Ashes of Dearen: Book 1

by Jayden Woods

  Fayr did not know much about Chief Darius. She knew little of his life, exploits, or value in gold. All she really knew was that she could not stop thinking about him.

  When he first knelt before her, one man in a long line of suitors, someone must have introduced him in detail. She hadn’t really been paying attention—not until he looked up at her with his soft brown eyes. In that moment, she felt dizzy. Her knees trembled and she nearly fainted. If not for Jeevu nearby, who moved close and clutched her elbow for support, she might have fallen to the floor. She dared to look up at the man again. She felt as if a shock passed between them.

  She could only speculate, at first, as to why he had this effect on her. First of all, he was an exceptionally handsome man. He had darkish skin of a tan olive tone, and from what she could see of his body, it was perfectly sculpted with muscle. He had sharp chiseled features, except for his lips, which were soft when he smiled. He also held himself unlike any other person she had ever seen. He moved with confidence, grace, and purpose: not the slow, lethargic motions of most people in Dearen, who had little purpose to anything they did, because safra took that away from them. And finally, he was gentle: so very gentle.

  Fayr did not notice this all at once, of course. Perhaps she sensed it when she first saw him, but could not rationalize it all until later. She had been in a daze when she presented her hand for him to kiss and he did so, grasping her fingers with a firm sort of delicacy, then brushing his lips across her skin.

  “You are more beautiful than I imagined, Princess,” he said. And that concluded their first meeting.

  After that moment, Fayr continued to replay it over and over in her mind. Every other face passed by in a blur, but his remained clear to her until long afterward.

  She told herself that she was being foolish. Perhaps she merely happened to become faint the moment that man stepped forward. Surely he could not be so different from everyone else, and even if he was, surely she could not determine that by such a brief meeting. And yet every time she replayed the memory, the same feelings rushed back to haunt her.

  So finally, she invited him to dinner.

  She had dined with so many nobles already that she had ceased to think much of the practice. And yet the night she dined with Darius, her palms sweated. Her breath shallowed. Her appetite vanished completely. She forgot to wonder how he might impress her. All she could think about was how to impress him.

  When he first came in and joined her at the table, he said nothing at all—only looked at her. He looked at her so long and hard that a blush rushed to her cheeks and she had to turn away. She took a bite to eat, only because she wanted to look busy. He waited a moment longer, then took a bite of food for himself.

  “So, Chief Darius ...” she managed after a deep breath. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, my princess.”

  Why did his voice send bumps down her skin in such a delightful way? She shuddered and hoped he didn’t notice. “What part of Vikand do you come from, Chief Darius?”

  “A distant place, my princess. A place that seems like a dream to me now.” He paused and stared into the crystals surrounding them. “Or a nightmare. It was a place of blood, stones, and metal. It was a place where bones must be crushed to obtain power. It was not like this land in which you live, Princess.”

  His words were so simple, their meaning so profound. For a moment, she could do nothing but stare into his deep brown eyes. “Tell me more,” she said at last.

  So he did. As they ate, he told her of the vast Vikand landscape, the cruel jugged rocks, the long dry scrub-lands, and the white beaches of the far east coast. He told her of the various tribes that roamed Vikand, most of them held in check by the nation’s Khan, though many still rebelled. One of these, he explained, was once his own tribe. In his youth, they survived by raiding and pillaging peaceful towns.

  “I never wanted to do those things,” he said softly, “but that excuses nothing. I wish I could take some of it back, but I can’t. That was my life, until I gathered enough power in my own tribe, and convinced them to stop their crimes and join the Vikand Khan. It was not easy. In the end I had to ...”

  He grew silent.

  “What did you have to do?” she asked breathlessly.

  He would not look at her. “Forgive me, my princess,” he said. “I tire of talking about it.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” She wanted to hear more, but she did not wish to press him. Neither of them spoke for a short while. She thought back to how their discussion had begun. “Perhaps this place is the dream,” she realized, “and your home the reality.”

  He looked up with surprise. Then he let out a gentle laugh. “My princess, if this is the dream, then I hope I never wake up.”

  “Do you really mean that?” She watched him set down a glittery piece of meat. Disappointment crept into her mind, almost purely out of habit. “Or is it only the safra talking?”

  “Perhaps it is the safra.” But the smile on his face was so genuine, she ceased to doubt him altogether. In fact, she found herself smiling with him. “Nonetheless, I like it here very much.”

  “What do you like about it?” she pressed.

  He thought about his answer before responding. She appreciated that he did not blurt out the first thing that came to his mind, like most of her recent visitors, who chuckled and said they loved the women in the courtyard. Even more importantly, his face became grave as he responded. “I like the freedom of the people,” he said. “People here can be whomever they want to be. They do not have to chase after any certain profession, for their income is guaranteed. They can spend their time as they choose, and they can enjoy whatever they must do. I do not think their pleasure is a thing to hold against them, Princess.”

  She blinked rapidly. “Who said I held it against them?”

  His soft smile returned. “Forgive me. I only assumed, based on your questions, that you may tire sometimes of the pleasure around you. I can even see why you might do so. Everyone else obtains it without effort. But someone has to pay the price. Is that person you, my princess?”

  She tensed. For the first time since he entered the room, she felt uncomfortable, and not in a pleasant way. “Stop calling me your princess,” she snapped.

  “I am sorry,” he said. “I will call you whatever you’d like.”

  “Just—just—” Her brief anger dissolved. “Just call me Fayr.”

  “Very well,” he said. “And you will call me—”

  He went silent quite suddenly.

  She leaned forward out of anticipation. “Darius? Shall I just call you Darius?”

  “Call me whatever you’d like,” he said, though a strange tone entered his voice, like the slightest hint of regret.

  Now she wanted to cheer him up. “We should go on a walk,” she said. “What do you think?”

  This caught him by surprise. “Where should we walk to?”

  “Anywhere will do.” She stood up decisively. “I am tired of this damn chamber.”

  So they walked together, and even though they said nothing to each other, Fayr felt the enigmatic bond between them growing. The silence between them seemed to strengthen it. They walked without aim from one hallway to another, over bridges and through gardens. They watched the sun’s rays change color as they tilted across the landscape, shifting shadows throughout the castle. Crystals cast rainbows, safra glittered, and the gardens glowed with color. Fayr had seen these dream-like visions every day, but on this evening, she watched them as if she had never seen them before. She felt as if she saw them through the eyes of Darius. She wondered how all of it appeared to him, and this made it all the more beautiful.

  Darius stopped at a balcony and watched the sunset. Mist rolled across the undulating hills. Tigers prowled in distant pastures and butterflies flitted through the safra. People laughed and sang and created a soft music over the land of Dearen.

  “Incredible,” said Darius.

  She l
ooked over at his face, and a change had come over it. His eyes opened wider. His jaw hung slightly ajar. And then, ever so slowly, he smiled.

  He had already smiled a few times. Fayr saw smiles hundreds of times a day. But this one was different. This one was full of pure, innocent wonder. Fayr could not say how she knew, but she did. She felt as if Darius experienced a joy he had never felt before, and it was all thanks to her.

  She put her hand over his on the railing. He grew still underneath her touch. Neither of them spoke for a long while.

  “My princess …” He laughed softly. “Fayr. I should go now. The sun sets, and night approaches.”

  “I don’t want you to go yet.”

  He turned to look at her. Something about his eyes startled her—something she couldn’t explain, at first. A ripple seemed to come over them. Then an incredible thing happened.

  A tear rolled down his cheek.

  She almost gasped. Instead, she restrained her surprise, but stopped breathing altogether. She could not believe this was really happening. She had never seen anyone cry but herself and her brother—perhaps her father, many years ago. Nonetheless, they were all Violenese. Whereas this man …

  He must have felt the drop, for he reached up suddenly and brushed it away. Almost as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. “I … I … I shouldn’t be here,” he said. “Not with you, not when night falls. Something feels … something feels ...”

  “Darius,” she whispered. “Whatever you’re feeling, I think I understand it.”

  He stared into her eyes. He moved closer to her. He began to give in, she thought—she hoped.

  “Fayr? Fayr!”

  Prince Kyne ran onto the balcony, ruining everything. He hopped across the stones and then stopped to stare at Darius. Darius flinched and drew back. The two regarded each other warily.

  “Darius, this is my brother, Prince Kyne. Kyne, this is—”

  “Chief Darius.” His tone was cold and brisk. He looked sharply to the princess and spoke in a detached manner. “Thank you for meeting me, Princess Fayr. I must go now.”

  “Darius,” she gasped, “please stay. You mustn’t feel … ashamed. I want to—”

  “I bid you good night, Princess. Prince.” His bow to the prince must have been the quickest she’d ever seen. “Good night.”

  And then he was gone.