here we discuss the matter and vote on it. We weigh the risk against the gain. We do not charge off in a fit of rage and vengeance.” Aryk glared at the Blood River visitors. These fools could’ve ruined everything. “You broke the pact made when I claimed Ulryk’s property. Your penalty will be determined later. For now, your women are returned to their children, and we will schedule a rebuild after the thaw.” They went to sit down. Erlynda stood to speak. “Tell us of my brother’s absence.”
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Aryk took a deep breath and sat back down. “Upon our return, a slide on the Horn forced us to cross where we ended up on the wrong side of the Blood River, in White Plains territory, and were intercepted afore we could reach the ford. When brought afore Nomok, I discovered our surviving women held captive. Nomok demanded ransom, as is his right. Had I refused, the women would have remained. The ransom is reasonable—a knife for each woman, six hoes to cross the river and two plows to reach it. Valkyn stands as surety for delivery. We pack it up and start out in the morn.” He swept the crowd with his gaze, looking for the protestors. There were few. There were about to be a whole lot more. “He is there for one other purpose, though. Long have we known of the coming invasion by Beloq of Black Lake. He’s united the northern clans and advances south with the coming thaw. We’re badly outnumbered, even with Widowmaker and Blood River banded together.” There were no arguments to that point. “I proposed an alliance with Nomok, with White Plains.” Faces darkened, and men shifted in their seats. He felt a new surge of tension from Verdeen. “Nomok kens the problem as well as we do. Always afore have we been rivals, enemies, competitors for the same land and resources. What I proposed with the alliance was cooperation in the coming conflict and the possibility of trade when ’tis done. We would double our fighting force against Beloq and gain access to new goods without having to risk bloodshed and injury to get them.” He frowned at each man in turn. “Unless you prefer Beloq take it all?” Those men who’d fought in the northern borderlands kenned full well what atrocities Beloq had committed against those he called enemy. There were no survivors. Death was brutal, prolonged, and none passed to the Beyond whole. “Our warriors and elders would be slain, our women and children taken. Nomok faces the same peril. I’m hoping Valkyn can make the man see reason.” Gylfi and Erlynda looked thoughtful. Most of the elders looked affronted. He’d expected that—the ones most resistant to foregoing the old ways, to change. One of them, Vygnal, was Valkyn’s uncle. Aryk acknowledged him first. Vygnal wasted neither time nor words. “If you would bind White Plains to us, challenge Nomok. Why should we suffer another daq to live? ’Tis not our way.” No great mystery where Valkyn got his attitude from. Aryk sighed and resisted rolling his eyes. “Just keep slaughtering each other like mad dogs? Kill a man for looking out for his own folk?” “He looks after his own folk at the expense of ours. Just as Ulryk did. We killed him.” “Ulryk brought the fight to our doorstep. We but defended our own. What we do here, in this council, is what I would have for all of us—every clan. Come together to discuss our differences and work out compromise with words, not at the point of a spear.”
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Aryk rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re so busy fighting amongst ourselves, we leave no time to learn, to grow, to explore. Dead and wounded warriors help no one. There is much we can teach each other, learn from each other. White Plains has things to offer, goods and skills we can’t get here. We have such they can use. There can be another way. The time has come to lead by example. It starts here and now, with Valkyn and Nomok.” Erlynda pointed to Verdeen. “What of her? You leave with one woman, return with another.” There was no hostility in her tone, just curiosity and speculation. He still hadn’t found time to speak with Erlynda about Verdeen. There was a rustle as Gefjun entered the council circle and took a seat. The men to either side of her did not—quite—move away, but Aryk noted the ripple of unease. The men were uncomfortable with anyone or anything beyond the mundane, the ordinary. Like Gefjun’s visions. How much more so would they be with Verdeen? “I worry you go too fast, brother. So fast none will follow.” “I took the lass Ildiko home to her kin in Shamar as a gesture of goodwill, an overture for peace. We are not highly thought of by the rest of the world.” “They fear us,” the outspoken Blood River clansman boasted. Aryk held up a hand as he noted other Widowmaker warriors start to rumble. “You’re unfamiliar with our ways, so I spare this one moment to educate you. We speak one at a time. Lose control of your tongue again and you will be excluded from this session and lose your say.” The man shuffled his feet and looked away. “The rest of the world—Shamar, Arcadia and beyond—call us rievers, consider us naught but barbarians and bandits. They’ve established treaties and trade with each other. I propose to join in that future.” Aryk motioned Verdeen up, to stand at his side. Her satiny white skin and wheaten braid gleamed in the torchlight. “You’ve all heard the tales of the Westmarche-Riverhead conflict in Arcadia, how the Riverhead victory was aided by elves from the east. Verdeen’s folk. She was sent by her king to aid us in uniting our clans. Only when we are a single nation ourselves can we hope to join the rest of the world as equals.” He recalled her other set of orders. “A spy.” What were Verdeen’s orders should he fail? Vygnal stood. “So we hand over Creataq’s Blood—our one advantage—to our enemies?” “Brothers. Neighbors. It must start somewhere. Think on this. With plows and hoes of their own, they raise their own crops instead of stealing ours. Less theft means more food and less hunger for us. ’Tis simple logic. I tire of children cold and hungry and sick. Without our children, we have no future. Without our elders, our warriors, they have no guidance.” Verdeen’s hand came to rest on his shoulder. The show of support felt like a touch of comfort as well. Gefjun stood. “We are a strong, brave folk. We could be a great folk. Tomorrow we start by taking Nomok his due and bringing Valkyn home. We cannot let Beloq win. He would lead us into anarchy.”
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A warrior named Falke rose. “If we band together, we’d be a great force. The world would tremble beneath our boots.” Just what Verdeen wanted to hear. “That’s Beloq’s dream. To unite us all into a single invasion force. If that happens, the rest of the world will unite and wipe us from the earth.” “You exaggerate,” Gylfi snapped. “I do not. I speak the simple truth.” Aryk took a deep breath. “Whilst we squabble amongst ourselves, the rest of the nations have been making alliances and treaties into a true world community. Long have we been a nuisance to them. If we become a threat, they will react. And they bring to bear more than we can.” “Like what?” Erlynda asked. When all others had thought to punish Ulryk’s villages, she alone had thought to rescue and protect the women and children. Even whilst standing there wounded and bleeding, she’d challenged for what was right. She but did the same now—gave him the opportunity to convince the hardheaded traditionalists of the futility of continuing as they had. Hopefully self-preservation would succeed where logic failed. He turned to Verdeen. “Explain.” Her grey eyes were hard as flint as she squared her shoulders. “That incident with Westmarche aside, Arcadia is now a united country,” Verdeen began. “Shamar united Shamaru and Shamari with the deposition of Sunniva and the marriage of Tzigana and Von Berend. They call themselves Shamarans now. What rumor I would deem as fact is that we elves helped free both Riverhead and Shamar. King Hengist of Riverhead’s daughter, Dara, wed the elven high king, Loren ta Cedric. Van Marete of Kunigonde Keep in Shamar wed our Champion, Cianan ta Daneal. So we have a vested interest in keeping Arcadia and Shamar safe and happy. Arcadia, Shamar and Cymry united through marriage—to welcome you or destroy you. ’Tis your choice.” She swept the crowd with that hard, flinty gaze. “Afore you dismiss that, there’s more.” Even Aryk shifted. What more? “There are other people, beings that factor into the equation. The shapeshifters rumored to have fought in the Westmarche-Riverhead conflict are real. Queen Dara is half dragon, and her aunt Anuk is full. Dragons have returned to the world of men. The badger-wolf-shifter Trystan became a war chieftain after that conflict. Trystan took to wife a selkie princess. Finora’s people—and their alliance with the mere folk—can also be called upon for aid. If the land forces give the word, the seas could unite against you.” “You dare stand there and threaten us?” Gefjun jumped to her feet, hands fisted on her hips. “I state what goes on around you. I’d have you make your decisions with all the facts at hand. Ignorance is no excuse.” Gylfi sighed. “I say we wait ’til the morrow, see what Valkyn and Nomok have to say.” And so he would defer yet again, but in this case, Aryk saw the wisdom of it.
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“Attack,” Vygnal growled. “Keep Creataq’s Blood for our own. Avenge Blood River.” There were some nods at that, Gefjun and Erlynda amongst them. Given the assault on the women, not so surprising. “Noted. Any discussion?” It went on for marks, the back and forth. Aryk made sure every voice was heard. When they began repeating themselves, he raised a hand and pounded his staff on the ground for silence. “I’ve heard all your voices, and it grows late. We’ve an early start in the morn. The ransom is due. I gave my word and would neither be an oathbreaker nor endanger Valkyn’s life. I take Verdeen, Erlynda, our two Blood River brethren and ten warriors of your choosing.” When they’d sorted it out and the ten were chosen, he ended the council. All left ’til none but Gefjun and Verdeen remained. “’Tis a mistake to take Vygnal,” his mother reproved, shaking her head. Aryk had expected no less. “Valkyn is his blood. ’Tis his right to go.” Gefjun frowned at Verdeen. “You watch his back.” Verdeen crossed her arms. “Always.” Would there ever be peace on his household again?
Verdeen checked the straps on the black yaga she’d named Ebony. The animal had befriended her to the point of loitering outside Aryk’s dwelling and following her when she emerged. Aryk had gifted the yaga to her, a stunning and unexpected gesture. Even now, recalling that moment brought a lump to her throat. She’d never had a pet afore. Ebony was a sweet-natured creature, with that cute rabbity face. She’d submitted to carrying Verdeen’s and Aryk’s bedding and food rations—and the starter seed Verdeen had convinced Aryk to take Nomok as a bonus. She pulled her hood in closer and watched as they loaded Nomok’s gear onto an ingenious sled pulled by six red seeker dogs. Gefjun brought the promised pelt, wrapped furside-in, and handed it to her son. “He doesn’t deserve it.” “’Tis not about deserving. ’Tis about a gift of respect to a fellow daq.” “Respect isn’t a gift,” she snapped. “’Tis earned—or not.” Verdeen moved to Aryk’s side in a show of support. “Then consider it another gesture of sincerity and goodwill,” she interjected. “Like Ildiko?” Gefjun demanded. “Like Ildiko,” Aryk agreed. He curled a mitted hand behind Verdeen’s neck and leaned in to rest his forehead against hers for a moment. “And so it begins,” he murmured. Straightening, he turned to address the whole group. “All right, time to be on our way.”
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The wind was nigh enough to knock a person over. Following in Aryk’s footsteps, Verdeen bent her head and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. They formed a line behind the sled handled by Vygnal, stopping for naught but base necessity. They gnawed on dried fish rations and scooped up handfuls of snow for quick drinks. Tiny ice flakes clumped on her lashes as she shielded her eyes to scan the horizon. They bypassed a couple of villages she wasn’t given the names of. She missed the sun in this grey and dreary twilight land. Time’s passage was hard to track without it. It felt like forever all the time. Step…step…step…in a neverending journey to nowhere. Ebony followed her, leadless, on her big sprawly feet. The blowing snow never seemed to stick to the animal’s long eyelashes. Verdeen dropped back to walk aside her yaga friend, letting the animal’s woolly body block the worst of the wind. The ice on her own lashes didn’t melt, but the yaga blocking the wind helped. Difficult to walk, though, when Ebony kept snaking her head around to nibble on Verdeen’s hair. “Cease,” she scolded. “Just because it looks like hay doesn’t mean it is.” Aryk was amused by the whole thing. She could tell by the smirk on his face as he approached. Irritating as that smirk was, Verdeen couldn’t stop the little flip her heart made as he neared. He stopped afore her, reached an arm about her waist and drew her close. “Nice to know my gift’s come in handy,” he teased. “I got nervous when it made you cry.” “I told you, I cry when I get emotional, happy as well as sad,” Verdeen reminded him. “She’s not as warm as you, but she’s very sweet. Thank you.” Verdeen gripped his hood with both hands and pulled him in for a quick kiss. Aryk had another idea, taking control of a thorough kiss that turned hot and hungry. Verdeen whimpered as the ground shifted beneath her boots. They both jumped apart as Ebony chirred and nuzzled their cheeks with her small velvety muzzle. Verdeen laughed breathlessly as Aryk growled at the curious yaga. “She needs to learn to knock,” she gasped. “As soon as we get to a place with a door, we can teach her.” Aryk sighed and stepped back. “We have to keep moving. You doing all right?” She nodded. “I’m fine. We’ll be right behind you.” Her heart gave a tiny lurch as he turned away from her, and she frowned. Her place was behind him, supporting him, observing him. This emotional attachment was dangerous. How would she bear returning home if she let him get close? They reached Apaaryk, where Aryk received a hero’s welcome. Erlynda was taken to the women’s pavilion. Verdeen refused to leave Aryk’s side. The women looked nonplussed at that, and several men scowled—Vygnal amongst them. She didn’t care. Aryk was her responsibility. And so she stood at his back as he was shown to the same sod dwelling where they’d stayed afore. She checked it afore allowing him to enter whilst she unpacked Ebony. The earthen walls and stacks of dried peat gave the roundhut a primordial loamy scent.
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He piled the peat and started a fire with a piece of flint whilst she hauled their bedding inside. The smoke curled up and out the small hole in the center of the ceiling. His hazel eyes twinkled up at her as she dumped furs and blankets on the hide-strewn floor on the other side of the room. “They’re unsure what to make of you.” “What do you mean?” She went out to retrieve their rations. Ebony lay down at the entrance. “Watch out for the woolly roadblock if you leave.” He rose from his crouch to stand with his back to the flames. “You’re too cold for a lover and too beautiful for a warrior.” Verdeen rolled her eyes at the dramatic silhouette he made, that of an ancient warrior from some romantic tale. “I’m armed to the teeth and know how to use all of it. Asides, what have looks to do with anything? I can’t help what I look like.” He stalked toward her, a symphony of fluid, rippling muscle. “I keep telling you, not enough scars for a warrior.” “You know why. But just because we can heal wounds doesn’t mean they don’t hurt.” She flexed her hand, remembering the night of her self-healing demonstration. “True. Want some help with that?” He halted afore her, reaching to unbuckle her sword belt. She moved to stop him, curling her fingers around his thick wrists. “Nay, cease. I recall the last time you helped. You just keep your hands to yourself. This counts as a campaign, and I don’t let my guard down on campaign.” Unfazed, he leaned in, pulling her up against him. “I could change your mind.” How well she knew that. She backed a step away and adopted her most disdainful, icy look. Those lethal eyes crinkled in the corners. “I could warm you up.” Her traitorous body flushed with heat. “I’ve got a yaga and a blanket, thanks.” He crowded closer, reached up to glide his fingers along the side of her neck. “Not the same as a man,” he whispered in her ear. “You said so yourself.” “Behave.” She huffed at the shiver he caused and yanked her coat over her head, then removed her boots and fur pants. She took off the broadsword and short sword, but kept the long-knives and knife sash on over tunic and breeches. “The others will be here any moment.” As if on cue, Erlynda’s voice could be heard from the other side of the doorway. “Aryk? We’re gathered as you ordered.” “Come on in.” Verdeen silently dared Aryk to say something. He didn’t, but the dangerous gleam in his eye warned her he simply bided his time. They all trooped in, Vygnal bringing up the rear. “Dogs are staked out,” he reported. Aryk nodded. Erlynda smiled at Verdeen. “Food and schnae should be here in a bit.”
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Verdeen thanked the Lady goddess that Erlynda, unlike Dagmar and Gefjun, seemed to accept her. Even in light of how she’d apparently replaced Erlynda in Aryk’s bed, the woman seemed to bear Verdeen no ill will. Would she ever figure out these people, these Isadorikjans? Verdeen pulled back from her musings to what Erlynda had said. Schnae? Ugh, but a hot meal would be welcome. Rations were adequate but unsatisfying. Fish and mutton stews would soon grow tiresome, though. “We’ll reach the ford tomorrow,” Aryk reminded them. “Once we cross into White Plains territory, we’ll need to be on guard. We can’t assume Nomok’ll go along with my proposition.” Nay, they couldn’t. “We keep weapons in hand and stay together.” Fiske’s whining announced the arrival of their evening meal, and Aryk waited for the Blood River women, led by Lyra, to withdraw afore resuming the conversation. “If we come under attack, we cluster back-to-back.” She’d best string her bow at the river’s edge. She nigh ordered Aryk to stay within the circle of warriors but saved her breath. ’Twas no way short of clubbing him over the head—or death—to keep him out of a fight. Erlynda handed her the jug of schnae. Seeing the look of challenge in Vygnal’s eyes, Verdeen dared not refuse. Not if she wanted to start being considered one of them. Screwing up her courage and willing her face to remain blank, she took a small sip. Even that was enough to sear the entire inside of her mouth. She felt the sting of tears as her mouth went numb, and she passed the jug on to Aryk, not trusting her ability to speak. She couldn’t taste any of the food in the bowl they handed her. She passed her bowl on to Aryk and took the next one offered. “If there’s an attack, I’d wager on it being on our return trip, afore we reach the ford again,” Vygnal stated. Aryk nodded. “Nomok wants his goods.” Verdeen pried her tongue from the roof of her mouth. “He’s greedy but not stupid.” “He’s a smelly, foul brute,” Erlynda snapped. “Let Beloq geld him and good riddance.” Every man present cupped himself and cringed. Recalling Lyra’s pain, Verdeen could see the other kyra’s point, though. “My friend, Maleta, would agree with you.” Aryk turned to her. “Maleta? Van Marete?” “Aye.” Fury burned. “Sunniva murdered her parents and turned her over to the soldiers for sport. She was sixteen. She took an oath to the goddess Hedda and made them pay.” “That explains much of her attitude,” Aryk stated. “I’m surprised, then, to find her wed.” “Cianan can be persuasive. He was a legend back home. No woman could say nay.”
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“Including you?” She shook her head; he should know better. “He was my teacher. Naught more.” Erlynda didn’t—quite—snicker. She met Verdeen’s gaze with dancing ice blue eyes. They finished their meal, discussing more of the journey and the finer points of transporting the sled through water, afore everyone else left, taking the remnants of the meal with them. “Alone at last. I thought they’d never leave.” Aryk dragged her down aside him, onto fire-warmed furs. The firelight danced over the harsh planes of his face, all sculpted angles and dramatic shadows. “So what did he teach you? Cianan?” He arched a brow at her, hazel eyes burning with male intent. Some flicker of emotion she dared not label jealousy. Verdeen shivered in reaction to his predatory stillness even as she fought the urge to roll her eyes at his notion that she and Cianan… “When I petitioned Dara for the chance to enter the academy, she and Cianan conspired to get me caught up to the lads. Dara taught me knife fighting and wrestling. Cianan taught me military history, sword fighting and archery.” He studied her. “She’s the reason he petitioned your goddess, isn’t she? Maleta? Van Marete? Cianan put up the wards to block nightmares so Maleta wouldn’t be haunted by the past.” Verdeen nodded. “He loves her very much. She and her brother, Jovan, both benefit from not being tormented by the past. You can appreciate that relief.” She hesitated, then reached out to trace her fingers down the side of his face. “Would that I could take that pain away from you.” “There’s only one way for the pain of Joro’s death to leave me.” Verdeen felt his jaw clench beneath her fingers as he drew his sword. “For him to never pick up this sword.” She brushed the hair from his eyes. “Put that away. We will succeed. You’ll see.” “Who was he? The dark-haired warrior at the table?” Aryk sheathed the sword and set it aside. “What?” She floundered at the abrupt change in topic. “When you fled Prince Brannan, the warrior who spoke with you at the food table.” “My best friend, Aurelian.” She grinned. “The one who gave me the bruise on my thigh.” He growled and reached out to curl a hand over her thigh, eerily close to where the actual injury had been. The gesture smacked of possessiveness. “You cause chaos and never even notice.” She blinked. Stars, ’twas a challenge to keep up with him tonight. He was all over the place in his choice of discussion topics. “What are you talking about? Compared to Dara, no one ever notices me.” Aryk shook his head. “Her attraction is dragon witchery. Doesn’t count.” Verdeen’s jaw dropped. “How do you know of that?” “Even here tales abound of dragon allure. You, on the other hand, refuse a prince’s attention? You might call this Aurelian a friend, but ‘friend’ wasn’t in his eyes when he looked at you. Yet you’re oblivious.”
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Her temper flared. “Have you any idea how difficult ’twas being the sole female there? If I’d given any of them so much as a moment, it would’ve been all over the academy, and I would’ve been ruined. There were enough seniors just waiting for a reason to throw me out. Not any of them worth risking that. I had to be twice as cold and twice as mean just to keep up.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “My own parents disapproved so much they haven’t spoken to me in five years. They didn’t even come to my graduation. Aurelian was the only one who made it bearable. And Cianan. ’Twas he who insisted ’twas all right to be both woman and warrior.” “Because of Maleta.” She nodded. “I was so busy being the one, I all but forgot about the other.” Her cheeks flamed. “’Til you.” He rubbed her back, working her braid loose, and grinned. “I noticed. Were you running from Brannan—or me?” She bit her lip. “You. I don’t think you realize how intimidating you can be when you get all”—she floundered—“intense.” Like now. “You inspire intensity.” His gaze dropped to her lips, which parted of their own volition. She watched his eyes darken and licked her lips nervously. “You don’t even realize you’re doing it,” he murmured. “Your coldness must have been one amazing act. ’Twas obvious you’ve not kissed many men, lass.” “How unchivalrous of you to comment.” She glared. “I didn’t hear you complaining.” “I can’t think of one single response to that remark that you won’t skewer me for.” He leaned in closer ’til the fire in front rivaled the fire at her back. She squirmed under his burning gaze and closed her eyes in self-defense. “Hiding?” He nuzzled the side of her neck. Prickles of awareness rose at the brush of his beard-roughened jaw and zinged right to her breasts. “Feeling,” she admitted. “Hai?” He scraped his teeth over the tendon and growled when she shivered. “Feeling what?” He wanted her to speak? She whimpered and wriggled closer to him, sliding her hands beneath his tunic. Stars, but she loved touching him. So hot, so hard. She loved the way his muscles rippled and bunched beneath sun-bronzed skin. “Feeling what?” he repeated, nibbling on her ear. “Tell me.” She tugged on woolen cloth. “Feeling like I need you to take this tunic off.” “Verdeen, look at me.” She shook her head. She didn’t dare. “You never struck me as a coward.” Her eyes snapped open at that, and she glared at him. “You’re running again,” he chided. “What? Am I making you nervous?”
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This close, aye, he was. With her eyes closed, she could just touch and feel. With her eyes open, his burning gaze a handspan from her face, there was no escape, no hiding. She felt too vulnerable and swallowed hard. “No hiding from me.” Aryk slid her hand up so it covered his heart. It pounded against her fingers. “No hiding from this. We’re in it together.” “Take your tunic off. I want to touch you.” He shuddered under her hands. So he was just as affected as she was. Mayhaps if she could distract him, he’d cease his disconcerting inquisition. “Here, let me help you.” She pushed the woolen cloth up, leaning in to nibble on the skin stretched across his taut stomach. She trailed her lips over every bit of bared skin, licking her way up to his light brown nipples. “Mmm, you taste so good.” All the breath hissed out of him as he shrugged out of the tunic and laced his hands through her hair. She ran her hands up his sides, around his back to hold him close. She loved his scent, all heated musky male. She switched directions, rained tonguing kisses back down his ridged stomach, ’til she pushed him onto his back and traced the wicked, jagged scar that disappeared into his breeches. “Now I wonder where this goes?” Aryk tensed. His hands tightened in her hair. “One way to find out.” She flushed with heat. The rasp of his smoky voice was like a physical caress. Turning the tables on him had seemed like a good idea a moment ago—naught like a good offense as a defense. But she hadn’t considered that by seducing him, she’d arouse herself. She felt the moisture gathering, and her breasts ached beneath her own clothing. She cupped him through his breeches, molding her fingers around his hard length, then shocked herself by nuzzling him through the leather, rubbing her cheek across the bulge. “Tisht,” he groaned, even as his hips lifted to press closer. Sensual curiosity warred with shyness. She’d not seen much the last time they’d gotten naked. He didn’t seem to object to her boldness. “I’ll wager it feels even better without clothes.” She tugged at the laces of his breeches ’til the leather parted and the broad, flushed head of his shaft popped free. ’Twas like hot silk against her cheek. A vision of Valkyn and the blonde popped into her mind. So this was something men enjoyed. What would he taste like? She flicked her tongue against him, circling the hole with just the wet tip. He surged up, pressing against her mouth with a strangled growl. Oh, aye, he liked that. She freed his entire length, and it pulsed and throbbed in her hand. She recalled the pleasure he’d invoked with his mouth on her. Now she could return the favor. What wicked imp made her want to taste him, to take him in her mouth? ’Twas surely something nice lasses didn’t do, but she wanted to. Wanted to know the taste, the feel of him. Wanted to drive him over the edge as he’d done to her.
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She swirled her tongue around him, kissing and nibbling down the entire turgid shaft. He was so big, and so hard, he most likely wouldn’t fit. But she wanted him to. She wanted to try. She opened up around him and slid her mouth down to engulf him. A flash of heat flooded her at his hoarse cry as his hands tightened in her hair. “That feels incredible.” He groaned. “Suck me in, lass. That’s it. So good.” She sucked him in slowly, all the way to the back of her mouth, pressing against him with her tongue, squeezing the rest of his shaft with her fingers. Then she pulled back, just as slowly. She tried to take him deeper, ’til she gagged and had to back off, dimly aware he apologized. “Suck hard when I pull back, squeeze hard with your fingers…like that. Gods, just like that.” He tightened his fingers in her hair. “Unbelievable. So hot. I fantasized about this, so many times. About you taking me all the way down. Relax your jaw, lass. Open wide.” So he’d wanted her to do this, pleasure him with her mouth. Their conversation in Ravenscroft came back to her, about sharing fantasies. She’d not been ready for this back then. But now? Now, she found herself eager to obey. She relaxed her jaw, and amazingly he slid deeper. She moaned around him, so hot herself she thought she’d combust just from pleasuring him. He guided her with voice and hands, coaxed and encouraged as she slowly took him with her mouth. She’d thought the blonde subservient to Valkyn, but she felt a flash of sensual power. A new tension quivered through his muscles. “You’re sooo good at this,” he groaned. “Let me finish, lass. Move faster. Don’t be afeared.” She began moving faster, his thick erection shuttling betwixt her lips, heating her tongue with a sensual friction. A shudder shook him. “I’ll not last much longer. Unless you want a mouthful, back off now.” She demurred and took him deeper. She wanted it all, wanted him to surrender himself to her. Nice lasses definitely didn’t do this. She didn’t care. He stiffened, his movements jerky, then a spurt of hot fluid hit the back of her throat. Rich, creamy, salty. She gagged, swallowed, squeezing around him as she did so. He kept coming with a long groan, and she swallowed all he gave her ’til he softened and pulled free. She worked her aching jaw as he drew her up. “I’m undone.” He gasped for air like a horse at the end of a long race. Tiny quivers like miniearthquakes still rolled beneath his skin. Stars, what had come over her? What had she done? Mortification heated her cheeks. She’d never be able to look him in the eye— “Heyla.” Aryk reached beneath her chin, raised her face up to meet his gaze. “Don’t be embarrassed. That was magical, so much better than I imagined.” He leaned in for a kiss, coaxing her lips apart and sliding his tongue deep, stroking over hers. Verdeen quivered, whimpered into his mouth. Her legs shifted against him. He drew back. “You taste like sex,” he growled. “Why did you do it?”
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“I was curious.” “Did you like that?” She nodded shyly. “There’s a way for us both to do that at the same time.” Really? Verdeen choked at the image invoked. “I… It…” She cleared her throat. “I’d never be able to concentrate.” Aryk grinned. “I imagine ’twould take a bit of concentration, at that.” “Y-you mean you haven’t tried it?” He shook his head and reached out to thumb her nipple through her tunic. She hissed at the jolt that zapped from her nipple to her womb—and lower. “It made you hot,” he murmured. “You ken your eyes glow silver when you’re aroused? The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I can smell it, your need. It got you all wet. I can feel your nipple, how tight it’s drawn.” Verdeen whimpered. “Talk to me,” he whispered. “Tell me.” She froze, shocked. “I can’t do that.” “Why not?” “It’s personal.” She squeaked as he continued thumbing her nipple. “Lass, what we just did was mighty personal.” He smiled. “I’ll wager you want this off so I can lick and suck on these aching nipples.” She gasped. “What are you doing?” Asides driving her mad? “Exploring another side of pleasure you’ve probably never enjoyed,” he said. “The words can be a part of it. Say what you think, what you feel, what you want, what you need.” Stars, this was just what she’d been trying to avoid. She squirmed, restless and needy and not about to confess any such thing. “You’re all flushed,” he murmured. “You can feel everything against your skin. The woolen cloth is irritating. How much better would it feel, skin on skin, the burning glide against those nipples? I could take it off, if you wanted me to. If you ask.” Verdeen whimpered. “Cease.” “Why?” His voice dropped from dangerous to lethal. “Am I tempting you?” More than he knew. “I can’t think when you’re so close.” “Now that’s telling.” Aryk nuzzled her neck, causing delicious shivers beneath his lips. “That’s a start. Why not?” Because she could still taste him on her tongue. Because even his scent, rich and dark and earthy, made her toes curl. Because when he was so close, something pulled her in to touch, to taste…
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Now how on earth could she say such a thing aloud? “You’re all tense and trembling,” he teased. “I’m not nervous,” she lied. “I’m”—hot, bothered—“drowning.” Lovely. Didn’t get any more incoherent than that. He flicked his tongue against her ear. “In what?” Incompletion. Was that even a word? “I want…” Her voice failed her. She cleared her throat. “I need…” He suckled right where her pulse bounded under her skin, his hands teasing her breasts through her tunic ’til her eyes nigh crossed. “Stars, you make me forget my own name.” She slid her fingers through his hair, damp and curling, clutched at his shoulders and tilted her head to grant him better access. She bit her lip at the wicked thought that crossed her mind—to have him bite her, mark her. She squirmed, her tunic bunching and twisting ’til she couldn’t stand it another moment. “Off,” she pleaded, tugging her arms back only to get caught in the sleeves. “Shh,” he soothed. “Easy. Let me help.” He slid it up with excruciating slowness, and Verdeen’s heart nigh stopped for fear he’d help as she had—one slow lick and nibble at a time. He didn’t, just holding it so she could pull her arms free and then yanking it over her head. She didn’t know whether to curse or cry. The glint in his eyes said he knew it too. Evil man. He drew her close so she straddled his lap, and he leaned in, savoring a deep breath. “You smell so sweet,” he whispered. “All warm, like sunshine and summer rain.” “Please, I need…” She arched her back and tried tugging his mouth to her breast. But he resisted. “What do you need?” The puff of his breath on her too-sensitive skin was an exquisite agony. “Tell me what you need me to do.” “You’re killing me,” she muttered. “I ache. I need your mouth on me. Please.” He nuzzled betwixt her breasts. “Where, lass?” He fluttered his tongue against her breast. She nearly swooned. “Right there. Oh, stars. Take me in your mouth. Suck on me—” Aryk closed his mouth over her breast and drew hard, tonguing her nipple. She cried out at the flash of heat, the flood of moisture as she jerked in his arms. He released her nipple with a soft, wet pop. “Tisht, you’re close, aren’t you? Right on the edge.” He turned his sensual torture to the other breast. “Better?” She whimpered as she felt him pulsing against her belly. “’Tis too much.” “Not by a long ways.” He raked his teeth across the tip of her nipple, pinching the other. She hissed at the sharp, unexpected pleasure. “Like that?” he asked. “So sensitive. Makes them turn all hard and rosy.” Verdeen felt a new need rising. “Kiss me.” He took her mouth with voracious force, devouring her lips. She met his tongue with her own, sliding deep to taste the dark hunger of his mouth, sucking on his tongue. She nipped at his lower lip, and he growled.
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She broke the kiss off when she started getting dizzy. She tilted her head to the side, and he nibbled and suckled his way down to the curve of her shoulder. “Harder,” she whispered. “Bite me.” She cried out as his teeth clamped down on her. He sucked on her skin, enough to sting. Enough to mark? Her core melted against him, soaking her breeches. “Gods, this is getting you wet,” he rasped. She nodded. “I didn’t know I could feel this way.” “You want more?” She needed him buried deep inside her. Now. “You make me ache. I feel so…empty.” “I’ve got a cure for that, lass.” She began unlacing her breeches, rose up to shove them down over her hips. “Take them off. Yours, too.” His hands seemed to be everywhere at once. The rest of their clothes vanished in the blink of an eye. He hissed as she straddled him, bathing his pulsing erection with her wet, swollen folds. She reached down to curl her fingers around him. He raised his knees, groaned as she sank onto him. “’Tis paradise. Lean back.” The burning slide was incredible. He was huge. As she leaned back, her back arched, raising her breasts high and driving his erection deep along the back of her channel, over that sweet spot. He sat up, steadying her hips with his hands, guiding her movements in a slow, sensuous roll. She drew his head to her breast again, and he worried her nipple with his teeth. Tension coiled tight, but the flash eluded her. “’Tis not enough. I need…more.” “Hai.” He reached a hand between them, the other around behind her. “Do you trust me?” She nodded, past words. Tense, desperate, as he coated his fingers with her cream and every nerve stretched taut. “Hold on.” He slid a finger into her backside. She jerked in shock at the invasion, the burning, then came apart in his arms. She opened her mouth to scream, only to be silenced by the thrusting of his tongue against hers. Her body clamped down around him, and wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, the most intense feeling she’d ever experienced in her life. She dug her nails into his shoulders and ground her hips against him. Aryk growled. Verdeen felt the scalding spurt of him deep inside her as she swooned against him and everything faded against the pulsing tide of satisfaction. The world dimmed. She blinked up at Aryk from the bed of furs. “What happened?” “You went up like a fireball,” he said. “’Twas a beautiful thing.” She shifted, froze at the burning sensation that lingered. Her face flamed. “You didn’t.” His eyes crinkled. “I did, and you loved it.”
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How had he known? She hadn’t even known. Where had he… Nay, she didn’t want to know the answer to that question. He’d played her body and made it sing as if he were a master musician and she his instrument. Yet she didn’t feel used. Even when pushing her past the boundaries, he always kept her pleasure at the forefront. It bothered her that she knew so little. How quickly he’d grow bored with her. “Shh.” He leaned down for a tender kiss, caressing her lips with a lingering pressure. “Don’t go there,” he whispered against her lips. “You’re a gift from the gods. I’m a lucky man.” How could he read her thoughts? Her heart felt too full of some raw emotion she dared not name. Wide open, her every expression there for him to read. Yet he moved to reassure her. She flicked her tongue against his bottom lip, venturing in to stroke his. She quivered in reaction to that sensuous slide, dragging her fingers through his hair. She couldn’t speak and tried to deepen the kiss. Surprisingly, he resisted, gently pulling back but drawing her close, just holding her. “When we get back, we’ll talk. You can’t hide forever.”
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Chapter Fourteen
White Plains scouts must have warned Nomok of their approach. He awaited them at the near edge of the village. “You made it, Widowmaker.” Nomok widened his stance and fingered the snow-cat fang hanging beneath his matted beard. “As you can see, your second is fine.” Valkyn stood in the trampled snow behind his massive host, arms crossed as White Plains deer swarmed around them. He met his uncle Vygnal’s concerned gaze and nodded afore turning to Aryk. Relief loosened the knot betwixt Aryk’s shoulder blades. Valkyn appeared unharmed. “Now show me the goods,” the White Plains daq ordered. Erlynda and Verdeen uncovered the sled. Creataq’s Blood gleamed in the torchlight. Nomok’s piggy eyes glittered with satisfaction upon sight of the blades. Aryk stared at the snow-cat fang dangling from the sinew around Nomok’s thick neck. He stepped forward and held out the snow-cat pelt. “The second half of my pledge.” Nomok nodded and accepted it. “Come. We’ve things to discuss.” Aryk and Valkyn followed him into his lodge. Verdeen shadowed Aryk into the smoke-scented gloom. Nomok took notice as he sat. He motioned Aryk and Valkyn to sit afore the peat fire. Verdeen remained standing, at the door. “You’ve strange ways, Widowmaker,” Nomok mused. “I didn’t expect you to return.” “I gave my word,” Aryk replied. “When given, my oath is good.” “Hmm.” Nomok pondered that for a moment as a woman brought in a jug of schnae and poured three cups. None was offered to Verdeen. Nomok considered this men’s business, and she would not be a part of it. Aryk hoped she’d remember to remain silent. Her presence was enough of a novelty. “I have given your proposal much thought,” Nomok said when the serving woman left. “Your second has been very…persistent. And not illogical.” Valkyn snorted and took a sip of schnae. Aryk imagined his second having to convey a message of peace of which he himself was skeptical. It had to be one of the hardest things Valkyn’d ever had to do. Aryk’d hoped by presenting and discussing his daq’s rationale, his second might come to accept it. He couldn’t do this alone. A whisper of sound, and a delicate hand rested against the small of his back. Verdeen, reassuring him with her simple presence that he was not alone.
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Again that eerie, uncanny connection… How had she kenned his thoughts? “Beloq would be a less reasonable partner than Aryk,” Valkyn stated. Nomok grunted. “There is no ‘partner’ with that man. He is not…logical.” “He’s a mad dog who would cut you down to take your reign,” Aryk said. “I’d have you stand at my side, not kneel at my feet.” Nomok’s eyes glinted in the firelight. “So I’ve been told.” He shook his head. “What you propose, Widowmaker, isn’t our way.” Aryk shrugged. “Are you satisfied with the old ways? Don’t you wish for a way to care for your folk that doesn’t involve some of them having to die? With the plows and hoes, you can plant your own crops in the spring, rather than relying on successful raids to steal Blood River’s or ours.” “Less work if I’m successful.” “And if you’re not? You’ve dead warriors and naught to show for it. It takes years for a child to replace a warrior, and not all make it to adulthood.” “How can we farm as we travel with the herds?” “Not all need go with the herds. The women with infants and small children, elders and recovering warriors can stay behind. None save the older children and young warriors need move with the pasture. They return here in the winter anyway. You might consider staying where you can maintain an official seat of power, where your folk can find you in an emergency. Much more efficient to deal with a problem if they don’t have to follow a series of, ‘I think he went thataway, ’bout a fortnight ago.’” “Ha.” “You built this lodge for a reason,” Valkyn stated. “’Tis not a pack-up-and-go dwelling. ’Tis solid, built to last. You must have been considering something along these lines already.” “And what would I grow?” “We’ve managed well with potatoes, turnips, carrots, cabbage, kale and cauliflower,” Aryk replied. “I’ve included seeds in the sled.” Nomok’s eyes widened. “This was not part of our agreement.” “A gift. Wouldn’t be reasonable to expect you to farm with naught to plant. You can use the cut sod for more building,” Aryk said. “You’ve strange ways, Widowmaker.” Nomok shook his head and looked at Verdeen. “Woman, go tell them I’m ready to eat.” She stiffened and looked to Aryk. He caught the glint of anger in her eyes as he nodded and said, “You’ve my permission. Go.” He suppressed a grin as she glared and stomped out of the lodge. He was so going to pay for that later. “You arm your women. Have you no fear they’ll stab you in your sleep?”
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“We give them no cause to.” ’Til now. Verdeen had looked as if she’d gladly strangle him with her hair. “More warriors to count on in a fight.” “Aren’t you afeared to risk the child?” Aryk shook his head, recalling that particular lie. The flash of yearning to make the lie a reality, to see her growing with his child under her heart, took him by surprise. “You don’t tell a kyra what to do, especially that one. She’s strong and healthy—her children will be too.” Verdeen returned with White Plains women bearing platters of sizzling venison steaks, potato soup and sliced cheese. Nomok offered Aryk first choice, and Aryk read the tension on Verdeen’s face. He handed his plate to her and watched her try a bit of everything. She gave a tiny nod, and he took a second plate from a frowning Nomok. “You always feed your woman afore yourself?” “Hai.” Aryk handed the plate to Valkyn. “My folk come first—including my women.” “I had no idea you were so soft.” Valkyn smiled. “Others have made that mistake. I wouldn’t go down that path. I would hate for Aryk to prove you wrong with Beloq ready to make his move.” “You threatening me, Widowmaker?” “Nay.” Valkyn shrugged. “Just stating facts.” Nomok glowered, then sighed and scratched at his beard. “Beloq’s coming. Change is coming. What’s White Plains to do when even a Widowmaker can see what’s coming?” “Join with us in welcoming that change,” Aryk urged. “So long as we don’t welcome Beloq. There are those here who can’t see us working with Blood River and Widowmaker, even against Black Lake. Much blood has been spilled.” “We can move past it, become a unified whole.” Aryk studied his brother daq’s face. “Working together, pooling our knowledge and resources.” Verdeen moved behind him. He felt her small, strong hand on his shoulder, a subtle reminder of her presence. ’Twas a tangle of temporary he yearned to make permanent. “Woman,” Nomok barked. “Where are you from?” Her hand stilled on Aryk’s shoulder. “You may answer him,” Aryk told her. “East,” she evaded. Nomok growled. “Cymry. You took an elven wench in alliance.” Ow. Her nails were sharp, digging into his neck. “She is both counsel and observer for King Loren,” Aryk acknowledged. “Were I given such a beautiful counselor”—Nomok grinned—“I’d drag her off to my furs also. Only difference is, Widowmaker, I’d keep her there.”
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“Surely you possess more vision than that, Nomok,” Aryk chided. “You really want a truce? A peace?” Nomok asked. “I do.” Was the other man not listening? “What would you do to achieve it? What would you risk?” Aryk froze, sensing the trap. “Speak…if you dare.” Valkyn growled. “Oh, I dare, Widowmaker.” Nomok’s eyes glinted in the firelight. “He gave her to you, the Cymry king, as a gesture of peace. You gift her to me, as same.” Verdeen’s nails in his skin surely drew blood, so fierce was her distress. It hammered into him. As if he’d turn her over to this monster. Had she learned naught from Lyra? “She is not property to barter with.” Aryk bared his teeth. “She is a royal ambassador on a diplomatic mission, and her well-being is my first concern.” “I thought a pact betwixt us, against Beloq, was your first concern. One night, one treaty. A fair trade. I’d wait ’til the child is born, acourse.” Valkyn’s face flushed. Verdeen made a choking sound. ’Twould be a long wait. Aryk shook his head. “Nay. I do not deal in slavery, nor am I a whor*-master. ’Tis beneath you to suggest such a thing. Nor does it dignify your position, to sell peace so cheaply as to make a mockery of it.” “You defy me?” “I do. Retract your insult or die on her blade. You have my permission, kyra, to gut him like a fish.” Aryk shrugged. “Shame you have to learn the ability of a motivated kyra the hard way, Nomok. I had high hopes you were more intelligent than the average snow bear.” Valkyn grinned. “Kill a daq in combat and take his place. I wonder how White Plains would react to being ruled by a woman?” Nomok glanced from Valkyn to Aryk to Verdeen. A slow smile crossed his bearded face, and he laughed. “I think, Widowmaker, there is more here than just a diplomatic mission.” “Touch her and die,” Aryk stated. “So Valkyn has said.” Nomok looked thoughtful. “There are many ways to form an alliance with Cymry, eh? I commend you and this King Loren.” That sounded wrong, coming from Nomok. As if he and Loren had hatched a plot to use… Tisht, if Verdeen bought into that, then she’d think… Aryk wanted to close his eyes in dread, but kept his expression stony. “Beloq or me, Nomok. ’Tis your choice.” “Agreed.” They finished their meal in silence. The big White Plains daq rose. “I would address my folk.”
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They followed him out into the main compound. Valkyn caught Aryk’s eye and whistled. Verdeen ignored them both. Her face, her manner, was closed off. Aryk got a chill just moving past her. “My folk,” Nomok began. “The rumors of Beloq’s approach are true. He crossed the northern ice fields this morning.” Aryk saw Verdeen stiffen and glance his way. He hadn’t kenned this, either. “They say he brings a thousand men,” Nomok continued. “If he emptied his clans of every man and strong lad, he could command just a number. And he’s heading our way to finish this. He’ll be upon the northern border within a week. We’ve time to meet him there.” “I proposed an alliance with Nomok,” Aryk stated. “We meet him together, White Plains, Blood River and Widowmaker. ’Tis our one chance of success.” The murmurs began. “We can’t fight him separately,” Aryk said. “Join with me and make a stand.” Nomok nodded. “We will join in this fight with you. First, Beloq. Then…we shall see.” “Nay.” Hawyl drew a sword. “Filthy Widowmaker defiles the memory of our ancestors.” Valkyn growled. “Put it away,” Nomok ordered. “Do not defy and dishonor your daq afore witnesses.” “Beloq comes to unite us into a force to shake the very mountains in a glorious crusade against the outlanders. Peace is for cowards, sheep. If you don’t see it, then I spit on you.” Hawyl lunged for Aryk. He never made it. Verdeen stepped afore him, twisted to avoid the blade. Faster than thought, she struck. One chop to the throat. The flat of her other hand punched his nose back into his brain. The force of her follow-through snapped his head back with a crunch. He dropped dead at her feet, his neck broken. “No one touches my daq whilst I breathe.” She glared at Nomok. “My daq.” If only he was. Aryk sheathed his sword and stared at Verdeen. ’Twas over afore it had begun. This was no tournament. When faced with a threat, she’d struck like a snake, with enough force and precision to end the threat afore any of the humans could respond. She’d killed to save his life. Thrice over—each of the three blows a killing one in and of itself. More innocence lost because of him. Valkyn and Erlynda too released their grips on their swords. “I gave no such order.” Nomok motioned a man to pick up his fallen companion. “Take this traitor away.” He turned to the folk. “I gave my word, daq to daq, that this alliance stands. She defended her daq. No penalty for killing my man.” The White Plains folk dispersed, carrying Hawyl’s body away. Nomok turned to Verdeen. “Interesting diplomacy.” She raised her chin, her eyes defiant, defensive.
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Nomok chuckled. “You’ve got courage, Widowmaker,” he said to Aryk. “You’ll need it.” “We gather our forces and head north,” Aryk stated. “All warriors with us. All non-warriors, head south as far as you can. As long as you have fodder and water, you remain there. We’ll send word when ’tis safe.” “Can we win?” Nomok asked. “Hai.” Aryk’s voice was hard. “If I have to challenge Beloq himself, it ends here.” Nomok laughed mirthlessly. “Might come to that.” His gaze raked over Verdeen afore he strode off, pausing afore a woman whom he slung over his shoulder afore returning to his tent. Erlynda grimaced. She glanced at Verdeen, then grabbed Valkyn’s arm. “Come on, brother. I think they need a moment.” Aryk barely noticed them leave. He watched Verdeen shiver and turn back to the flames. To save his life, she’d killed a man. With naught but her bare hands. Without hesitation; not without remorse. He read the emotions crossing her face, the acute discomfort. He remembered his first kill, the terror and the shakes, how his stomach had churned. He figured she went through the same. He wrapped his cloak about her. “You saved my life.” She shrugged, visibly struggled for nonchalance. “I did my job.” Did she think that was all this was? “Well, orders or nay, I thank you anyhow.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Just breathe,” he whispered. “The sick feeling passes if you just breathe.” She shuddered and gasped in the icy air, leaning against him as if for support. He was right. The look of impending sickness passed. The regret lingered, a shadow in her eyes. Bit by bit, she lost her innocence—and ’twas all his fault. The way he and Loren had manipulated her, she probably wished she’d never met him.
Verdeen stared at row after row of armed Isadorikjans standing at attention just north of Apaaryk. Furs and bronze weaponry, for the most part. An occasional bit of armor or chain mail, clearly ill-gotten goods from some past clandestine raid. She recognized some Arcadian and Shamaran designs. Hundreds of people, Widowmaker, Blood River and White Plains. Only Widowmaker brought kyras, a handful led by Erlynda, and they clustered together apart from the men. To Verdeen’s surprise, Dagmar was not amongst them. Gefjun had contemplated going, then determined she was of better use at home, keeping the noncombatants safe. Verdeen stayed close to Valkyn and Aryk. In the week it had taken to gather the army, she and Aryk had barely spoken. With Valkyn back to take his place, she’d been able to avoid Aryk for the most part, standing guard during the day but leaving the night watches to Valkyn. He’d made it easy, Aryk, as he had
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one meeting after another, often ’til the wee hours. Neither one had much sleep, and tempers wore thin and short. Spring was coming. Water dripped from icicles, and the patches of brown outnumbered the patches of white on the ground. The deer and dogs alike took on a moth-eaten appearance as winter hair loosened and dropped out in large tufted handfuls. A season of hope and renewal, being ushered in by the bloodiest battle this island would ever see. Every warrior on Isadorikja had a chosen side, it seemed. She wondered how many on Aryk’s identified with Beloq—like Valkyn. Her heart ached for Aryk, even in her anger. He seemed so alone. So many times she’d started to go to him, only to have him turn and move away. Obviously avoiding her. Her heart bled with the separation. She found herself fretting over the dark circles under his eyes, wondering if he remembered to eat what she brought him. She stood silent guard, and he barely acknowledged her presence. Once she’d thought destiny had brought them together. How foolish she’d been to think she’d been anything other than a scribe to bear witness and chronicle what had led to this day. The fact that he’d lured her into his bed was probably some kind of carnal bonus. The fact that her emotions had clouded her judgment, that she’d yielded willingly, just proved how out of her depth she was. His gaze caught hers. His mouth tightened. He looked as if he might approach, then Nomok strode up to him, and the moment passed. Aryk turned to their army, and his stance changed from thwarted lover to fearless leader—as if the lover was but a distant memory. She cursed herself for letting that rejection still sting. “My folk.” His voice rang out across the plain, carried on the icy wind. “The day we’ve long awaited has arrived. A historic day, when Widowmaker, Blood River and White Plains come together for battle. Not against each other, but for the first time united as brothers against a common enemy. His name is Beloq, and he rules naught but anarchy. Should he overcome us, our folk would face a fate worse than death. We must prevail, for the sake of our children, our future. “Tyranny or peaceful order, a chance to join the rest of the world as equals in trade and exploration, to learn and grow. Beloq threatens our very existence. His way leads to annihilation. We must prevail.” The army raised their weapons in a fierce cheer that fired her blood. The man had a way with words. Not that she noticed. Nomok moved to stand aside Aryk. Next to his immense bulk, Aryk looked almost small, boyish. A panther aside a buffalo. Not that she noticed that either. “My brother daq speaks the truth,” the White Plains daq stated. “I never thought I’d see the day when I’d be using those words to describe a Widowmaker.” “Our days of hatred, of being enemies, must end. Leave the past in the past and look to the future,” Aryk urged. “A day when all folk can move about and mingle without fear. A day when our children can grow big and strong, when cold and hunger are but a distant memory, words without personal meaning. When funerary pyres are reserved for our fathers and mothers, not our sons and daughters.”
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“We stand on the threshold of a new dawn,” Nomok added. “Together, we rid our world of the threat of Beloq, and greet a new era of peace and prosperity.” Verdeen shivered at the word peace coming from Nomok’s lips. It bore the flat jangling ring of an untruth. Ebony stepped out with her, carrying Verdeen’s camp on her back, and so the long march northward began. As ever, Verdeen moved in Aryk’s wake, watching him stride afore her, betwixt Valkyn and Nomok—neither of whom she trusted. “Keep him alive,” Loren had said. And she had. But their greatest challenge lay ahead. Beloq, a name that had monster-in-a-nightmare connotations. A true lia-bound riever, like the ones in the WestmarcheRiverhead conflict, like the bandits Tzigana and Dara so hated and feared. Like the ones described in the books she had read, back in the elven library. Yet the men she saw striding afore and behind her were more than that. Not perfect, nay. But capable of growth, of change, of becoming more. That was what Cianan and Loren had seen, what she now saw. Isadorikja had a bright future, provided Aryk could win. He had to win. She had to do everything in her power to see that come to pass, regardless of the cost to her. She had no future here, but she could leave them to theirs. Birgit, Joro and all the other younglings. All along it had been about what use she could be to him. Loren had sent her to declaw the cat. The cat dangled her like a symbolic prize afore his men. The alliance. Its very scope made a mockery of anything she’d dared to think personal. This was so much bigger than her; it swallowed her whole. She watched the crimson of Aryk’s cloak flutter in the breeze, revealing tantalizing glimpses of those leather-clad, muscular thighs, his tight backside. She missed him, missed his touch, his kisses. Day after day she stood silent guard at his back, through endless meetings and strategy plannings, until Valkyn relieved her. Night after night she awoke from dreams so hot they made her blush, only to find her arms empty. Her heart mourned as if he had died, though he strode not two horse-lengths afore her. Cold. Focused. Distant. “Enough.” Loren’s mental rebuke all but knocked her to her knees with the start. Stars, how long had he been eavesdropping? “Long enough to know the bend of my Right Hand’s thoughts,” he commented. “The professional has become personal.” “Tell me you had no knowledge of this.” Tears burned. She hated that. Sad or angry, the tears came. She hated that weakness. “Tell me this wasn’t what you planned all along.” His silence was damning. Her moan of despair came out more of a whimper. “How could you?” “You have done well, as guard and guide. But from the moment the two of you met, there was more.”
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“Arranged marriages went out when the Age of Enlightenment dawned. Oh, wait—this isn’t even that. They hardly even have marriages here. But I slept with him, like some kind of royal whor*.” She seethed. “There. I said it.” She felt Loren’s sigh. “I am getting an earful from Dara as well. Sleeping with Aryk was not part of the job description. But the attraction was there, and I cannot deny there would be advantages to binding Isadorikja to Cymry.” “What did I do to deserve being thrown away like some kind of living sacrifice?” “Is that what you think?” Loren paused. “Step back, answer my next question honestly.” Verdeen stomped along aside Ebony, bracing herself. “Well?” “Tell me Aryk was not the first man you have been attracted to.” What was he getting at? “No childhood sweetheart, no secret crush on a royal guard?” Eww. “Nay.” “I know. Yet when Aryk showed up, what happened?” Her cheeks flamed as she remembered the confusion, the yearning…the fear. “You stood up and set the record straight, defended him to us. He made quite an impression in such a short time. Even when mistakes were made, you defended him.” “We learn from our mistakes. He’s a good man.” “You still defend him. You no longer fear him.” “I-I never feared him, Sire. I feared myself.” “A whor* sleeps with a man for profit, never for emotion. You are no whor*.” Nay, she was just a fool who’d fallen in love and let herself get seduced by a man who saw her as but a convenience and an opportunity. “You are more to him than that.” That’s what Loren thought? “I’m not anything to him.” “Some are men of words, and some are men of action. Twice he has protected you from Nomok. Were you just a whor*, he would have traded you for the treaty. He would have left you as surety instead of Valkyn. He listens to your suggestions and follows your advice. You are a part of his family and part of his life. This is not over yet.” What did Loren know of it? She didn’t even want to speak to Aryk…and yet the separation was killing her. “You are not the only one who suffers whilst you are apart.” Could have fooled her.
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“I do not think the separation will last. You are stronger together than apart. You were meant to be together.” She felt the king withdraw and continued to watch Aryk ignore her. Long hours passed, ’til her lungs burned and her legs wobbled. Some people ate on the go, but she had no appetite, and she noticed Aryk didn’t eat, either. That bothered her. He needed to keep up his strength. He was only human. Nomok called a halt at last, in a clearing aside a small stream. Yaga and deer were unpacked, tents set up. Verdeen raised her own small tent, with Cymry’s pennant afore it. Ebony nibbled on a nearby patch of grass. Verdeen lit the tiny brazier, then got a pot from her pack and went to get water for tea. Footsteps crunched in the snow, and a tingle of awareness zinged through her. Aryk. Odd how she knew it was him without turning around. When had that started? She swallowed, trying to will some moisture in her dry mouth, and licked her lips. “Turn around.” She finished filling her pot with water, then rose afore turning to face him. She raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes? Was there something you wanted?” Aryk growled and raked a hand through his hair. He looked exhausted, agitated…wonderful. “You’re avoiding me.” Observant man. “And here I thought ’twas the other way around.” She moved to go around him, but his mitted hand on her belly stopped her in her tracks. She sucked in a breath at his touch and hoped he didn’t feel the tremor that shook her. “Why are we doing this?” His voice was flat, tired. “Kill Beloq. Unite Isadorikja. Join the rest of the modern world—” “Don’t play the fool with me. Tisht. You ken full well what I speak of.” Her temper flared. “Don’t curse at me.” “Then don’t avoid the topic.” He glared down at her. “Which topic?” Rage boiled over until she couldn’t hold it back anymore. “Nomok’s congratulations on you using me—or you not denying it?” Her throat closed as tears threatened, and she choked on the bitter words. “I’ve been such a fool.” “Mission’s not over yet,” he growled. She wrapped her arms about herself, sloshing water on herself. “I can do my job without us having to spend any more time alone together, so just go away and leave me be. You must have a thousand other things to do.” “’Tis handled, powers of delegation.” Aryk’s voice was hard, uncompromising. “Only problem remaining until Beloq gets here is you. You’re my problem.” Weren’t those words to warm a woman’s heart? She was his problem?
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“Not for long.” Verdeen was acutely aware of a dozen pairs of avid, interested eyes watching them. “Cease. You’re making a scene. People are staring.” Aryk flung a savage glare at the onlookers. “All of you, mind your own business.” Erlynda, closest to them, snickered. “You’re doing so well too. Mayhaps you might take your discussion somewhere more private?” “Wonderful idea.” Aryk gripped Verdeen’s wrist with bruising force and dragged her back toward the tents. Her pot of water dropped in the snow. “Where are we going?” she demanded, tugging against him. “Let go of me.” “We finish this—in private.”
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She didn’t like the word finish. It sounded so ominous and final. Her heart splintered, and she bit her lip at the ache. Just when she thought he couldn’t hurt her anymore. He hauled her into her tent and dropped the flap behind them. “You don’t have to go all barbarian on me,” she complained. “I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t drag me by my hair.” Aryk released her wrist and tugged off his gloves—with his teeth. Verdeen didn’t miss that symbolic gesture. This was going to get ugly. She rubbed her reddened wrist, glaring at him in the dim light. Their gazes locked, and she shivered at the heated crackle of awareness that arced betwixt them. Not again. Would she never be free of this need for him? He curled a hand behind her neck, caressing the skin there. She stiffened at his touch. “Oh nay, you don’t,” she muttered. “I know this trick.” His white teeth flashed in a wolfish grin, and his eyes crinkled. He didn’t say a word as he hauled her closer. A trickle of sweat slid from her forehead down her cheek. The tent was well-insulated, and ’twas too warm for furs. But if she started stripping afore him, he was bound to get the wrong idea. She’d melt in a puddle first. “Go away.” He shrugged out of his cloak, furred vest and tunic afore she could blink. She closed her eyes against the heady visual—that wide expanse of hot, gleaming skin covering layers of muscle. “I double-checked my job description,” she stated. “I’m not sleeping with you. That ship has sailed.” “Good, because I’m not sleepy.” He nuzzled the hair at her temple, traced the salty line of sweat with the tip of his tongue. She reached out to push him away, just as he licked and nibbled his way to her ear, and she curled her fingers against his chest with a whimper. He so was not playing fair. Why could he shout at her in public, but turn around and get all sneaky and quiet when they were alone? “I thought we were fighting.” Stars, he felt good under her hands. She’d missed touching him…kissing him— “Is that what you thought?” He captured her mouth with his, coaxing her lips apart with light flicks of his tongue.
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She opened under him, slanting her head and rubbing her tongue across his. He tasted of dark, male hunger, and she trembled at the sensations his kiss evoked. She had no willpower around him. Despair rose at the flash of need. “I’ll be no man’s sensuri.” How naïve and arrogant she’d been. But ’twas all she was—one king’s sensuri, with the sanction of another. Guard, advisor, mistress. “A maiden dreams of more.” But there was no more. She’d allowed her body to lead her heart, and now she was lost. And here she was again—in his arms, about to go up in flames with naught decided. He drew back. “Heyla. What’s wrong?” She started to shake. He wrapped her braid around his fist and tugged to turn her face up to his. “Look at me.” Verdeen opened her eyes to meet his gaze. Banked fire flickered beneath genuine concern. “What are we doing?” She silently cursed the hoarseness in her voice. “Not what I thought, if you have to ask. I don’t want to fight. Enough. I miss you.” She had to get the coat off—she was roasting. She yanked off her furs ’til naught but her breeches and tunic remained. She dropped to the floor and drew her knees up to her chin, tugging her tunic down over them and wrapping her arms around them. Resting her chin on her knees, she stared off into space, feeling adrift. Aryk dropped down to stretch out afore her on his side like a big golden cat, head on his hand. A lock of tawny hair tumbled across his eye, and the hairline scar gleamed white in the firelight. Scars he’d earned in a lifetime of defending his people. The other hand reached out to cover hers. Big. Warm. Strong. Deceptive. Like the rest of him. He looked like someone she could depend on—but he wasn’t. “Tell me what’s wrong.” She’d offer her heart when all he wanted was her mind—and her body. ’Tis not enough. She shook her head. No way could she voice that thought aloud. She’d messed up on her very first mission—she’d fallen in love with her charge. “Talk to me.” He slid his hand around behind her calf muscle, kneading gently. Stars, that felt good. Talking about sex was one thing. Talking about her innermost feelings was different. “What are we doing here?” She made a vague gesture. “Together?” “We’ve been attracted to each other from the moment we met. You’re beautiful and make me burn like no one ever has afore.” He described wanting. Desire. “I was assigned to you by King Loren. Bodyguard, diplomatic counselor. I told you there was no honor in being some man’s sensuri, and yet here I am—with Loren’s blessings, no less.” He looked baffled. “What are you talking about?”
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“I point-blank asked him. And he didn’t deny it. Nomok alluded to it. And you didn’t deny it, either. So here I am, some stupid little royal whor*.” “Stop it.” He grabbed her arm. “Stop right there. Don’t say that. ’Tis not like that.” Not for her it wasn’t. What was it to him? Aryk raked a hand through his hair. “You’re smart, funny and caring. One moment you make me laugh, and the next I just want to yell. One moment I want to shake you and the next kiss you senseless. You challenge me. You push me. I came alive when I met you.” He made a helpless, inarticulate gesture— very unAryklike. “I swore I never meant to seduce you. I told you to stay away.” She trembled at that. “So you’re blaming me?” He growled, radiating frustration. “Nay. Cease putting words in my mouth and just listen. What Nomok heard was part of the truth. With all I’ve got stacked against me, with the threat of annihilation coming from two fronts, do you think I wouldn’t play any card dealt me? Fair means or foul, I will do whatever it takes to save my folk.” So he was using her. “But when I met you and got to know you… I don’t ken how you do it, but everything I do around you comes out sideways and backward—every thought, every feeling. I’m no good with words, woman.” “Liar. The way you addressed the people speaks otherwise.” He shook his head. “Rehearsed speeches. Naught but a leader’s performance. Doesn’t count. You don’t want speeches. I’m talking about the pretty words betwixt lovers the bards speak on that all you lasses seem to yearn for. I’ve no practice with them. The truth is you’d bring much more to any alliance than I ever could. And I ken that. But whenever you come near, I can’t think straight. I just want to be with you, keep you close. You don’t just make me burn. You”—he floundered—“make me want to be a better man.” Stunned, Verdeen lifted her head. He brushed the hair from her eyes. “You make my heart ache.” Big tough warrior. And he said he was no good with words. But honesty went a long way. She raised his hand to her lips and kissed the palm. He cradled her cheek. His eyes were as serious as she’d ever seen them. “With all that’s coming our way, we don’t ken what tomorrow holds for us. I’d have naught left unsaid betwixt us tonight, just in case.” Her heart stopped as she considered that grim reality, of him falling, the light fading forever from his beautiful hazel eyes. She shook her head frantically. “Nay—” “Admit it, lass. We’re no good apart.” She let him draw her down alongside him, into the circle of his arms. Outside, Beloq and a war awaited, but for this one night, he could be hers alone. Hold me like you mean it.
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As if he sensed that thought, that need, Aryk pulled her close. He encircled the wrist he’d marked and kissed it. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.” Verdeen brushed a strand of tawny hair from his face and read the regret in his eyes. “I don’t break easily, warrior.” She closed her eyes and nuzzled closer, breathing in his warm, musky scent, and he rubbed his hand up and down her back. Slow, soothing circles. Heating the wool of her tunic with the friction. He kissed the top of her head and just held her. ’Twas comforting. She felt too raw, too vulnerable, for passion. Tonight, she needed tenderness. She hoped he’d understand. His fingers pressed deeper into the cloth, searching out the little knots of tension. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, but massage is much more effective without clothing.” She knew that. But it seemed every time they were alone, the fire overwhelmed all else. She didn’t want the fire now. The truth was, it scared her. “Shh. Trust me.” She looked into his eyes, searching as she sat up to slide her arms from the sleeves and pulled the tunic off, flipping it over her shoulder somewhere. His gaze never wavered from hers. “You can trust me. Let me do this. I swear I can make you feel better.” She lay on her stomach and pillowed her cheek on her arms, closing her eyes. She flinched at the first touch on her lower back, but his hands pressed firmly, less lover, more healer. Small, deep, soothing circles as he ran his thumbs up either side of her spine. Stars, he was good at this. She was almost purring when he reached her shoulders and neck. He found a spot at the base of her skull and pressed in, holding it for a couple of heartbeats afore releasing it. The flood of well-being made her gasp—and melt. All her tension just vanished. “Like that?” She heard the smile in his voice. “Amazing, isn’t it?” ’Twas like a visit to a healer but without the heat and light. Where had humans learned to duplicate the effect using touch alone? “Where did you learn to do that?” “Vygnal picked it up from somewhere far south of here.” He continued kneading the loosened muscles of her shoulders. Vygnal? Hard to fathom that berserker acting as healer. Yet further proof there was more to these people than met the eye. She rolled over and sat up. “Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” He leaned in for a chaste kiss that lingered. “Mmph.” Verdeen curled her arms around his neck and rubbed his lips with hers, sighing at the delicious tingle that zinged through her at even so innocent a contact. No tongues, no teeth, just lips and rubbing and pressure—and still the flames threatened, just a flicker. She shivered. There was no escaping the attraction, the drawing, but she trembled as much from his restraint as from her own rising need.
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He kept his word. He’d understood. Mayhaps she could trust him.
How had he messed everything up so? The crushed look of utter betrayal tore him apart. She thought Loren had passed her off to Aryk as a whor*? That Aryk was just using her to pass the time? She was a young, unsheltered lass, and he was an utter…riever…not to have left her alone. But he’d yearned to possess that sweetness, just once more. Except just once more was never enough, and he found he had to have her again and again. Each time was better than the last, and he tried to justify it by telling himself she’d enjoyed herself, also. ’Til Nomok’s words put a whole different spin on things, and she’d gotten the wrong idea. Aryk hated her tears. They shredded him with regret and remorse. He never wanted to hurt her. Her pain was his. He’d broken her trust, and he had to fix it. Had to show her it was more than sex—even if it killed him. He pulled back from the sweetest kiss he’d ever experienced. She dragged her lids open, and the misty grey of her eyes drew him in. They glowed silver with a hint of banked passion, darkened with that bitter insecurity. She wasn’t immune to the attraction betwixt them, but if he took her now, he’d destroy everything. It wasn’t about taking; it was about giving. Cherishing. Showing her she meant more to him than just a warm body in the night. How much more? He didn’t know what to call this uncomfortable emotion. All he kenned was the day she left, the sun would go out of his life forever. Was that love? He hoped not, because if it was, the idiot bards had it all wrong. “I couldn’t let Nomok hurt you. I’d do anything to protect you from harm. I never should’ve touched you, but you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, and just once I wanted to hold something pure and shining and good. You treat me as just a man, not a daq, nor a riever. You’ve no idea what that means.” Her eyes searched his face, and she swallowed hard. “You’re a good man, Aryk, with a good heart. Loren saw you had noble intentions to unite your people for peace, to make your world a better place for your younglings. We wanted to help you accomplish that, and I hope I’ve helped a little bit.” “We’re halfway there.” He didn’t want to talk about the mission or the war tonight. Tonight he needed an oasis of peace, of communion. “But I want to talk about us. You want to ken if you’ve helped? Just by laughing and teasing and yelling at me, you’ve helped. No one else is so free with me. No one else believes in me like you do. You’re the only one I don’t feel like I have to prove a point with.” He leaned in to brush her lips with his, moving his mouth over hers. “You’re so beautiful, so sweet,” he murmured. She slid her arms around him. He felt her tremble against him. Her fingers glided up over his back, her firm white breasts pressed against his chest. Desire rose, thick and heavy. He willed it back. She needed gentleness, wooing—things he was totally inept at. But tonight wasn’t about him. It was about her. All for her.
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“So fair. You’re shaking. Don’t be afeared.” Verdeen bit her lip. “I’m not afeared.” “Good, because I would never hurt you.” Aryk kissed her temple, nuzzled his way down to her ear. “’Twas magic, the night we met.” She laughed softly and shook her head, her gaze mildly chiding. “I can’t believe you wasted the power of a wish on a simple kiss.” “There was naught simple about that kiss. I still can’t believe you did it.” He smiled into her hair. “If we were to do it all over again, would you still?” “Aye.” The swiftness of her answer gave him his first glimmer of hope. He could turn this about. She turned to nibble tiny kisses along his jaw. “Cianan spoke of balancing woman and warrior, but you’re the one who showed me what he meant. You introduced me to myself, and I’m a stronger person for knowing you.” She humbled him in the dirt. He cradled her close, ran a hand down her braid to loosen the binding and release the plaits ’til they cascaded over them both in a wash of silken light. “What is it with you and my hair?” “’Tis a ray of bright sunlight in a hard, dark world.” She sighed, leaning into his hand. “Poet.” Hardly. He tilted her face to his for another coaxing kiss, stroking her full lower lip with his tongue, felt her shivery reaction, her arms tighten around him. Heat rose, the need to plunder her mouth. He choked it down. Slow, gentle… He caressed her smooth white shoulders, rubbing his thumb over the pulse bounding in her throat. She purred, her mouth parting under his, her tongue darting out to brush his, retreating behind her teeth. Even that brief contact was enough to send a jolt of crippling need straight south. He trailed his fingers down her arm, cupping his hand so on the way back up, the backs of his fingers just brushed the outer curve of her breast. She squirmed, rubbing her stiffening nipples against his chest. Her satiny skin flushed and warmed. He felt like a lad again with his first lass. Back when the slightest improprieties became unbearably arousing. Except he was no untried lad, and he knew where this journey would lead. He hoped experience would grant him enough control to be what she needed him to be tonight. For always? Verdeen ran her hands up over his sides, up his chest to his neck so she could bury her fingers in his hair. She shifted back a bit so her nipples grazed his skin. This time she slid her tongue over his, stroking him in a wet, sensual dance that made him groan. His body burned. His shaft was so hard ’twas a wonder his breeches hadn’t split. He brushed her breasts again, cupping his hands around them, kneading the firm curves. The wonder of all that womanly
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softness. He stroked his thumbs across the pink tips, rubbing around her nipples without touching them. She whimpered, and he broke the kiss off to rain nibbling kisses down her throat ’til he found the spot where her pulse beat against his lips. He scraped his teeth over it, then tongued the mild sting away. Her nails tightened on his shoulders. No one dies from impatience, he reminded himself. This was one time when the journey rivaled the destination. “So sensitive. I feel you respond to my every touch. Amazing how arousing it is, giving you pleasure. Hearing you purr. Feeling your skin warm, your heart beat faster. I could kiss you all over. Imagine me kissing you…everywhere.” She whimpered. “You are. But why imagine it…when reality can be so much better?” She gulped as he reached for the laces on her breeches, but she didn’t stay his hands. “Lie down on your stomach, like afore.” She did, and he swept her hair aside to lip along the curve of her shoulder. He kept his hands planted on either side of her. Using naught but his mouth, a nibble here, a slow lick there, he made his slow, sensuous way across her shoulders and down her spine. “So soft.” He nuzzled her skin whilst she gasped and squirmed. When he reached her waist, he tucked his fingers in her breeches. “Lift up…if you want me to keep going.” Her choice. Her night. Never had a victory felt sweeter than when she raised her hips and gave a little wriggle as he eased the heavy wool over the lush curve of her backside. His lips followed in the wake of his hands, down the backs of her thighs. He nibbled behind her knees. She hissed out a breath. He felt the heat rise within her, and every time it threatened, he backed off. Slowed down. Paced himself, keeping it to a gentle buildup when everything within screamed to overwhelm her ’til she couldn’t see straight. “Turn over,” Aryk whispered. How long could he last? She did, and her dazed, flushed look was nigh his undoing. Her eyes glowed silver with need. He scented it in the air with every labored breath he took. He ran his hands up Verdeen’s long, silky legs, kneading the muscles. When they parted in invitation, he glimpsed her glistening pink folds, and his shaft jerked hard in agonizing reaction. It nigh killed him. No one dies from impatience, he reminded himself again. He had a feeling ’twas going to become a personal mantra, the only thing to hold his passion in check. He nibbled up the outside of her hip, nuzzling the satiny pillow of her belly. Her legs shifted, and her fingers clutched his hair. She whimpered.
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“Shh.” He flicked his tongue against her skin, tasting salt and heat, feeling her tremble. “Feel how good we can be together. How right.” He nuzzled the lower curve of a breast. “You brought light into my world.” And darkness would reign forever from the day she left. “Aryk.” Her breathless whisper shivered over him, and he froze, fighting down the rush of need. “Kiss me.” “Whatever you want.” His lips captured hers, and he groaned as her tongue surged into his mouth. Desire slammed through him with every wet silken stroke. There was no wrestling it back, not when she clutched him close and writhed all those lush curves against him. He’d never teetered on the edge for so long. His body screamed for satisfaction. When she sucked his tongue into her mouth, he tasted the fire of her own need and nigh lost control then and there. He pulled back. “Slow down, lass. I need a moment.” Patience. He gritted his teeth and willed his body to stillness. Verdeen arched her back and pulled him down, brushing a deep rose nipple against his lips. “Please…” He was so lost. She tasted hot and sweet as he circled the turgid point with his tongue and suckled. She cried out, taking his hand, sliding it down betwixt her thighs. He slid his fingers through scalding cream, across tender, swollen folds, finding and rubbing that tiny nubbin of nerves. Tension coiled in her thighs, and he felt her shiver against him, the quiet little mini-explosion. He sank one finger in her and growled as her body sucked at him. He needed to feel her clasping his shaft. Soon. He raised his head, captured her gaze. “Verdeen…” He heard the hoarseness in his voice, his body so tight it could shatter at any moment. Reduced to begging. She had to see the desperation on his face, in his eyes. He for certain could see hers, the battle betwixt warmth and true fire. She shook with it. And then— sweet paradise—her hands reached for the laces on his breeches, and she cupped him, squeezed him. Almost as hard as he needed her to. “Hold me,” she whispered. “We’ll go slow.” There were worse ways to die. He kicked his leather breeches elsewhere and eased over her, ’til every bit of his burning body was nestled against sweet lushness. He captured her lips as he eased home. ’Twas what it felt like as her wet core pulsed and squeezed around him, as her hands caressed his back and her tongue tangled with his—like coming home. That simple and that complicated. He dragged it out, pulling back, then flexing his hips to push into her, keeping the motion exquisitely, excruciatingly slow. Ininin… Outoutout… The heat was incredible. She whimpered into his mouth, and he felt a second rush roll through her. She tightened around him like a burning wet fist, and need boiled up. He was helpless to hold it back and apologized as his body began to drive toward completion. Astounding when she rolled her hips and helped it along, picking up speed when he tried to slow down, gripping his
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backside to grind him deep against the sweet spot. They both started to shake as the fires roared up, rolling over them. His heart pounded as she clutched him, sweet and hot, and his climax burst free with a dizzying rush. She cried out as she milked him of his desire. Never had he felt this connection with another woman, as if a part of her dwelled within him, as if a part of her always would. He rolled over so she sprawled across him, and wrapped her in his arms to keep her close as he slipped free from her body. He had to find a way to keep her here when this was all over. When this whole ugly business with Beloq was concluded, he and Verdeen would face Loren together. He wasn’t giving her up. He wouldn’t go back to the way things had been. Now all he had to do was convince her to stay.
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Chapter Sixteen
This was it? Verdeen stared at the frozen wasteland afore her. This was the northernmost edge of Widowmaker territory. A writhing path of broken ice and snow snaked through a pass betwixt two great glaciers, which gleamed an eerie blue in the not-quite-light. Erlynda glanced at Verdeen, nodded her head. “We make our stand here,” Aryk announced. “We do not invade Beloq’s territory. If he wants a fight, he must bring it to us.” Nomok’s eyes narrowed. “Set up camp. Post watches.” Verdeen unpacked Ebony and set up her small tent, Erlynda to one side and Aryk on the other. Nomok set up on the other side of Aryk, Valkyn on the other side of him. There were enough banners flying for anyone in the army to find them. Also enemy archers, Verdeen realized, although they were back far enough from the border that they’d have to be very good archers. Elven longbows could reach. She’d been told, though, no Isadorikjans possessed bows due to the scarcity of wood on the island. Strictly spears, axes, swords and knives. Valkyn and Vygnal wielded those deadly cheqs. She didn’t like the look of those glaciers. True spring, when the sun broke the horizon and banished the darkness for the entire season, was mere days away. The ground was slushy. If the snow on the slopes gave way, men could be trapped…or buried alive. “We should be preparing to celebrate spring rites, not for battle.” Verdeen hadn’t heard Erlynda approach. “’Twill be good to see the sun again.” “’Tis true, then?” Beneath the coils of golden braids, Erlynda’s broad face reflected curiosity as she gazed up at Cymry’s banner. She looked so much like her brother—without the beard. “You worship the sun?” “Not precisely.” Verdeen shook her head. “We worship the Lady of Light, whose symbol is the rising sun.” Erlynda’s eyes lit, transforming her face from merely handsome to arresting. “You worship a goddess?” Dracken rue, Verdeen could see what had drawn Aryk to Erlynda. It spoke volumes of a man who could forsake mere prettiness for a true inner beauty. “Aye. Have you none, then?” Verdeen was curious. All she’d heard spoken of were Halzyaq and Creataq. Were there no female consorts for the Isadorikjan gods?
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Erlynda nodded. “The men don’t oft acknowledge Her, but hai. Saskia is the Mother of all, goddess of renewal, of birth and spring and sowing and healing.” Hmm. Another thing the books had missed. “So the women worship Her in secret?” “I can but speak for Svaaldur. For us, ’tis no secret. Aryk allows us to pay proper homage. Gefjun leads the rites. When the sun appears over the horizon on the first day of spring, at every birth, at planting time. Spring is but seven days off.” Erlynda’s expression sobered. “On the eve of this spring, Her greatest contribution will be healing. Halzyaq will be in his glory.” The god of war. Verdeen shivered. “Tell me about lia.” A shadow crossed Erlynda’s face, and she crossed her arms. “Have you ever seen a warrior fight through injury and pain, not through determination but as if he felt naught? A warrior with that madness in his eyes, striking down whoever comes within range, regardless of whether they’re friend or foe? A warrior who ignores all orders from his captain, not through defiance but as if he didn’t hear him?” Verdeen shivered. Did that not just confirm what Dara had described back in the palace in PoshnariUnai? “Such would never be permitted to set foot on a field. They couldn’t be counted on.” “What’s the most important trait in a warrior?” Erlynda challenged. “Discipline and the ability to carry out orders, to finish the task set afore them.” Erlynda rolled her eyes and snorted, sounding exactly like her brother. “Here ’tis fighting spirit, to fight on despite pain, to feel no fear. The most crucial thing is to intimidate the enemy, make them think you’re invincible, indestructible.” “What do they do?” “Beat their spears on their shields, howl at the gods, laugh when they’re injured, drink the blood of the vanquished.” Rievers. A couple of young Blood River warriors strode past. One of them carried a small cask on his shoulder. They laughed and jostled each other like ’twas the eve of a party instead of a battle. Erlynda waited ’til they passed from earshot, then reached out to grasp Verdeen’s arm with a grip like a blacksmith’s. “’Tis a madness that shines in their eyes. Vygnal and Valkyn are two of the worst. You can’t trust Valkyn to watch Aryk’s back in the coming battle. You can’t.” Verdeen froze. “What do you mean? Aryk and Valkyn are like brothers. Valkyn would never harm Aryk.” “You weren’t there at that battle against Ulryk.” Erlynda frowned at the memory. “Valkyn and Aryk were fighting back-to-back. Valkyn had just slain a Blood River attacker when Aryk bumped into him. Valkyn whirled with such a look on his face…” Erlynda swallowed hard. “Had Ulryk’s second not chosen that moment to challenge Valkyn, I don’t know that Valkyn wouldn’t have struck Aryk down.” Verdeen’s heart stuttered. “You love Aryk, don’t you?”
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“He’s the sire of my daughter. He’s a good leader who supports the kyras. You ken by now how rare a thing that is. I don’t have to tell you what a great lover he is.” Verdeen flinched at that image, of Aryk holding Erlynda, kissing her— “But love? As in ‘bonded to our last breath’?” Erlynda shook her head. “Nay. I told him once I’d rather be one of his men than one of his women.” What did that mean? “He’s a friend. We speak true to each other. But there is naught romantic betwixt us.” How could anyone not love Aryk? “You come from a place where peace is fact. For us, ’tis a pretty dream we long for and hope for but aren’t certain ’tis achievable. You’d be the perfect consort for him, because you have what he wants. You ken how you got there, and how we too can get there. Mayhaps you can keep the wolves at bay long enough for us to learn.” But as Loren’s Right Hand, she couldn’t stay in one place. A sworn oath to the elven king overrode all other concerns. Once this task was finished, ’twould be time to go home. Even if it tore her heart out to do so. “We must keep Aryk alive, with or without Valkyn. You spoke the truth about our fate should we fail. Aryk must succeed. Our children must have a better life.” Verdeen nodded. So many younglings in Aryk’s army now—youths of mayhaps fourteen or fifteen. She’d wager the same held true for Beloq’s forces. Necessity overrode the “sire” requirement. Time to reclaim and redefine that lost word, childhood, afore they destroyed an entire generation. “Why do you support me?” “Because you are good for him, and I want him to be happy.” Erlynda turned and strode away, toward the main Widowmaker encampment. Verdeen looked toward the northern pass through which Beloq would come. She rubbed her arms. How far away were Beloq’s forces? How much time did they have? Aryk stuck his head out of his tent. Seeing Verdeen, he came over to her. “You should stay with me.” She shivered at the pull that crawled over her skin and shook her head to clear it. “We both need to sleep.” “What Valkyn’s doing. He’ll relieve you so you can do the same.” They both watched as Nomok dispatched two scouts. The men were clad in snow-bear pelts. The seeker dogs were the White Plains breed, the better to hide in the snow. “You’re certain they’ll come through here?” “Where my mother saw them. ’Tis the shorter route. Her visions are true.” “Dangerous with the thaw.” Verdeen shivered, recalling their earlier misadventure with a slide. “They could catch it from both sides.”
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“And we’d be better off.” Aryk sighed and rubbed his face. “As much as I tire of battle, I hate waiting for one even worse.” “Will you address the troops? There are a lot of first-timers who are bound to be nervous at the thought of facing Beloq.” “Hai. Me and Nomok.” His smile contained more than a hint of irony. “Never thought to see the day when I’d be saying that.” “Too bad we can’t add ‘me and Beloq’.” He snorted. “Beloq doesn’t share. He didn’t barter for the other two northern tribes. He conquered by killing their daqs. He rules through intimidation and fear. He comes to kill Nomok and me. I pray for all our sakes I kill him first. If Nomok does, I fear the odds might tempt him beyond reason. Three against three is one thing. Four against two, another.” “You don’t trust Nomok?” “Nay. Never have. Not really. He always does what’s best for Nomok first, White Plains second, and I fear, for Isadorikja as a whole, not at all. He reminds me of Beloq, but thankfully he’s more shortsighted. But we need him for this, and he needs us. ’Tis the after that concerns me.” He grimaced. “If I fall, there’s no one else to stand against Beloq. Isadorikja will fall into chaos and ruin. He’ll turn on Shamar, and my people will pay the price.” Verdeen held his gaze. “We will triumph. You have to believe that. ’Tis up to us to show them the way.” The word us resonated through her. She shivered. Aryk raked a hand through his hair. “I feel like the blind leading the blind.” “Well, I don’t. Peace is possible. I’ve seen an elven prince become friends with the very troll who slew his brother in battle. I’ve seen a dwarven shaman take a goblin child as an apprentice. Naught is set in stone. Enemies can become friends, allies. Shamar is proof of that.” Verdeen’s throat tightened. “But Tzigana and Wolf—Berend—were able to bring the two sides together by setting an example of forgiveness and cooperation. Like you do here.” “We haven’t won yet.” “We will. Cut the head off the snake.” That particular Isadorikjan custom was a blessing in disguise. If Aryk killed Beloq, the daq medallions changed hands, and the war would be over. Valkyn and Vygnal strode up, the familial similarity striking enough they could almost be brothers. Verdeen tensed. Recalling Erlynda’s warning, she watched them. As quick to anger, to take umbrage, as they were, she could well imagine them losing themselves to the lia’s siren call. She vowed to stand betwixt them and Aryk at all times, even now, when they were at ease. “Beloq picked a risky time to march,” Vygnal stated. “That pass can go at any time.” “He wants to get this over with afore spring planting,” Aryk said.
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Valkyn nodded. “All the more for him, he’s thinking. But we’ll drive them back. It ends here. We can’t afford a drawn-out war in spring. If we plant late or don’t have enough hands for the harvest, next winter we’ll be in real trouble.” Verdeen had seen the effects of a lean winter in Eider—life on the edge. She couldn’t fathom anything worse. People would starve. Children would sicken and die. “We wait for the scouts’ report,” Aryk said. “In the meantime, once folk are set up, get some sparring going. Daily drills, regular guard rotations.” “We’ll see to it.” Valkyn nodded. “Nomok wishes a word.” “Send him over.” Verdeen looked out across the camp, the tidy rows of tents and clear delineations marked by banners. Men and women here to protect home and family. People like Lyra and Erlynda, who just wanted it to end, to be left alone to live their lives without fear of violence. Nomok approached, a giant troll made twice as immense by the intact, untrimmed white snow-bear coat and huge battle axe he carried. She flinched in spite of herself. Just like Beloq, Aryk had stated. What he’d done to Lyra and the other captives, what he’d wanted to do to her… Even now, she felt the scorching lust in Nomok’s gaze as it raked over her, branding her. Aryk tensed, moving in to lay his arm across Verdeen’s shoulders. “Nomok.” “We should send out hunting parties.” Aryk shook his head. “Our march scared off all the local game. You’d have to go too far afield for it to be practical. We brought herd beasts along. Set up butchering parties instead.” Nomok glared down at him. “What are we to do whilst we stand around waiting for Beloq?” “They have that much energy after the march, have them drill. Keep up the practices, but not hard enough to wear themselves out.” “Should keep the sparring within our own clans for now.” “Good idea,” Verdeen approved. Nomok looked startled still to hear her speak. “Old habits die hard. Would do Beloq a favor for us to kill each other off. He’d march through uncontested.” His eyes gleamed at Aryk as he put a hand on the hilt of his sword. “Need some practice, Widowmaker?” Verdeen stiffened and subtly shifted to move betwixt Nomok and Aryk. Aryk grinned as he clamped his hand around her upper arm, preventing her from doing any such thing. “I could use a warm-up. However, seeing two daqs fighting each other is bound to give the wrong impression.” He turned to Verdeen. “Choose your weapon.” Nomok stepped back. “This should be good.” Verdeen shook her head. “You know this won’t be a fair fight.” Aryk’s eyes glinted at her. “I’ll try to go easy on you.”
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“Warm up first,” she advised, rolling her head and shoulders to loosen her neck. She reached for the sky, stretching her arms up, then out, forward, then back. She bent over to touch her toes, then bent over backward. Her spine cracked as she did a slow walkover, then eased down into a split. Felt awkward in rumpled furs but wasn’t warm enough to do without. Hampered her movements a bit as she stretched and moved. She was aware of Aryk doing a similar routine aside her, but concentrated on her own body. Her pulse. Her breath. She drew her broadsword, held it up in both hands as she saluted him as she would her opponent in the academy salle. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, felt her heart beat, the pommel warm in her hands. The sword was but an extension of her arms. The world shrank down into a dim awareness where everything was more felt than seen. Her eyes could deceive her. She’d be better off using her other senses. Aryk drew his two swords and crossed them, one high, one low. They faced off as a growing crowd gathered about them in a large, loose circle, Erlynda in the front row. Verdeen should have figured they’d draw a crowd, people curious to see her unfamiliar fighting style. She tuned them out. Naught existed but the opponent afore her. Aryk circled slowly, his blades flashing as he began swinging them in two counter-arcs. “Ignore the hands.” She heard Dara’s instructions from the past. “Watch the eyes. The hands can deceive you. The eyes will mirror the thought. Where, when the strike comes.” His lower blade struck first, a single thrust she brushed aside. She continued the motion in a sweeping upward arc to parry the thrust of the other, higher blade. Slow, methodical, testing. Strike. Block. Advance. Swing. Almost a dance with their gazes locked. His eyes narrowed. He struck with a dizzying flurry of blades. She dropped to the ground, swung her sword beneath his to whack him in the back of his thigh with the flat of her blade. He went down, rolling back onto his feet afore she could blink. Verdeen sprang to her feet, shaking off a numbing tingle at the back of her own thigh. Now she attacked, weaving her sword in a figure-eight pattern, circling him. He didn’t leave her an opening, knocked her blade aside. Sparks flew as blade slid along blade. She had the longer reach, but he used both blades to good effect, countering her with speed and coordination. She matched him blow for blow, almost as if she followed his intent. ’Twas uncanny, that. She couldn’t seem to find an opening. He parried every strike. Speeding things up beyond human limits would be cheating—this was a warm-up, a practice drill. But she’d not expected to be matched by a mere human. Aryk caught her with the flat of one blade, a hammer blow against her wrist that numbed and made her lose her grip. Her sword dropped to the ground. There were cheers and groans from their audience. She bent over to retrieve her sword. Her cheeks burned as she shook her hand, pumping her fingers trying to get the feeling back. “Tisht.” She straightened to find Aryk staring at his own hand. “What’s wrong?”
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He strode over to her, anger smoldering in his eyes. “What did you do?” he demanded in a low tone for her ears only. “What magic is this?” “What are you talking about?” Verdeen sheathed her broadsword and returned to rubbing her wrist. “I felt that. When I struck you, my whole hand went numb.” “Nay, I did naught. ’Tis impossible…” Her voice trailed off as she recalled that momentary pain in her thigh from her blow to his. What in the— “I ken what I felt. How did you do that?” “Nay,” she whispered, horror and disbelief closing her throat ’til she could barely get a sound out. ’Twas impossible… “’Tis absolutely possible,” Loren stated in her mind. “We are not lifemates. There’s no way this can happen. He’s human.” “Dara and Maleta and Pryseis would like me to remind you that lifemates are not an exclusively elven concept.” Loren’s voice was calm and dry. “You know what he knows, feel what he feels. ’Tis the same for him. I suspected such from the first. First the attraction, the drawing. Then the consummation, and then the binding.” “But how am I to be your Right Hand now?” Despair rose. Surely she held the record for the shortest commission in elven history. “I can think of no greater aid you can give me than to bring Isadorikja into the fold. But this is more spiritual than state. This was preordained by the Lady Herself, and we can do none other than heed Her wisdom. You need to talk to Aryk now. As upsetting as you find this, knowing the truth, imagine how he feels in blind ignorance.” She didn’t have to imagine it. Indignation and suspicion crawled over her skin like an entire nest of silk-spiders. Radiating from him. Aryk. She fought down a wave of nausea, of trepidation. There was no way short of death to undo this. There was no unbinding. She spared the Lady a single mean thought afore facing her—stars—lifemate. “We need to talk. Alone. Now.” He sheathed his swords. “All right. Everyone go about your duties. Show’s over.” “Your tent or mine?” “Mine.” He stalked off toward the command row. She followed in his wake. Even now, watching that bold stride did funny things to her stomach. She’d hoped ’twas just a life-debt bond—the flush of heat she felt whenever she so much as thought of him said otherwise. Mayhaps she could play down the mate part for now. The bond would be useful in the coming conflict. He turned on her the moment the tent flap dropped behind them. “Speak.”
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Verdeen bristled. “Speak? Listen, you Nomok-impersonator, I’m not a dog to speak on command. If one more person orders me to speak or not to speak, I’m going to let him have it.” Aryk’s eyes crinkled. “Disrespecting your daq, woman?” “Respect’s earned, not entitled. You said so yourself.” “True. Respect’s based on honesty.” He pulled his gloves off as he closed the distance betwixt them ’til his face was a handspan from hers. “Earn my respect now and tell me the truth. No hedging. I will ken if you lie.” She searched his gaze and stiffened against the compulsion to melt against him. This attraction was most inconvenient. Did the Lady care naught for people’s personal hopes and dreams, that She interfered and rearranged futures? Aryk shouldn’t be held to elven standards—he’d his own life to live, with Erlynda and Dagmar and who knew how many others. Lifemates didn’t share. As much as she liked Erlynda, if she ever found her in bed with Aryk, Verdeen knew she’d pretty much be in a killing mood. “You say naught. I never felt this physical echo ’til this morning, but I’ve had an awareness of you, when you weren’t in my line of sight, for weeks now. You ken why. I see it in your eyes. Now explain.” Verdeen bit her lip. “Among my people are two types of special bonds. One is a life-debt vow. When one saves the life of another, they can choose to bond themselves together ’til that debt of blood is repaid.” “And the other?” Aryk’s gaze was keen and steady. “The other”—Verdeen swallowed hard—“is a sacred, goddess-blessed bond that requires neither forethought nor consent. Every person is born one-half of a whole. There is someone else who completes them. Together they make a single entity. Body, heart, mind and spirit. When elf to elf, ’tis simple process of recognition, as ’tis engrained in us since childhood.” “And when ’tis not an exclusively elven binding?” Aryk’s voice dropped to a low threatening growl, much like Fiske when he’d faced the snow cat. “Dara and Loren. Maleta and Cianan. There were complications. But the bond held.” “And what”—Aryk’s hazel eyes blazed golden with wrath—“gives you elves the right to commandeer another’s life without so much as a by-your-leave? What of a person’s free will and choice?” That low, deadly voice she’d come to dread. But her own temper flared. He thought she’d engineered the whole thing? “You’re not listening. The people have naught to do with it. There is no choosing. There is but discovering. Don’t you think I’d plans and hopes and dreams of my own? I knew naught of you ’til you showed up at the party.” “I asked you at the inn, ‘How will you ken this mate when you meet him?’ and you replied, ‘Cianan says he knew from first glance Maleta was meant to be his.’ Yet you said naught about us. You and me.” “I never anticipated my mate might not be elven. The chances were beyond measure. You forget I haven’t had a lot of experience with elven males, let alone human ones.”
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His eyes narrowed as he curled a hand around her throat. “It took a carefully orchestrated series of circ*mstance to bring us together. ’Twasn’t mere chance.” “In hindsight, nay, ’twas not.” Verdeen swallowed hard. He looked furious enough to choke her, though he never raised his voice. “Had I been thinking clearly, I’d have suspected my own lack of control around you. I feared you, tried to avoid you but couldn’t stay away. Tell me ’twasn’t the same for you. You tried to warn me off.” “Did Loren ken the truth?” “Aye. He used to be Lady’s Champion, a paladin for the Lady of Light. A kind of warrior-priest as well as a born empath. Believe me, naught gets by him.” “He set us up.” ’Twas murder in Aryk’s eyes. “Manipulated this entire series of events.” “Nay.” Verdeen couldn’t let Loren take the blame for this. “He but placed us together to sort our own way through this.” She shivered at the fury on Aryk’s face. “Stovak nos briel.” He snorted. “Destiny awaits. How like a woman to use a man’s words against him. Staying together because we choose to is one thing. Staying together because of some inescapable compulsion is altogether different.” Tears burned. She was as trapped as he was. How could the Lady ever think this was going to work? She and Aryk were too different. “Don’t you dare cry.” “Stop telling me what to do.” “Tisht.” “And you can stop cursing at me too.” Aryk growled and turned away, raking a hand through his hair. “You burden me with this on the eve of the bloodiest battle I’ll ever see, Creataq willing. Your timing is deplorable.” Her timing? Verdeen had no idea why the Lady chose to reveal this now. “My mission hasn’t changed. Unite Isadorikja under your sole rule and become a part of the world community. I’ve guarded and guided you this far. I’ll see it through to the end.” “And then what?” She shoved the pain aside. A pain reminiscent of her parents’ utter rejection of her. She’d dealt with that then; she could deal with this now. “’Tis up to you. You’re right. You had no choice in the matter. ’Tis not reasonable to hold you to a foreign bond. When this is over, I can always return home.” He froze, his face inscrutable as he turned to her. “Why have I the feeling ’tis not as simple as that?” “Because you’re not the trusting sort.” She willed her face into blankness. “We should discuss how to use this connection to our advantage in the coming battle.” “We haven’t practiced orchestrated fighting.” “Well, that’s something we can remedy. Close your eyes.”
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“Why?” She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll go first.” She stripped down to her tunic and breeches, tossing her furs in the far corner. She drew her long-knife and a dagger, and closed her eyes. “You can blindfold me if you wish, if you don’t trust me to keep them closed.” “What are you doing?” “Choose your weapon and attack me.” “Are you mad?” “Nay. This bond tells me where you are and you where I am. Should be a simple matter to block you and vice versa.” She heard the rustle of furs as he too stripped down for combat, and heard the long scraping sound as metal slid from scabbard. Sword. Longer reach. She heard his heartbeat, heard him breathing, felt the warmth of his body circle around her. She swallowed hard, clearing her mind of her trepidation. Follow the bond, trust in the bond. She floated in a net of awareness, tuned to him. Aryk. He stood to her left, sword outstretched in his right hand, unsure of striking a blind woman. She turned and struck first, a ringing blow across his blade. Aryk leapt back, circling behind her. He struck out with the flat of his blade, intending a strike across her backside. She whirled and parried. “I’m a bit old for a spanking, don’t you think?” “Don’t tempt me, wench.” She shivered at the heated growl in his voice, blocked his next strike at her hip, slashed out at him with her dagger. He leapt aside, moving to sweep her legs out from under her. She went down but grabbed his wrist to bring him with her. He vaulted clear and rolled to his feet, swinging to knock her knife from her hand. She pulled up so their blades collided anew, using that momentary distraction to spring to her feet. She lowered her blades and opened her eyes. “How did you do that?” “’Tis easier to show you than explain. Now ’tis your turn. Close your eyes.” He growled. “Close. Your. Eyes.” She waited him out. He could excuse away her abilities as elven witchery. But were he to thwart her, ’twould be much less easy to explain. “You wonder if ’tis elven magic. Close your eyes, and see where human magic gets you.” He closed his eyes. “Now, let your mind go blank. Let go of your feelings. Just breathe, be. Feel the sword in your hand. Feel your heart beat. Feel your breath…in…out…” Verdeen waited for Aryk to find the stillness. “Now, reach for me with your mind. My voice…my scent…my breath…my heartbeat…in time with yours.” She fell silent, and then thought-sent. “A blanket of us, of you and me.”
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She circled around him like a snow cat on silent paws. Stalking, waiting. He co*cked his head, focusing on the new awareness. Like peripheral vision, more felt than seen. “Feel me. Sense where I am, right behind you. Feel the prickles on the back of your neck, warning you. Now, block.” She swung her long-knife, intent on a tap below his left hip. He whirled, knocking the blow away, continuing the arc in a half-circle that landed a flat strike to her shoulder. She spun and did a slow thrust toward his belly. He parried that and leapt aside, spinning to tap the side of her knee. She knocked that aside, jumping over his blade to land clear on his other side. He whirled to face her, and she lowered herself in a crabbed stance. His blade swung over her head; he surprised her by tapping her on the shoulder. She rolled into him, bringing him down. He caught her on her belly with his feet and threw her clear. They both rolled to their feet. Aryk opened his eyes. “How is that even possible?” “Two halves of a whole. I really don’t know the how of it. But if we can sense each other on the battlefield, use each other’s countermoves to advantage.” “Mayhaps. But we’ve not practiced orchestrated fighting.” “The biggest part of it is the clearing of the mind. Emotion can block it.” He frowned. “Lia.” “Aye.” She hesitated. “Aryk, I have to know. How susceptible are you to that?” He snorted. “As much as the next man. I hate Beloq for what he’s brought me to. I hate looking over my troops wondering how many I lead to their deaths. Erlynda’s not healed from the last raid, yet here she is again. How do I face Birgit with her mother’s blood on my hands?” She tried not to let that hit show. “You hold to your resolution, that these deaths not be in vain, that this is the last battle you see. I swear I will stand by your side and have your back when Beloq comes. You will not face Beloq alone.” “And then what?” His eyes searched hers. Verdeen felt exhausted. “Then we deal with the rest. One thing at a time. Beloq first.”
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Chapter Seventeen
The booming sound of drums echoed across the rough, rocky landscape, preceding the stomp of hundreds of booted feet marching down from the north. Through the pass of death, as Verdeen had grimly dubbed it. She glanced back at their own force, at the tense and determined faces of those backing Aryk. Nomok, Valkyn, Erlynda and the others. Hundreds. Widowmaker. Blood River. White Plains. Spread out across the rock-strewn, snow-patched muddy field in orderly rows, weapons ready. Spears, axes, swords and shields. Boiled leather armor for the most part, the occasional chain-mail shirt or helm. Faces too young, too old. Scarred. Scared. But resolute. All knew this was the day. Either they began a new future or destroyed it forever. “He’s coming,” she sent to Loren. “This is it.” “Stay close to Aryk. The future dies with him.” Verdeen snorted. No pressure there. She cast a glance at Erlynda, who nodded at her. She’d been ordered by Valkyn to stay out of this one but had refused. Verdeen thought of Birgit. That spirited young girl stood a fair chance of being orphaned this day. She and how many others, on both sides? Verdeen wanted to keep Erlynda close, to protect the one friend she’d made. But she was sworn to Aryk, bonded to Aryk, and there was no choice. Losing him would tear her in two forever. There was no coming back from the death of a lifemate. King Cedric had shown her that. Verdeen eyed Valkyn and Vygnal. Beware of the lia. Don’t trust them to watch Aryk’s back. Naught like guarding someone not just from the enemy but from his own troops. Valkyn was Erlynda’s problem; she’d have to manage her hotheaded brother. Verdeen switched her attention to Nomok. His ambition was not to be underestimated. She closed her eyes, felt her heartbeat echo the sound of those approaching drums. Bel-oq…Bel-oq… She shivered. Aryk, in contrast, was preternaturally calm. His eyes narrowed as he studied the pass through which Beloq’s forces would pour, his face an expressionless mask. He’d cut his teeth on fighting, had known for seasons ’twould come to this. His attitude reflected just another battle, just another obstacle, just another foe. He was steady enough for the both of them. The shadow of Beloq’s front lines came into view. A rumble rippled through Aryk’s force. “Hold.” He raised a fist over his head. “We hold.”
Riever’s Heart
Verdeen squinted as she notched an arrow in her bow. Not knowing what Beloq looked like was no small thing. He’d be cloaked in daq crimson, like Aryk and Nomok. She judged the distance, guessed at the wind. She’d done this thousands of times. Never afore at a living target. The bearded brute on the right flank…just a few more strides…closer… There. She loosed. The arrow slashed through the air and buried itself right beneath the man’s collarbone. He dropped. “Nice,” Aryk commented. “You ever miss?” “Nay.” She loosed another. “Cianan taught me well. And this quiver never runs out.” “’Til they get too close.” “I can always shoot the ones in the back.” She’d loosed two more arrows afore her next breath. What she couldn’t duplicate was Cianan’s ability to shoot two arrows at once. From a distance, the men didn’t seem quite real as they dropped. A rage-tinged howl came from the pass where Beloq’s forces clustered together, working their way over the rough ground. They’d not faced archers in a while. With any luck, they’d slow down, approach with caution. Beloq’s forces charged like a herd of maddened bulls and closed fast. Nomok brought up his first line of spears. Would they brace or throw? They threw. Nomok’s powerful hurl knocked his target back through the two men behind him. Their spears decimated Beloq’s front line, but they poured from the pass anyway…and crossed the invisible border line that made this an official invasion. Survivors pulled spears from their fallen comrades, gaining another weapon to use against Aryk’s force. “Shields,” Aryk yelled. “Close ranks.” Verdeen loosed three more arrows, then dropped back aside Aryk as Nomok’s second line released another volley of spears. Everyone closed shields into a phalanx, an overlapping wall three rows deep and bristling with spears. They braced for impact. Verdeen unstrung her bow and shouldered it, swapping it for her figure-eight shield and short sword. Through the concave opening, she saw a big man with a fierce red-gold beard and a crimson daq cloak order the invaders to a halt. The long-awaited Beloq. They formed ranks, shields held afore them, spears pointed to the sky. Row after endless row, all the way back to the border. She swallowed hard as Beloq threw back his head and laughed. As a single entity, Beloq’s forces slammed their spears against their shields, a huge booming sound rolling out across the valley. Again…and again…in time with the drums, with their boot falls. A sound meant to intimidate, to demoralize. There was no shouting, no voice at all. Just that incessant, never-ending crash of sound. “Cover,” Aryk hollered above Beloq’s noise. “Advance.” The second row raised their shields for overhead cover, and Aryk’s entire front line advanced. Spears at the ready, above each overlapping union of shield. An impenetrable tortoise, advancing on the enemy,
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providing a spearhead for Aryk’s forces and a barrier behind which those without shields were offered some protection from the enemy. Like Aryk’s forces, Beloq’s looked to have a hodgepodge of armor and weapons. Verdeen’s gaze swept the advancing invaders, picking out the gaps, the weaknesses. Without having uniform armament, there were several. She feared the same held true for Aryk’s and Nomok’s forces, however. What amazed her was the discipline on both sides. These people had grown up around combat. They faced the opposing force without visible fear, their hands steady. As she’d thought, with Halzyaq waiting on the other side, they didn’t fear death. Aryk’s gaze was on the bullish enemy leader. She felt his focus, the narrowing of his vision. She’d have to watch his sides and flanks, as he focused on one thing and one thing only—take out Beloq and end this. She didn’t like the speculation in Nomok’s eyes. “Break off,” Aryk called. The tortoise shell separated into single units, which wasted no time in hammering into the northern forces. Grunts and growls on both sides turned to screams as weapons found flesh. Vygnal and Valkyn disappeared into the midst of the enemy, Erlynda cursing in their wake. Nomok grabbed an axe off a fallen northerner and cut down two more with one blow. ’Twas all she’d time to observe as she was pressed on all sides and focused on protecting Aryk’s blind spot. Aryk leapt up to plunge his sword down through a northerner’s neck and shoulder, dropping the man at his feet afore they touched ground. Aryk stepped over him to lay into the next opponent. A giant, scarred man with one eye grinned at her as his sword hammered against her shield. Verdeen staggered, bracing one foot behind her. She threw him clear and struck out with her own sword. He parried it, thrusting toward her belly. She spun so his sword slid along the inside of her shield. The moment his arm passed the concave dip, she tilted her sword and spun, lifting his arm, trapping and pinning him by his elbow. His breastplate lifted, giving her a clear target. She took it, running him through and dropping him to the ground. The ground became slippery with blood. It made for treacherous going. The din was incredible. The clash of weapons, shouts, screams. She tuned it out as she focused on the practiced motions of combat— block, shove with the shield, parry, thrust, swing. Like the tournament, but this was deadly earnest. Don’t look at the faces. Staying on her feet became more difficult as she tripped over bodies and slid through mud and— She didn’t want to look down and identify what it was. Eww.
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From the corner of her eye, she saw Aryk swing, a flash of metal, saw a bearded head—a head—fly through the air. A warm fountain of blood sprayed across her face, blinding her. She gagged on a coppery salt taste, spit and sputtered as she pawed at her stinging eyes to clear them. “Down,” Aryk ordered. Verdeen dropped and heard a grunt as Aryk’s sword connected with someone she’d not seen. A heavy body fell on her. She screamed, shoving it off her as she rolled to her feet. Dracken rue, she was supposed to protect him. They’d advanced deep into the enemy force. Fighting was all around them—the clash of weapons, shouts and screams. The enemy soldiers got younger and younger. As Aryk had, Beloq had led with his most experienced warriors. But the all-encompassing battle spared no one. Halzyaq was indeed having His day. Her shield grew heavy. Her ears buzzed, arm and leg muscles burned. Her lungs burned. Drying blood tightened her skin as it gelled and solidified. She’d no idea how much time passed in this twilight hell, on its stinking field of death. The stench of fear and sweat, of blood and excrement. The rawness of sheer terror and death’s plunge into darkness. The horror. Where was Beloq? With but three crimson daq cloaks on the field, spotting any of them should have been simple. Except for the chaos and the confusion—and the blood. The battle flowed one direction, then the next, but inexorably it crept back northward. One fallen body at a time. She expected the youths to break and run. Not a single one did. Was Halzyaq’s hall such a wonder—or did they fear the wrath of Beloq so much? Aside her, Aryk’s face was grim, focused, determined. “There.” His voice was pitched to carry above the battle-noise. He pointed with his gore-coated sword. Beloq fought not ten horse-strides away. “Promise me something.” “What?” She shoved back a youth who had no business being on a battlefield. He growled like a feral cat and charged. Exasperated, sick to death of death, she swung her sword and tapped him on the side of his head. Not hard enough to kill him, just knock him unconscious. He dropped at her feet. “Promise me first.” She wasn’t going to like this. “I hope”—Aryk indicated Verdeen’s fallen opponent—“he’ll wake up to a new order.” His gaze captured hers. “I challenge Beloq, here and now. Daq to daq. To the death. It ends here.” “Nay—” “You will not interfere. No matter what happens.” Her heart froze. “’Tis the way we do things. ’Tis what they’ll expect. ’Tis what they’ll respect.” His eyes blazed. Taking a deep breath, he held up his medallions. “Challenge.”
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“Dracken rue.” Verdeen fought the panic. What was he doing? “Don’t do this.” “Daq Beloq of Black Lake, I challenge you to single combat. Daq to daq, as is our custom and is my right.” Around them, everyone froze—and backed away. Nay nay nay. The combatants parted ’til a clear path led from Beloq to Aryk. Expectation, anticipation crackled in the air. Word spread like a brush fire. Men on both sides lowered their weapons and crowded in, jostling for the best vantage point. Verdeen saw the looks of relief on more than one young face. Youths staggered, bent over to catch their breath. The one at her feet didn’t stir. Yet. Nomok shoved his way to the forefront. Everyone gave way, whether to his daq cloak, his size or his smell. She hated people who took what they wanted just because they could. “You flaunt the crimson of a daq.” Beloq strode closer down the manmade corridor. “Give me your name, challenger.” Verdeen gulped at the gore-splattered giant of a riever stomping through the reddened mud toward them. Head like a boulder resting on shoulders as wide as a house. Legs like tree trunks. She shuddered at the malice on his broad, ruddy face. Standing there awaiting this monster, Aryk looked almost…small. Aryk straightened until she swore she heard his spine crack. “I’m Daq Aryk, son of Egil, sire of Joro, born Widowmaker, bearer of Blood River as well.” Nomok sidled up next to her and licked his lips like a scavenger impatiently awaiting the predators to finish a fresh kill. Ugh. Verdeen shuddered at the eager avarice on his face. Watch Nomok, watch Nomok. Belok coughed. “Well, I ken what name to carve on my staff. You offer challenge. As receiver of the challenge, the choice of weapons lies with me.” “It does.” Aryk nodded. “Choose, then.” “Single knife each. Native blades. No shields.” Beloq’s eyes glittered. “Agreed.” Aryk dropped his shield, his sword and every other weapon he had left. He stripped down to breeches and cloak and pulled one of the Creataq’s Blood dirks free, watched as Beloq did the same. The Isadorikjan armies made a large circle around the two combatants. Clothing must fall into the “shield” category. A way to prevent hidden weapons, mayhaps? Heart in her throat, Verdeen stood guard over Aryk’s weapons, where she could keep one eye on the fight…and one on Nomok. Something told her not to trust him. Somehow, he was just waiting for a chance to strike. One daq to rule them all. Nomok hoped ’twould be Nomok alone standing in the end. Where were Valkyn and Erlynda? Verdeen didn’t see them but spared naught more than a passing glance about. She hated Aryk’s “don’t interfere” order. ’Twas where the elven observer role came into
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being, and she hated it. ’Twasn’t a political changeup of a foreign country. Her lifemate fought to the death, and she’d been ordered to stand aside and watch. Aryk was capable. Either she believed in him or she didn’t. If he lost, Beloq and Nomok were dead. She’d take their medallions and will this entire misbegotten iceberg to Erlynda. But speed and agility beat size and strength in a knife fight. “Do not watch Nomok yet,” Loren whispered. “Watch Beloq. Use the bond.” They’d just acknowledged the existence of the bond. ’Twas no strength there yet. Was there? “Scan. Focus on Beloq. You can sense intentions. You lead. Aryk can follow.” She let go of her focus, her worries. Like a mist enveloping the combat circle. Aryk read as a cool, noble blue, with a core of healing green containing an angry red. That must be the much-discussed lia. As Aryk had said, ’twas always a part of him but didn’t rule him. Beloq, in contrast, blazed with red and yellow, consumed with anger and aggression, pride and ambition. Death pulsed from him, the deaths of dozens, scores, mayhaps a hundred. He cared naught for any of them. Aryk would be just one more. “You see the difference? A leader who cares naught for his followers cannot win. He shall destroy these people.” Verdeen gagged as she brushed against Beloq. There was no subtlety to the man. A wounded bear, a raging bull. Overt attack, frontal, thrust and lunge. Aryk circled like a wolf, silent, wary and watchful. Looking for weaknesses. Duck and weave. Evade. Wait for Beloq to commit himself, to overextend, and then strike afore the bigger man could pull back. Speed afore power. Brains over brawn. Her sensory net enveloped Beloq, the lightest of mists. Just enough to feel where his focus aimed, which muscles tensed. She feared a more overt reading would throw Aryk off. The slightest of touches, like intuition. One death or hundreds. Aryk. ’Twasn’t thought-sent, but the intention was there. She’d be Lady-damned afore she let that brute kill the best thing this country had going for it, the finest man she’d ever met. “Stay.” Aryk frowned at her; she heard his command in her head. Without even looking at her. This bond was a bit intimidating. She cleared her mind afore she could distract him. He needed to focus on Beloq, not her. Nomok moved in, close to her. Her skin crawled as he neared. She’d deal with him soon enough. Beloq lunged, arm sweeping in a low arc. Men cheered. Women gasped. Neither combatant heard, each focused on slaying the other. Verdeen closed her eyes, felt for Beloq. He circled, trying to drive Aryk back against a large stone on the ground. If he stumbled, if he fell—
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Aryk countered by attacking, a flurry of slashes, spinning into a kick to Beloq’s head that would have felled a smaller opponent. Beloq staggered back, stunned but not witless. Beloq swept his arm in a wide arc, looking to gut Aryk. Aryk hopped back. Not quite in time. Beloq’s blade scored the first stripe of red, not deep enough to do lasting damage. Verdeen gasped and clutched her stomach, struggling to maintain the cool shroud of an observer. Time to end this. Aryk’s eyes narrowed, and he clenched his jaw on a curse. He kicked out with a hammering blow to the side of Beloq’s knee. Verdeen flinched at the audible crunch, as the leg folded beneath the rival daq’s weight. Beloq roared his defiance, a sound echoed by hundreds, as predator became prey. He balanced on his one good leg, still armed, still dangerous. Nomok sidled closer as he eyed the combatants, weighed his chances against two wounded daqs. Precisely what she’d feared. Verdeen slid her ironwood staff from its sheath and braced to defend Aryk. Aryk shook his head and clenched his jaw, hard enough that she could see the blood throbbing in his temple. He pointed his gory knife at Beloq. “You’ve brought our people to the brink of utter destruction. You aren’t fit to rule. I take your mantle of leadership upon myself.” With a speed Verdeen had never thought to credit a human, Aryk struck to finish it once and for all. Grabbing Beloq’s knife from him, Aryk bore him to the ground. One left-handed thrust through the right eye, one right-handed thrust through Beloq’s heart. Verdeen watched, horrified, fighting the urge to gag as Aryk carved out Beloq’s eyes and heart and tossed them aside. “As you were blind and heartless in life, so will you forever be on the other side.” He spat on Beloq’s body and ripped Beloq’s medallions from his neck, placing them around his own. As he started to rise and turn, Nomok made his move, drawing his sword and lunging to thrust it in Aryk’s back. “Halt.” Verdeen spun to catch the White Plains daq in the midsection with her staff, throwing him clear of her mate. “You coward, to attack a wounded man from behind without declaring challenge.” He whipped to his feet, gasping for air. “You aren’t fit to breathe the same air as Aryk.” She spat at his feet. Nomok roared at the double insult. “Remember your place, woman.” Rage burned. “’Tis betwixt him and you, always and ever. For Lyra and all the other Blood River and White Plains women you’ve violated and desecrated, I hold you accountable.” “Nay.” Aryk strode forward. “Stand down, Nomok.” Nomok ignored his fellow daq. “Woman, I think I’ll enjoy teaching you your place.” “Verdeen, step back,” Aryk ordered. “I don’t think so.” She whirled, knocking Nomok’s sword free and spinning to smash the side of his head with the staff. He collapsed dead at her feet.
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“Tisht.” Aryk stook frozen. “What have you done?” There was utter silence. As stunned as people were with Beloq’s end, they couldn’t quite grasp the death of Nomok, a daq, at the hands of a woman. Verdeen gasped as her stomach roiled. She’d meant to protect Aryk. She’d not—quite—intended to kill Nomok. But the anger had built for weeks and got the better of her. ’Twas no going back. At least Aryk was safe. The last daq standing. Order at last. “Take the medallion.” What? Verdeen turned to see Erlynda, supporting a grey-faced Valkyn, standing afore her. Valkyn’s right arm was draped over his sister’s shoulders, his other hanging useless at his side. Dislocated shoulder, she realized with the small part of her brain still able to think. “You slew a daq in single combat,” Erlynda stated. “By law, his rule becomes yours. Take up the medallion and mantle of White Plains.” Valkyn’s laughter was hollow. “I tried to warn him.” Verdeen’s stomach heaved anew. Oh stars, what had she done? A murmur rippled through the crowd. No one knew what to do with this least expected of scenarios. Erlynda huffed as she squirmed free of her brother. “Stay,” she ordered, ignoring his growl of protest at the disrespect. She moved to stand afore Verdeen, her ice-blue eyes full of irony and a glint of humor. “You have to take the medallion and cloak, and turn and face Aryk, daq to daq-kyra.” Erlynda stumbled at the improvisation, and Verdeen realized they had no word or protocol for what had transpired. “I like that. Daq plus kyra equals daqira. That works.” She was no good at improvisation, either. Numb, Verdeen pulled the White Plains medallion from Nomok’s neck, swaying as Erlynda helped wrap her in the too-big crimson cloak. She looked up, and Aryk stood afore her. Her eyes locked on the five medallions around his neck, Beloq’s bloody—and none too clean—cloak binding his wound. He reached out a calloused, blood-smeared hand to cup her chin and raise her face until her gaze met his. She trembled at his touch, amazed when those hazel eyes warmed and crinkled in the corners as he smiled. “My plan was to unite the clans under a single rule. If you don’t challenge me, they expect me to challenge you.” She gulped. That would be a supreme exercise in futility. Thanks to the bond, what happened to one happened to the other. “But I tire of doing the expected.” He winked at her and turned to the crowd. “I once proposed an alliance with White Plains. I do so again.” Afore she could fathom that, he turned back to her, took her hands and got down on one knee. “So kyra, Daq Verdeen of White Plains, what say you? Do you agree to an alliance with me? Do we unite Isadorikja into a single whole?” “I…” She gulped as words failed her.
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“Marry me. Let’s unite this land and join the rest of the world in peace and fellowship.” “I…” A political alliance, an arranged marriage of lands and people—her worst fear come true. Loren would agree to it too. The benefits outweighed the problems. But she wanted neither to be bartered with nor for. “I thought you hated the idea of the bond?” He must have seen the despair in her eyes or felt the crushing weight that made her every breath a struggle. He rose, and afore everyone, pulled her into his arms. “I hate the idea of life without you even more. Marry me. I love you. Don’t make me live without you. The sun would go out my life forever.” “Poet—” All else was lost as his lips captured hers in a hot, hungry kiss. Verdeen curled her arms around his neck and went up in flames as he plundered her mouth. The crowd, the world disappeared as she surrendered to her mate. She moaned as his tongue stroked hers, the zing of awareness weakening her knees ’til his arms as much held her up as to him. Cheers registered, along with Erlynda’s dry comment: “Rather hard for her to give you an answer, Aryk, with your tongue down her throat.” Verdeen’s face burned as she broke off the kiss, breathless and dazed. She gasped for air as Aryk’s gaze captured and held hers. “Don’t stay because you think you have to. Stay because you want to,” he whispered. “What say you? Show me how to lead them in peace. Bear our children. Let’s watch them grow up together. Share my bed and my life ’til my last breath.” His gaze was steady, unafraid. He knew what he faced—life with an immortal. Stars, could she do it? Watch him grow old, wither and die? ’Twas overwhelming. “I ken what you’d leave behind. I’ve naught to offer but my body, heart and soul, but I swear I will love you ’til my last breath, do you stay or go.” Someone sniffled—Erlynda, if Valkyn’s huffed sound of disgust was any indication. Verdeen bit her lip. Leave the comfort of Poshnari-Unai, her family and friends, for this wilderness? Face the hardships and price of mortality? But to wake up every morning in the arms of her lifemate… “Here is your chance to make history.” Tempting. “Verdeen te Seppala, do you renounce all other ties, swearing to serve only me?” She couldn’t break that vow. “I can think of no greater aid you can give me than to bring Isadorikja into the fold.” How could she fulfill both edicts? Aryk’s gaze held hers as she struggled. Hungry. Hopeful. “I meant what I said,” Loren reassured her now in her mind. “You would still be my Right Hand do you stay. This is not the end of the journey. This is but the beginning.”
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“Adventure. Danger. Glory. All in the name of the king. The bards shall swoon over the possibilities.” “I love you,” Aryk repeated. “No matter what, I always will.” Verdeen smiled through her tears. She groaned. Why did that always happen? The crowd ceased to exist. Loren faded into the background. Aryk held her as he had that first day they’d met. Except now he was bloody and bleeding. A warrior who fought for peace. Isadorikja had never seen the like—unification was but the first step. If Nomok’s men were indication, she and Aryk had their work cut out for them. There was so much to do… She trembled with the enormity. Always head ruled heart. Except when it came to him. Without him, she would never be whole. Warrior or woman? Only with Aryk could she be both. Time for heart to rule head. She nodded. “Aye. I’ll stay as long as you want me. If you’re sure?” His eyes blazed. “I’m not sure of much, but I am sure of this. Of us. Marry me, daqira.” “I love you,” she whispered. “Aye, I’ll—” The rest was lost as his lips captured hers. She clung to him as their clans cheered around them. Aryk broke off the kiss to whisper, “Sunrise is in six days. What do you think? New dawn, new day, new era? Can you think of a more auspicious beginning?” She gasped, laughing. “You want to plan a royal wedding in six days?” “Heyla.” He cupped her face in his hand. His eyes glowed. “There’s naught we can’t do, so long as we do it together.” “Together.” It sounded like a vow unto itself, and as she stared into Aryk’s eyes, it felt like one to Verdeen.
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About the Author
Renee Wildes grew up reading fantasy authors Terry Brooks and Mercedes Lackey and is a huge Joseph Campbell fan, so the minute she discovered romance novels it became inevitable that she would combine it all and write fantasy romance. Renee is a history buff, from medieval times back to ancient Greece, esp. Sparta. As a Navy brat and a cop’s kid, she gravitated to protector/guardian heroes and heroines. She’s had horses her whole life, so became the only vet tech in a family of nurses. It all comes together in her Guardians of Light series for Samhain Publishing—fantasy, action, romance, heroics and lots of critters!
Visit Renee At: Website: www.reneewildes.net Personal Blog: www.reneewildes1.wordpress.com Twitter: www.twitter.com/reneewildes (@ReneeWildes) Facebook: www.facebook.com/renee.wildes Amazon: www.amazon.com/-/e/B003ZMXWQE Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/author/show/2465877.Renee_Wildes MySpace: www.myspace.com/renee.wildes Yahoo Group: groups.yahoo.com/group/reneewildesromancefantastique/
Look for these titles by Renee Wildes
Now Available: Guardians of Light Duality Hedda’s Sword Lycan Tides Dust of Dreams
All her light—and all his love—may not be enough to hold the nightmares at bay…
Dust of Dreams © 2010 Renee Wildes Guardians of Light, Book 4 Mingling with other races is strictly forbidden, but dream faerie Pryseis has no choice. An innocent goblin child suffers dangerous nightmares, and it should be a simple task to cure him and return to her anxious sisters before the council knows she’s gone. Yet there’s a reason a creature of air and sunlight has no business underground. Now in chains, prisoner of an ungrateful goblin sorcerer, Pryseis despairs that anyone will save her. Her only comfort—the memory of a man she can only touch in her dreams. Benilo ta Myran, with the reluctant blessing of his elven king and queen, takes up a quest some would call mad, driven by the certain knowledge that the beautiful faerie who invades his dreams is in danger. He carries a terrible secret—war has broken his healing powers—yet he cannot leave her to face the darkness alone. The first touch of their flesh surpasses their most erotic dreams, but the nightmare has just begun. There’s the suffering child, and a sorcerer who won’t go down without a fight. And the clock is ticking down for Pryseis, who must return home—or fade away. Warning: Beware of wounded bunnies, hungry trolls, low ceilings, glowing mold and goblins bearing gifts. Most of all, beware beautiful faeries and hot elves appearing in your dreams. They may lead you astray…and steal your heart.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Dust of Dreams: Pryseis watched the goblins leave the encampment and gave up trying to discern their intended target. Benilo was right. She curled up next to him. They both needed rest. At least she wasn’t alone. He pulled her into his arms, and she ended up half-sprawled across his chest. She stiffened and pulled away. “I don’t want to hurt you.” “Does not hurt in the slightest,” he said. She felt no deception in his thoughts. And she felt better, surrounded by his warmth, his strength. His heart beat under her ear, slow and steady. She went boneless by slow degrees, matching him breath for breath. His scent curled around her, through her. That’s what had been absent afore, in her dream. He’d not felt real, for all they’d shared. Now there was solid warmth, hot male skin scented with sunlit ferns. She toyed with a lock of his hair—unexpected softness, a cascade of light. His calloused fingers caressed her back, and she shivered at the goose bumps that rose in their wake. Unbidden, her mind drifted back to the dream. Her breasts swelled and she flushed, embarrassed as her nipples tightened against him.
His fingers trailed over the curve of her backside. She tried to squirm away, but Benilo held her still. “Shh, easy, beauty,” he soothed, the brush of his mind in hers seduction itself. “Do not fear me. I would never hurt you.” “It wasn’t real,” she denied. “But it was, and this is. Look at me.” Pryseis was caught in the hypnotic blue power of his gaze. Blue as the mountain sky, hot as the living fires within the earth. Open desire there for her to read, to feel. She gasped, and his eyes darkened. She reached out to trace his lips with her fingers. He captured her hand in his, raising it so he could tease, not her palm, but the sensitive skin of her inner wrist. It caused an unexpected tingle in her breasts, and she whimpered as her nipples tightened further, an almost painful arousal. “This is crazy.” “The sweetest madness.” “Anyone could walk in.” “Then we shall have to be quiet.” Benilo rolled over so they lay side by side, raised himself up to nibble along the side of her neck. Her nails tightened on his shoulders when he found a sensitive spot, and he stroked her there with his tongue, suckling on her skin until she whimpered and wriggled closer. He curled a hand around her breast, circling her aching nipple with his thumb, and she gasped in his ear. He shuddered at the sound, and moved to capture her lips with his. Pryseis opened to him, taking him deep, savoring the dark, wild taste of him as her tongue tangled with his. Every stroke of his tongue heightened her craving, her need. This was naught like the dream. It was so much more real. She felt herself swelling, softening, kenned he caught the scent of her arousal when he slid his muscled thigh betwixt hers, drew her leg up over his hip. Benilo bent his head to her breast, taking a long pull, teasing her nipple with the rasp of his tongue. She bit her lip to silence the cry that rose. Sweet Mother, how he made her ache! “You make me burn, beauty.” He drew her hand down to his erection, pulsing hot and heavy against the fingers she curled around him. His mind was a swirl of hot air, boiling water, pure fire. A chaos of pure need pulled her in until she drowned in sensation. Desire and need. The light of his passion drew her, but instead of burning, she took it in, took him in. It was a magic she’d never kenned, a joining she’d never conceived of. Body and mind. Heart and soul. “Dracken rue, beauty, this is as real as it gets.” Benilo sounded desperate as he thrust into Pryseis’ wet, willing body. She held him close, in her heart, in her mind. He surged into her body, again and again, taking them both higher until barriers shattered as the Light swamped them both. “I bind myself to you. Whenever, whatever your need, I shall come to you. To you do I answer with body or blood. My life for yours. My soul to yours, ’til our last breath. Never again shall you be alone. You are mine, in this lifetime and the next. I shall ever be yours, for always. We are one.”
Pryseis shattered in a splendor of Light, and he took her mouth to silence her cry as she screamed in his mind and pulsed around him. His heart answered her back as he poured himself into her. Solid earth in his muscles, churning water in the trickle of sweat, the blood boiling in the fiery heat of passion, the air in their shared breath, his very life as he succumbed to passion. She took it all in and flew. The cold air of the mountaintops, the Mother’s very breath. The Light settled deep within their souls—sun, moon and stars. Her net shone bright. She felt rejuvenated, almost as if she’d drunk from the pool itself. And Benilo…he felt whole. Healed. Balanced. He gasped for breath. His eyes widened as he sensed the change in them both. “Lady of Light, what have I done?” “Umm…I think you healed us both.” She grinned. “Interesting technique, healer.” “It is more than that. Give it a moment.” He looked wild and a little desperate as he took her hand and placed it against his stomach. “What do you feel?” “Your skin under my hand.” She stroked her hand across his stomach, and she flinched as she struck a ticklish spot—on her own side. It was as if she felt her own touch. Her heart pounded in her ear—with his trepidation. “Wait…” He reached out to run his fingers through her hair, and she shuddered as the silken strands slid across her knuckles. “Stop it! What did you do?” Pryseis hissed, trying to keep her voice at a whisper. “Get out of my mind.” “I cannot.” His voice was grim. His face, grimmer still. “I found a way to heal us, aye. But the only way to do so was to open up to the elements—and each other. I found a way for you to take my energy—by binding us together. As life mates.” She felt him in her heart, in her blood. In her mind. The words of the vow came back to her, blessed by the Mother. Permanent. Irreversible. “I don’t believe this!” “It was not what I intended to do at all,” he defended himself. “I did not even intend to kiss you.” “Don’t you blame me for this!” “I do not, but I believe there was a higher power involved.” He glared at her. “Without the pool, you would have died, Pryseis. I remember that much of my lessons. Faeries do not survive without a direct infusion of elemental energy. I can give you that. As much as you need, as often as you need.” His conviction burned in her chest. His pure intentions. He hadn’t intended to bind them together, but it was the only way to do what they both needed doing. He’d needed healing as much as she had. And with the sharing, they were both stronger. She tried to recall what she kenned of elven life mates. They kenned what each other felt, thought. No secrets. No privacy. “No loneliness,” he whispered. “Total support. A passion that just grows hotter with time…and practice…with a partner who kens what you need almost afore you need it.”
She shivered at his words, at the way his gaze dropped to her breasts. She could almost feel his mouth on her, there… He groaned, and she felt her body—his body—tighten in response. “Careful, beauty.” “Well, you missed one. ’Tis feeling neglect-ed.” The last part of the word was all but a squeak as he captured her nipple betwixt his lips. She felt the pull of it betwixt her thighs. “So sweet…” She caught Benilo’s thought, the wonder of her silken skin sliding against his body. She felt her tightly puckered nipple on her own tongue and panicked at the momentary disorientation. “Easy, beauty.” Benilo was right there with her. “Do not focus on you, or me. Just go with the feeling, the sensations. It is us.” It was like the dream, but a hundredfold more intense. Wonder and awe, softness and hard strength, drowning in fiery need. She rained kisses down his stomach, no longer hesitating at the trail of flame that flickered across her own skin. He stroked betwixt her wet swollen folds, and she felt the hot cream coating her fingers. She ached to be buried in all that softness, feel all that hot, wet tightness squeezing around her. She took him in her hand, in her mouth, and the exquisite agony of her tongue circling the sensitive head of an organ she didn’t even have almost made her shatter then and there. “Do it.” His voice was rough, almost harsh, in her mind. He spun her about so she straddled his face. He buried his head betwixt her thighs, his tongue probing for the sensitive bud hidden in her folds. Embarrassment warred with excruciating arousal. “Do not hold back.” His need for the wet heat of her mouth, the intoxicating taste of her on his tongue, drove her to take him into her mouth, tracing the engorged vein that ran along the underside of his shaft. She moved on his mouth, rubbing against his tongue. “Mmph!” Pryseis jerked as he suckled that bud into a point of pure fire and she shattered over him. Relaxing her mouth, she took him deeper, down her throat. Benilo, too, was beyond words, at the wet heat of her tongue, stroking, pressing. She sucked him down, squeezed around him, and his body erupted. She started, gagged and then swallowed. The second shock of pleasure at that action all but knocked him senseless.
His love could damn her soul…
Far from Heaven © 2011 Cherrie Lynn Ashemnon’s demonic hunger for Madeleine Dean’s pure, vibrant soul has tormented him throughout every lifetime she’s lived on earth. Now, thanks to her desperate father, he has a blood-tight contract in hand. Soon, her soul will belong to him. All her life, Maddie has been haunted by strange occurrences, hallucinations and intense nightmares. As her ex-boyfriend walks away, she can almost hear the pieces of her life falling around her. And then she quite literally falls into the arms of a stranger who’s the first person to understand her troubled psyche. Ash meant to collect Maddie’s soul, not sweep her off her feet. Yet the moment they touch, the temptation to seduce her is more than he can resist. Despite the risk, he finds himself succumbing to her charms. Then Ash learns the reason it’s taken centuries for him to reach her: he’s not the only one with a claim on her soul. The forces of good and evil are in the midst of a tug of war—and Maddie’s the rope. Control wrested from his hands, Ash can only wait for her to make a choice that will either lead them to Heaven, or plunge them into Hell. Warning: This title contains obsession, soul possession, and hot carnal transgression. Oh, and a few scares for good measure. You can’t keep this bad demon down—though you’ll want to try.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Far from Heaven: He was out of his damned mind. It was the only explanation for why she still drew breath. At any moment, he could have reaped what was his, and yet something in her pleading blue eyes had stopped him cold in his tracks. She was miserable…well, yes, that was mostly his own doing, and no doubt simply side effects of his claim on her soul. He’d sensed it the moment he touched her, felt every iota of her torment swirl right through him. Glimpsed the pain her former lover had just caused. For that alone, he’d wanted to rip that one’s soul out. Unfortunately, the man wasn’t tainted enough, or the temptation might have been too much to bear. He’d remained homed in on her, fascinated with the play of emotions across her face, across her thoughts. They were clearer with physical contact, but even from a distance, he’d been able to catch traces of her anger and frustration. Well, he’d done his job, hadn’t he? She’d been sent back to earth time and again for her strength, her goodness and her compassion. He’d broken her down, taken all of that away from her from the time she was an infant. Now she was desperate. She was weak and afraid. He should have been rejoicing over his
success, laughing about stealing away and corrupting one of Heaven’s favorites. He might even climb the ranks over this one. If he’d get off his ass and take her already. Funny how he was contemplating greatness while he felt like some randy incubus whenever she looked at him with those eyes that were seeking answers for her predicament from somewhere, anywhere. Little did she know she’d found the only being who could give them to her. He watched from the shadows of the cavernous structure where her vehicle was parked. As she’d slid inside the car, her dress had slithered up one pale thigh, leaving almost her entire leg bared down to the dainty unshod foot. His mouth had watered. His co*ck had pulsed. It was doing so now, a pleasurable ache that was directly responsible for the idiotic decision to disable her car’s engine with a quick blast of his dark magic. To keep her here, to probe her mind and heart some more. To test the silvery threads of desire he’d felt within her roiling emotions, to touch her again. She’d been so soft, and it wasn’t often he felt that particular tactile pleasure. His world was hard and black and scorched, the most forsaken, desolate wasteland anyone could envision. It was home, but a few more brushes of that cool, silken skin and he might grow attached to the topside world. It was a risk he was willing to take. He approached the side of her boxy yellow car and peered inside. She’d crossed her arms over the steering wheel and was draped over them, her shoulders shuddering. Sobbing. Her hair cascaded over her back and arms, a heavy curtain of silk. She might tell him to leave her at this point. He might only frighten her. Nonetheless, he lifted one hand and tapped on the window. Her head jerked up and her eyes met his, widening slightly as their gazes connected through the glass. She made a quick effort to duck and swipe at her cheeks before popping open the car door. “Um, hi.” Her voice was raw and husky with tears. Despite her efforts, dampness clung to her cheeks, and a stray hair caught in the moisture. He longed to brush it away. “Are you having some trouble?” Her laugh was without humor…it was actually one of the most despairing sounds he’d ever heard, and that was saying a lot. “If you only knew what a loaded question that was.” Oh, he did know. “I can help. Maddie.” She softened at his adding her name to the offer. He saw it. Her eyes closed briefly, then she shook her head. “No. You can’t. No one can. It’s not just that my car won’t start, it’s…it’s everything.” Her lips twisted in bitterness. “Every f*cking thing.” “He doesn’t deserve you.” But aren’t you one to talk? She made a breathless sound as her gaze darted up to his again, those luscious pink lips parting with surprise. “You don’t know anything about me. How can you say that?”
Deciding to risk shattering the fragility of the moment, he lifted his fingers to gently grasp her chin. “I don’t have to know you. I have eyes.” And he let those eyes wander down to where the bodice of her dress cradled her full breasts, to where the skirt dipped between her thighs. Beautiful. Her figure was lush, curvaceous, just beckoning his hands to chart the dips and swells. His thumb stroked her cheek, where the skin looked like porcelain but felt like satin. It couldn’t be his imagination that she was leaning into his touch. He would have her throughout eternity. But she wouldn’t be as she was now, alive and still vibrant despite all he’d taken from her. He wanted a taste of her now, the sweetness of her flesh, the salt of her tears. He wanted to breathe deep the musky fragrance blooming even now from her sex. Her lips were trembling. “I…do I know you somehow? Have we met before?” Interesting. She never would have seen him, but she most likely would have sensed him near her. She might recognize his presence, know by instinct that he was familiar to her. He allowed a reassuring smile. “Maybe we knew each other in another life.” She wet her lips, staring at his own now. “This is so not me.” “What’s that?” “I don’t know you.” “I thought we just established that you did, somehow.” That gained him a tiny smile. “You know what I mean.” “I think I do. You don’t know me, and yet…” His finger slid down the curve of her neck, over the persistent throb of her pulse. Delicate muscles tensed beneath his touch. He could now read every turbulent emotion as clearly as if it were his own. What would that feel like if he were buried to the hilt inside her? To feel those emotions crest as she came apart around him? “You want to. You can’t explain why. You wonder if it’s such a bad thing that you want to let go just once in your life.” His finger reached the neckline of her dress. Her eyes closed, her breath held, as she fell under a spell he wasn’t even bothering to weave…at least not by any magical means. She sat very still, captive by his intuitive words alone. “And it’s all right. I’m here to tell you that it doesn’t matter, not for you. Nothing matters. There’s no one to impress anymore, no one to judge you.” “What if I judge myself?” “Guilt is so useless.” “I think you might be a very bad influence.” Ash traced his finger just inside the edge of her dress. “I think you should let me be. Take me home with you.” Maddie’s eyes opened and she drew a deep breath. She gave a meaningful nod toward the front end of her vehicle. “I hope your ride is nearby.”
For a moment he held her gaze, drinking in the molten blue of her eyes. A pretty blush spread up her cheeks, and she made no move to push his hand away. He made no move to test her further. He knew he’d won. Giving her a crooked grin, he leaned into her car, reached across the steering column and turned the key. The engine purred to life. Maddie gasped. “What the…? A few minutes ago it was totally dead. How did you do that?” He stood straight and shrugged with feigned aw-shucks innocence. “I guess I have the magic touch.”
