His bad luck, Jessa thought silently, but not hers. These weren’t the circumstances under which she’d envisioned motherhood—and definitely not ones she’d recommend to anyone—but she was at peace with them. After her family had died, she’d looked at the empty chairs around the table where they’d spent so many shared meals. She’d believed they’d always be empty. She’d been wrong. One day soon, a mother would be there again, seated alongside a son or daughter—maybe both in the future—spooning dinner onto their plates.
But not rice, she promised with a reassuring pat on her slightly swollen belly.
“Yes, well, I’m glad things weren’t what we assumed,” Katie commented with a sniff, still flipping between the four pictures in her hands.
“Are you going to give those back?”
“No.”
“Katie.”
“What? I’m just taking them home to Relle.”
She smiled. Relle still resided with Ionia, but Katie practically lived there with her when she wasn’t taking care of the ranch. Ionia didn’t pretend to be pleased about it, but she’d become rather civil to Katie. Jessa wasn’t surprised. It was impossible to see how happily in love Katie and Relle were and not be moved by it.
“Fine, take them back to show Relle,” Jessa said. “But do me a favor and scan them to me so I can email Ruben later.”
“I will.” She looked up. “I was surprised he asked you to send him updates and pictures.”
“I’m going to get questions down the road about him. It’s ideal all around if he’s kept up to date. Besides, you saw how emotional he was at the courthouse.”
Katie grunted. “I thought that was because Simith threatened his life.”
Jessa startled. “What?”
Katie pursed her lips. “Oh right. That was a secret.”
“What secret? Tell me right now.”
Katie waved a hand. “It was nothing, really. He just told Ruben, you know, that if he caused you any distress he would, um, remove parts of him he’d rather not have removed.”
“Are you serious?” Jessa looked around for someplace to sit down. She put her back against the car.
“This was before we knew Ruben didn’t have any intention of contesting things or causing problems. I’d have high-fived our pixie-boy if I hadn’t been eavesdropping.”
“But why would he do that either way?”
Katie squinted at her. “For obvious reasons.”
“Which are?”
She squinted some more, then exhaled loudly. “You two are driving me crazy. Weeks living together and neither of you has admitted you’re in love with each other?”
Jessa slid down until she sat on the pavement. “You’re wrong.”
Katie crouched next to her, brow crinkled with worry. “You don’t feel that way about him?”
Jessa dropped her face in her hands.
“Ah,” her friend said gently. “You’re afraid to tell him. Is this about the job offer he got?”
Jessa lifted her head. “Job offer?”
“At a national wildlife center in Maryland…” She trailed off when Jessa only stared back. “Wow. You two need to have a chat.”
“He didn’t tell me.”
“It’s pretty recent. Maybe he just hasn’t decided yet.”
“Or maybe he has and is trying to find a way to leave.”
“Do you want him to stay?”
Jessa nodded and felt tears coming. She struggled them back, knuckled her eyes. “What if he doesn’t want to?”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
Katie smiled and helped Jessa up. “Take your shot.” She squeezed her shoulder. “And whatever it is, accept the answer you’re given.”
After parting from Katie, Jessa took a long walk with her notebook to clear her head. She paused frequently along the path, scribbling phrases, letting her pen riff without a worry for structure across the page. She’d done this often in the past weeks. If this kept up, she might have something to submit to her publishing house by the new year.
She lost track of time, delaying and delaying her return home when she knew the house was empty. The emptiness didn’t bother her the way it used to, but now it took on a new shape when she imagined Simith might not live there anymore. Still, she had wandered far, and Katie said she and Relle would be by around seven-thirty with mocktinis and dinner.
Seven o’clock and full dark arrived before she made it back through her kitchen door and nearly tripped over the backpack dropped next to the counter. It was Simith’s. Was he home already? She went upstairs to check his room. The door stood open, as it usually did, but a lamp was on by the bedside. At first, she didn’t see him. Then she noticed the open window that led onto the roof.
“Simith?” she called.
“Out here.”
She went to the window and leaned out. He sat alongside it, his knees drawn up, one arm loosely draped over them. He’d removed his raincoat and had donned one of his old tunics with slots for his wings to fit through. He stared up at the stars, his face carefully guarded.
“You’re home early,” she said.
“Things went well with the birds. The others decided to camp overnight. I preferred not to.”
“I assume you didn’t drive home?”
He shuffled his wings. “Correct. Your metal wagons are still a strange method of transport to me.”
“Didn’t your colleagues wonder how you’d get home without a car?”
“I’ve let them assume I’m a proficient hatchhiker.”
She bit back a smile. “Hitchhiker.”
“That, yes.”
She let her eyes trace over his profile. He’d allowed his hair to grow longer, though it still required a little glamour to hide his ears. He didn’t use any now, the narrow points jutting between his light-brown locks. With his dragonfly wings draped down his back, he looked so much like Peter Pan sitting at her windowsill, ready to whisk her off to Neverland.
Jessa took a deep breath. She couldn’t imagine a better moment than this to confess things to him. The night sky seemed to beckon the truth from her.
“Can I join you?” she asked.
He turned, warm surprise flitting over his face. “Always.”
His welcome bolstered her a bit as he offered her a hand and helped her settle as comfortably as she could on the shingles. He shifted closer, leaning an arm diagonally behind her back, but casually, as though he didn’t want her to know it was there in case she slipped. A caring gesture, one that ratcheted up the nervous roiling in her stomach.
It was one thing to let a friend into one’s life, but inviting them near one’s heart, acknowledging both to them and to oneself that their absence would hurt, was quite another. The risk itself was dizzying.
But so are the gains, another part of her pointed out.
Take your shot.
"I heard about your job offer,” she said.
His gaze snapped to hers. He grimaced. “I intended to tell you. I only received it yesterday.”
“You forget this is a small town and news travels.”
His eyes shifted away once more. “So, it would seem.”
She cleared her throat. “Does it sound like something you might accept? I know Skylark’s not all that that glorious for career options." She closed her eyes briefly. Why was she going about it at this angle?
Simith stared off into the distance, an odd mood about him. "What name did you give me, Jessa? I never thought to ask."
The question caught her off guard. "Well,” she said, “I didn't want to replace the name your family gave you, so I just added one after Simith. It was Salvador."
His mouth parted. "You gave me your father's name?"
"I thought it fit well with the alliteration theme." She tried at a smile, but he didn't return it. "It means savior, and that's what it did. It saved us."
He turned back to watch the night and said nothing for a lon
g moment while Jessa struggled with all she wanted to say.
"You speak of glory,” he said, “but it was never an ambition of mine. I wanted only to chase hawks with Cirrus and tease my best friend. I wanted to return to my house each night and sleep close to those I loved. And if I was fortunate, find someone to whom I could give my heart."
He faced her fully, his eyes dark and drowning in the moonlight. "All the rest has been burned away, a fire of my own making, but I want that gentle life still, that quiet home.” He swallowed. “I want to be here. Beside you and the baby. I would give you my heart, Jessa," a wan smile touched his lips, "such as it is."
It seemed strange that the world could shift beneath her feet and yet not move at all, or that a declaration as beautiful as that hadn't brought the sun rushing to the horizon. Jessa considered her reply carefully. It was important that he believed what she intended to say next.
"What is a shrike?" she asked.
A laugh without joy rippled through him. He lowered his head. "So, you have seen that memory as well?"
"Yes."
He drew in a breath. "A shrike is a butcherbird. It impales its prey on the nearest spike and tears it to pieces."
The memory was bright in her mind. It was the last one before the dreams of his life ceased. His mother had knelt in the mud after he’d brought Rimthea’s body home. She’d wept while he stood there in his uniform, weapons strapped to his body. "Look at you with your bright blade and your dark heart,” she’d said. “You're nothing more than a shrike for the fairies."
He hadn’t been able to bear seeing her pain and swore not to return. She hadn’t refused and she hadn’t watch him walk away. If she had, she'd have seen more than the cruel knight he'd become. She'd have seen the heartbreak on his face, as Jessa had.
Jessa reached out and tilted his head up with a hand on his chin. “I’ve heard it said that life is a twisted rope with good and bad fortune coming in its turn.” She smiled slightly. "I don't judge you for what you've done. I want you to stay, Simith."
Moisture gathered in his eyes. "You do?"
"I came out here to ask you not to leave."
"You did?" he choked.
"I am," she corrected. "Because I love you."
He crumpled a bit before pulling her to him and burying his face in her hair. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you."
She wrapped her arms around him, tapping the tip of one pointed ear with her finger. "Anything else to say?"
He pulled back, swiping an arm across his cheeks. He took her face in his hands, and Jessa decided the joy in his eyes was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.
Softly, he said, "I love you too, pooka."
Then he kissed her, and the fervor behind his gentle mouth made her wonder if he wasn't quite truthful about his ambition for glory. Time evaporated from her senses entirely—until the kitchen door banged open and the voices of their friends proclaimed their arrival downstairs. Only then did he release her, but they kept hold of each other's hands as they went back inside to the home they would make together.
This story is the first in an upcoming fantasy series, Kindred Realms. There are many doorways in the Jaded Grove that lead to many worlds, some with men who become dragons, or a fallen sorcerous monarchy, or a tree that grants wishes made with hate. Find out where the capricious Fae escaped to when the curse forced them from their homeland and what things—good or evil—they’ve been up to since then. Join Anela Deen’s monthly newsletter to get all the updates: http://eepurl.com/cNQ3iH
Meanwhile, check out “Beneath Cruel Fathoms” book one of “The Bitter Sea Trilogy”. Based on Norse ocean mythology, it’s full of magic, sea gods, sinister storms, and a sweet romance. Available on Amazon & Kindle Unlimited.
About the Author
A child of two cultures, Anela Deen, a hapa haole Hawaiian girl, is currently landlocked in the Midwest. After exploring the world for a chunk of years, she hunkered down in Minnesota and now fills her days with family, fiction, and the occasional snowstorm. With a house full of lovable toddlers, a three-legged cat, and one handsome Dutchman, she prowls the keyboard late at night while the minions sleep. Coffee? Nah, she prefers tea with a generous spoonful of sarcasm.
For more information about the author, please visit: https://amidtheimaginary.wordpress.com/my-books.
Honor After All
Raven Oak
In the previous two anthologies, we’ve seen our main character unsure of her future, sure but untested, and now, vulnerable. Some people find character vulnerability a weakness, but as a writer and a reader, I feel it shows us who a character really is. Vulnerability is what allows us to connect to a character in a personal way. Whether they are the protagonist or the antagonist of the story, we can identify with them through the knowledge that we are all vulnerable in one way or another. The magic in this story is the magic of a created family—it gives us strength in times of need and shows us who we really are.
Raven Oak
First Tovias burned and then Lachail, but it’s not a curse that haunts Shara of the Order of Amaska. It’s her brother. Rather than face him and the destructive path he’s carving through the Little Dozen Kingdoms, Shara flees her home in hopes of finding out what it means to serve Justice. Will she find the answers she’s seeking, or will this new man in her life bring more destruction down upon those she loves?
Honor After All
Tarmsworth wasn’t much to look at no matter which way one looked at it. Nestled into the forest like an afterthought, it lay two days from the Alexander border. If one bothered to count, it consisted of a few dozen buildings at most. The town’s lone inn held mediocre ale and lumpy beds, though Shara didn’t mind as Sam draped an arm across her bare shoulder.
In fact, she would’ve been quite happy to spend all day in the lumpy bed if it meant Sam remained with her, but the moment she thought it, he ran his fingers through her short, black hair and rolled away from her. “Leavin’ already?” she asked.
“If you’re wanting food anytime today, then yes.” Sam pulled on his breeches. “At least one of us has to earn an honest living.”
Shara stuck out her tongue at him. “Speak for yerself. Mel’s got me playin’ guard downstairs as the town idiots drink themselves into a stupor.”
His laugh, a nice warm, vibrato made her smile again as he finished dressing, and she resisted the urge to tug him back into their lumpy bed. Especially now.
Something must’ve shifted in her features as he ran his fingers through his beard. “What is it?”
“Nothin’. Yer gonna be late.” She shooed him out the door with a smile.
The moment she’d tell him, he’d get all protective, and that was the last thing she needed. Besides, it ain’t like it changes anything. He’ll continue to escort merchants ’tween here and Breighton, while I protect the inn from rowdy drunks. Could be worse jobs in the world. Least I ain’t killin’ folks no more.
In many ways, Tarmsworth had become the home she’d never had: a place to sleep that didn’t involve always being on guard, though she was always aware as old habits died hard; an easy job busting up fights in the town’s only inn and tavern; and a man who loved her for who she appeared to be. Though that last one was the kicker.
She’d run from her past and her brother. Tarmsworth had been an opportunity to become someone else. But was it who she really was, or was it a mask that covered the Amaskan inside?
Shara strode to the room’s lone mirror and tilted her face to the left. Sweat had mixed with the crushed powder, leaving the barest hint of circle visible on her jaw. When she opened the box, a matte, tan powder with specs of brown in it, lay inside. Expensive didn’t define the herb’s cost, and she sighed at how little remained.
The powder tickled her fingers as she dabbed them in it before spreading the powder across her tattoo. The sensation spread across her jaw—a side effect of the crushed plant, but a cost worth paying since it rendered her mark near invisible. Hair she c
ould grow back, but the tattoo marking her Amaskan was harder to hide.
Least Sam doesn’t know he’s sleepin’ with a former assassin. If he did, would he still love me?
She sighed as she stood. No use worrin’ on it now.
Once dressed, she made her way downstairs to the inn’s tavern. As the sun crossed its highest point in the sky, a few folks drifted inside in search of something to take the edge off whatever ailed them. Shara nodded once in Mel’s direction, and the bar matron tilted her head toward the back corner where a bald-headed man in black huddled over a bit of ale.
Her muscles tensed as she resisted the urge to flee. A bald head and black clothin’ don’t mean Amaskan. Stop jumpin’ at shadows. One hand cradled her growing belly as she refilled his mug from a nearby pitcher of ale.
“Thanks,” he muttered, not once looking at her.
When she returned the pitcher to Mel, Shara leaned across the bar and whispered, “What’s with him?”
“Ain’t sure. Them bald-headed oddities from the West be the worrisome type. Keep an eye on ‘im.”
Watching the man was the easy part. Doing so in a way he wouldn’t notice was more challenging. Shara leaned against the wall near the entrance—her usual spot for the evening hours—and waited.
The few folks who’d come in early, drank their ale and trickled out as others trickled in, yet the bald-headed man remained. As soon as the evening rush hit, Shara’s bladder reminded her of what grew in her belly. With a frown from Mel, she excused herself to the back room and the hole in the ground that served as the tavern’s out house.
In the time it took to relieve herself, the man had vacated the rear corner. She shifted her gaze around the room in search of his bald head and found him at the door with another man—a familiar man who should’ve been on his way to Breighton. Sam stood in the doorway, his voice low as he argued with the visitor. He shook his head as the visitor pointed toward the back corner, before they both exited the inn.
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