Vanguard

by Ann Aguirre

  “Am I so awful? That you must be beaten before you come to me?”

  He tried to speak … and couldn’t. Their gazes met and tangled. For another warrior, she would answer his every need. But her desire could find no home in him. Tcharr tried; she touched him in ways that should have roused him and brought him pleasure, but they only prompted him to twist away, silently begging her to stop.

  “This is wrong,” she said finally.

  While he lay helpless, she went to the door and called for the elder. “If you think children born of this will be happy, you must be mad. They will remember their sire’s pain.”

  Rzika sighed audibly. “What else can I do? We cannot afford to lose him.”

  Gathering his strength, Szarok rocked into a sitting position and spat blood. The females gasped, for it was the first time he had challenged their right to discipline him. With a few more swallows, he found his voice.

  “You won’t if you let me go. Let Tcharr choose who moves her heart. With him, she can lead the People. You taught me to go forth among the humans, and so I have. Let me go again. This I promise: nothing I learn, nothing of mine will be lost. Instead of offspring, I will bring back memories. Before I die, I’ll return and pass on all that I am to your younglings.”

  “An honorable offer,” said Tcharr.

  Sensing a chance of escape, he cared nothing for the pain. “The People will gain much from my travel in the wider world. You should rejoice in how well you taught me, that I could love our enemy.”

  Rzika snarled, but he recognized defeat in that sound. “Go now, before I change my mind.”

  “He can hardly move,” Tcharr protested.

  “I’ll go to her if I must crawl.” And so he did, until he found the wall near the door. With shaking hands, Szarok pulled himself upright.

  When he staggered out of the house, a young male—by the scent of him—tried to stop him, but Rzika growled a protest. “No one touch him. No one interfere. Szarok goes forth, no longer the vanguard, but simply a free heart of the People. He brought us to the promised land and fulfilled his destiny. Permit him to find his own fate from here, as we shall.”

  The chorus of farewells barely penetrated his resolve. His eyes still didn’t offer much help, just slices of light and shadow. The swelling would go down in time, however, and he could run to Port-Mer blind. As I must. He stumbled at first, holding on to trees and pausing for breath because his ribs ached as if they were banded in fire.

  Darkness fell before he made it to Port-Mer. Here, it was less familiar, so with a lowered head, he asked a random human to guide him to Littleberry’s house. It was a woman who did; she didn’t speak much on the way, but she smelled of lavender. “Here you are,” she said. “Take care of those wounds, mind.”

  I don’t care about that. I have to find Tegan.

  It’s not too late.

  It cannot be too late.

  Littleberry’s wife—he’d forgotten the female’s name—answered his knock. “Oh, dear heaven. What happened? Were you robbed?”

  “Your husband? Please.” Szarok couldn’t be sure his words were intelligible in her tongue, until she took his arm and led him inside.

  “Wait just a moment. I’ll get him … and a cold compress.”

  Soon he was sitting in the village chief’s front room, his hands unbound, a damp cloth across his eyes. Littleberry let him rest for a while before speaking. “I won’t ask what happened. Instead I’ll ask why you’ve come.”

  Through bruised lips, Szarok made his request. “This isn’t to make amends, but I’d count it as a personal favor, the last I’ll ever request, if you could get me to Rosemere in the morning.”

  “You should heal first.”

  He shook his head so hard, his ears rung. “No. I can’t. Please.”

  “No need to beg. In weather so clear, it’s an easy wish.”

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  Mrs. Littleberry must have drugged his tea because he slept like the dead, and he barely remembered the journey to Rosemere. His ribs still hurt when he got off the little boat, but he could see again at least. He drew up his hood in honor of the Evergreen Isle’s brand of prejudice. Though Szarok wanted to run through town shouting for her, instinct warned him it would be a poor choice.

  Where would she be?

  After the war, she’d stayed at the governor’s manor, but if he had a choice, he’d never see that particular human again. Where? Where are you, my treasure? Breathing in, he found no trace of her. Too much human stink, tradecraft, livestock. Growling in frustration, he prowled through town, where he garnered a few looks, but nobody questioned him. It seemed likely that her friend the Huntress would know where Tegan had gone.

  But as he set forth, the wind whispered of her. He had found her seeking solace there once before. Szarok seized on her scent like a starving wolf and followed her, past the rose-wreathed cottage with its pale stone walls and all the way down to the water. He smelled her sadness before her saw her, a salt-tinge to her usual sweetness, and when he followed the bend in the land, relief nearly drowned him like hell-water—that she was still here, that she had not gone where he couldn’t follow.

  “Tegan,” he said.

  But she didn’t turn. Her back stiffened. “Leave, stop haunting me. I want to hate you, and it maddens me that I can’t. Your voice is everywhere, your warmth, your smell.…”

  At once, he realized. She thinks I’m not truly here. There was no gain in being tentative, so he ran to her as fast as his battered body permitted. Claws on arms, he spun her. Her eyes widened as she took in his injuries, but when she tried to touch his bruised cheek, he clasped her hands.

  “I don’t need a healer. I came for you.”

  “What have you done?” she whispered, taking him in with darting glances, as if she feared he might vanish before her eyes.

  Never in his life had he dreaded anything so much as the possibility that she might say it was too late. You will never be a stranger to me. Abandoning all pride, he dropped to his knees before her and bowed his head. In a desperate rush, he told her everything.

  “I have nothing now. I’m not the vanguard. I don’t even know how many years I can offer you. But all I want in life is to be where you are.”

  For a long moment she destroyed him with her silence. And then she settled before him and stroked his cheek, throat, jaw, and the spot behind his ear. “Please, please, don’t let this be a dream. My heart has broken a thousand times as I lay sleeping. You’re truly free?”

  “Yes,” he said. “And I am forever yours, if you’ll have me.”

  A sob burst out of her, and he drew her in. As her scent rolled over him, he shuddered with agonized desire. Her tears tasted of salt and he licked them as they fell, until she sought his mouth with hers. Yes. Yes. Her lips were as soft as he remembered. Some sweet fruit lingered on her tongue, and he fell into her with a hunger that could never be satiated. Tegan touched him with hands light as feathers, careful with his injuries, but just the feel of her blunt fingertips—that once made his flesh crawl—inverted pain and pleasure.

  “Yes,” she sang.

  And he didn’t know if it was an encouragement to kiss her more or an answer to his question. He gambled on both and sipped at her lower lip, until she made a sound that made his head go hot and fizzy. Soon he wouldn’t be able to stop, and he didn’t even know—they’d never discussed—but she made the decision for him, digging blunt nails into his shoulders in an unmistakable message. Their clothing shifted. When she curved above him, everything went white-hot. He shuddered as she learned, and then he discovered that their differences weren’t absolute. Panting, he put his face in the curve of her shoulder while she moved.

  Afterward he held her, or she rocked him. Either way, they tangled together in the sunshine, falling back in the long grass. The sky smiled overhead, blue unbounded. Probably he should mind that they’d given no thought to privacy, but nobody had interrupted them, and he had love in hi
s arms again. Szarok nuzzled her cheek, throat, shoulder, though she smelled thoroughly of him already. But the fact that she had stopped him from scent-marking before, back in Olurra, throbbed like an unhealed wound.

  She is mine, and I am hers. Always, always, always. The world made no sense any other way.

  “Did you really say you’d rather die than live without me?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “You are my heart,” she growled.

  Then she hid her face, for she hated doing anything badly, and her throat wasn’t shaped to form all the right sounds. “It’s enough that you try, my treasure.” He kissed the top of her head and breathed her in. “I’ve promised to learn much and bring that knowledge back to the People.”

  “I like the way you think. As it happens, I could use an apprentice. A girl in Peckinpaugh holds promise, but she’s young yet.” From the sun-bright scent of her to her open smile, Tegan wore happiness like a floral crown.

  “My people would benefit greatly if I learned of medicine,” he murmured, thoughtful.

  She stroked his back in long sweeps, delicious enough to distract him from her words, so she had to ask twice. “Enough to make them truly forgive your defection?”

  He lifted a shoulder, inviting more contact. It will never be enough. “The deal is struck. If they always consider me lost, I’ll count it a fair trade for being with you.”

  She kissed him for that. Oddly delicious, telling the truth. “Should I chastise you for lying when you said I shouldn’t?”

  “I never did. You simply didn’t ask if I had a mate. And…” He struggled with how to put it, the human words dancing out of reach. “It was a formality. We never—”

  “Did what we have?” she supplied.

  “Yes.”

  “Then I suppose I’ll forgive you. They punished you quite a lot already.”

  “My tribe knows of you. Will you tell your loved ones about me?” If she preferred to hide their heart-bond, it would sting. But he could bear anything for her.

  “Of course. Khamish already knows. You are mine, no matter what anyone says.”

  “I love you,” he said.

  Only those words would suffice for the universe that burned in his spirit, solely for her. It sounded better in his tongue, so he snarled, “My heart beats for you.” When Tegan responded, “You are my meat and drink,” he nearly died of pleasure.

  But she added, “And I, you,” just in case he had any doubts.

  There were none. He was all brightness, all yearning. “My beloved, thank you for waiting.”

  “About your apprenticeship,” she whispered, shifting toward him. “See? My shoulder has healed just fine.”

  Thus invited, he checked the scar on her back. “It matches this one.” With his cheek, he nuzzled both warrior marks, shoulder and thigh, proof of her great strength. “You are my queen.”

  “My dearest love, I probably should’ve made you grovel more, but I’m done pretending. I don’t care where we are, or what we do, as long as we’re together.”

  Happy Endings

  The governor of the Evergreen Isle had been alone a long time. Never had Morrow understood this better than when he brought Millie to the quiet house he’d fled, time and again. She wore a clean dress, freshly pressed by the public house owner. Yet as she stepped over the threshold, her fingers trembled in his.

  “Don’t worry. He won’t eat you.”

  Her pretty eyes filled with tears. “You know he can’t possibly approve. I’m nobody.”

  “You’re my love,” he told her. “And besides, you’re also the girl who saved the free territories with her kindness.”

  She groaned. “Don’t start that again.”

  But at least she was smiling when they entered his father’s sanctuary, a room filled with books that had quietly taught Morrow that it was safer in those pages and safer to fix his heart on people who would never ask anything of him. Never tease, never tussle, never challenge. Now more than ever, he grasped that books should be part of his life, not the depth and breadth of it.

  “James?” The elder Morrow rose from his reading chair, setting the volume aside with great care. “I didn’t realize you were back.”

  They’d quarreled before he got his father to agree to donate some provisions to cover his passage on Advika’s ship. The question, When are you going to settle down?, had lingered between them. At least now he had an answer.

  “I’d like you to meet Millie Faraday.”

  She bobbed before his father like an acorn in a river. “My pleasure, sir.”

  “Likewise. This is such a surprise. James doesn’t bring friends home often.”

  Morrow almost laughed, as he could count on one hand the people in Rosemere he’d identify as such. “Once her parents grant permission, I intend to marry her.”

  His father seemed amused. “You don’t ask my blessing, I see.”

  “You’re welcome to give it,” he said. “But it won’t change my plans, either way.”

  Horrified, Millie elbowed him in the side. “James.”

  “Don’t mind him. He’s taken the idea that I’ll respect him more if he challenges my authority. And he’s not entirely wrong.” Taking Millie’s arm, the governor led her out of the sitting room and down the hall to the dining table. “Let’s have lunch and get to know each other. Are you sure you want this rascal of mine?”

  Visibly relieved, she chuckled. “Dead certain, sir. I’ve had my eye on him for ages now. It just took him a while to look back.”

  “Please don’t hold it against him.”

  Stunned, Morrow watched them for a moment and then hurried to catch up. The housekeeper brought luncheon, and by the time the meal finished, Millie had his father eating out of the palm of her pretty hand. She told him all about their adventures and how Morrow had taught school in Baybridge. His cheeks flushed before she paused in singing his praises.

  Afterward, the housekeeper took Millie to freshen up, leaving him alone with his father. “You got over the healer?”

  Once, he would’ve been offended by the question, as if his feelings were flotsam. “It was only a crush,” he said softly. “Boys are prone to them.”

  “And now you’re a man.” That wasn’t a question. The governor patted his shoulder with an approving look. “Proud of you, son. I like her. Seems as if she’ll be the making of you.”

  “She has been,” he admitted.

  “What are your plans?”

  “Winterville, first, and then I think we’ll be going back to Baybridge. You should come,” he said impulsively. “Don’t let this house become your tomb.”

  When he saw the rejection forming on his father’s face, he wondered why he’d bothered. But the words never came; they died on his lips, and then he cocked his head, seeming pensive. “Maybe,” he answered at last. “Someone else might breathe new life into this place.”

  Surprised yet elated, Morrow put out his hand for a shake, but his father hauled him in for a rare, back-pounding hug. “This is the first time in forever I feel like you’ve actually come home.”

  If he’s trying, I will, too.

  “It would probably help my case if you travel with us to Winterville.”

  “You’re worried they’ll turn you down?” his father asked.

  “A little. I hope they’re willing to relocate to Baybridge, so I don’t have to separate Millie from her family. They moved once already for her, so maybe it isn’t a long shot.”

  “Then … when do we leave?”

  * * *

  The next day, for the first time in Morrow’s memory, the governor packed a bag and prepared to leave the Evergreen Isle. They hailed a boatman, who ferried them to the mainland, but he had so many questions. “Who shall we ask if there’s trouble?”

  His father shrugged. “You work it out.”

  Over the next two weeks, he saw a side of his father he hadn’t known existed. Morrow had thought he’d have to teach him everything about surviving in
the wild, but he started the campfire without supervision and he even knew how to set snares overnight. They traveled slowly, so by the time they reached Winterville, spring flourished all around, the flowers ripening into fruit.

  Like Otterburn, Winterville was an eyesore, and he traded a look with Millie that ended in a secret smile. Her step gained a skip the closer they came to her family home. The weathered wood had seen better days, and the man tending to a garden outside looked equally tired. But when he spotted Millie, he dropped his hoe and ran for her. She went into his arms for a spin, and Morrow watched them, his heart in his throat.

  I have to convince them.

  “Stop, Da. Stop now. I’m like to choke.”

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes.” She got another hug before her da noticed he had two interested onlookers.

  Blushing, Millie brought him into the conversation by word and gesture. “My father, Harmon Faraday. This is my man, James. He’s come to get your permission to spark me.”

  “Is that so?” An ice-cold gaze skimmed him up and down.

  “And I’m James’s father. If we’re to be in-laws, I thought we should meet.” The former governor offered a handshake, along with all of his best manners, making Morrow grateful.

  “This is so sudden,” Mr. Faraday muttered. “Let me call my wife.”

  The worst of Morrow’s nerves melted away. When Millie took his hand and smiled at him, he knew it would be all right. And it was.

  A week later they negotiated transport with John Kelley’s trade caravan. His wagons were light, so his father and Millie’s parents rode while they walked. It was a slow trek to the river, but he was in no hurry. The only thing that troubled him was that she didn’t want to sleep in his arms with her folks close by. She kept whispering, “Once we’re settled,” like that was a magic phrase or something. He contemplated telling Mr. and Mrs. Faraday, whom he was supposed to call Ma and Da, about their winter in Baybridge, but that would probably just create more problems. Still, he sulked.

  Millie coaxed him out of it.

  A month after they’d first left Rosemere, they returned. It felt like a homecoming of sorts, and to his astonishment, Devi and Evette were moored off the isle, picking up passengers. One fellow had been corresponding with a gentleman in Peckinpaugh, and now he was ready to head north to meet his potential partner.