The Tiger Saga
Tiger’s Curse
Tiger’s Quest
Tiger’s Voyage
Tiger’s Destiny
TIGER’S PROMISE
All Rights Reserved © 2014 by Colleen Houck
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Colleen Houck
Cover Art by Cliff Nielsen
For my brothers—Mel, Andrew, and Jared—
Challenging opponents in board games but devoted supporters in life
Contents
Prologue: Thwarted
Chapter 1: Veil
Chapter 2: Exhibition
Chapter 3: Blush
Chapter 4: Bait
Chapter 5: Betrothed
Chapter 6: Betrayal
Epilogue: Fade
Bonus Chapter: Origin
Bonus Chapter: Intended
Sneak Peek From: Tiger’s Dream
Study Guide
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Early Death
Hartley Coleridge 1796–1849
SHE pass’d away like morning dew
Before the sun was high;
So brief her time, she scarcely knew
The meaning of a sigh.
As round the rose its soft perfume,
Sweet love around her floated;
Admired she grew—while mortal doom
Crept on, unfear’d, unnoted.
Love was her guardian Angel here,
But Love to Death resign’d her;
Tho’ Love was kind, why should we fear
But holy Death is kinder?
Prologue
Thwarted
Most little girls looked forward to the time when their father returned home. Yesubai did not. As soon as the clanging bell announced his arrival, fear seized her heart in a powerful grip and the young girl stopped breathing.
No one who took note of the small child could tell how deathly terrified she actually was. All one could see was a diminutive princess, adorned in the finest of silks. Her large, unusual-colored lavender eyes, framed by thick, dark eyelashes, set in a heart-shaped face, made even the crossest of hearts melt. On the outside, she was as calm and as still as a mountain lake. There was nothing of the shrewd and the mysterious about her, at least not outwardly. Yesubai’s demeanor reflected nothing of her father.
Despite this, not one soul who worked closely with the family would risk so much as a whisper regarding the possibility of indiscretions on the part of their master’s late wife. No one was that stupid. They thought it though. They all wondered how such a rare gem could come forth from a fount so impure. None pondered this idea more than Yesubai’s beloved caretaker, Isha.
The servant woman, Isha, had been called in almost immediately upon the death of the master’s wife, Yuvakshi. Isha had, in fact, been friends with the midwife who helped deliver Yuvakshi’s baby, but soon after the birth of her young ward, the unfortunate death of Yuvakshi was announced. This was quickly followed by the midwife’s mysterious disappearance. Isha, a nursemaid, was hired, and she and the young baby girl were banished to the far side of the sumptuous home in the small kingdom of Bhreenam.
Bhreenam had once been a peaceful place to live. Their king was old but he was a good man with very few political ambitions. Most of the people were herders and farmers, and the military was just large enough to provide security from the occasional rabble-rouser or drunkard. It was a good place to live. Once.
Now a new military commander had taken over. The very man who had hired Isha. He was a dark man. A dangerous one. Outwardly, of course, he was all smiles, and to the king he played at deference, but it was all Isha could do not to chant a plea to the gods to ward off evil every time he came near. Her employer frightened her. More than anyone she’d ever met.
Isha’s suspicion that the young baby’s father had done something terrible to his wife was amplified when he visited the nursery. She’d often enter the room to find him staring down at the young baby with naked loathing on his face. Like a coward, she’d wait in the doorway, half hidden and wringing her hands as she whispered silent supplications that the little girl who she’d come to love would not do anything to upset her father.
When he’d leave, she’d breathe a sigh of relief and thank the gods for keeping her ward asleep through the ordeal. But after each of his visits, she’d discover the little girl was awake after all, her liquid eyes still staring at the spot where her father’s face had recently been. The baby’s little limbs were still, and her blanket remained tightly tucked around her.
Later, despite the frequent appearance of the baby’s father, Isha would want the girl to show more emotion; in fact, she often wondered if something was wrong with her charge. She wasn’t a mean child. It was nothing of that sort. Yesubai just had a serious nature.
She didn’t play as other children did. Instead of daydreaming or playacting with her toys, she merely propped them up in a place that she said displayed them in the best light. Her smiles were rare. Though her beauty was undeniable, most saw her as merely a pretty doll. Only Isha could sense the deep feelings that ran beneath the surface.
The visits from Yesubai’s father became less frequent as the child grew older, and most of the time, he left his daughter alone, the exception being when he trotted her out for political assemblies and parties. The child’s rare beauty seemed to please him then, especially when it was remarked upon by the king. Yesubai followed her father from minister to minister, even holding his hand when he demanded it, and made not a sound unless she was directly addressed. Even then, she was as polite and as perfect as a princess, and her quiet nature charmed all who met her.
Though he used her to his advantage, Yesubai’s father spoke not a kind word to her and passed the girl off as soon as was immediately possible. Only when ensconced safely in Isha’s arms did the young girl’s shoulders droop and her beautiful eyes flutter closed. Isha would then tuck the little ethereal creature into bed and wonder, not for the first time, if she was a grown woman, wise beyond her years, trapped in the body of a little girl.
When Yesubai was eight, her father departed for a trip he’d been strangely excited about. The gleam in his eyes was frightening, and Isha secretly hoped that whatever compelled him to leave would somehow keep him away indefinitely, but, as always, he returned, and she waited with crippling fear for the aftermath. If her master’s trip had gone well, he’d have the servants deliver boxes of cut flowers, but if it had gone badly, he’d seek out Yesubai personally. Isha didn’t have to wait long.
When she bustled into the room, she saw the little girl she’d come to love standing immobile and staring at the door. She took the hand of her charge and squeezed lightly. Lavender eyes blinked once, twice, and then she looked up at the old servant woman. The tiniest lift at the corner of her mouth indicated to Isha that Yesubai was grateful for her presence.
As Yesubai carefully covered her waist-length hair with a purple scarf, Isha bustled around the already pristine room and slid a book an inch lower on the table, wiped condensation from the cold flask of water, straightened a blanket, and fluffed a few pillows.
The stomp of heavy boots was heard in the hallway, and quickly Yesubai secured her scarf across her face so that only her lovely eyes could be seen. Isha took her place off to the side of the room and hovered in the shadows, steeling herself to protect her ward but secretly hoping it wouldn’t be necessary. As much as Isha wanted to be a strong woman, one who would not bow down to evil, she always felt the guilty relief
that came when the little girl who knew too much was able to handle her father on her own.
Someday, she thought. Someday, I will stand fearless beside her.
But Isha did not stand fearless beside Yesubai, at least not right away. As the girl’s father entered the room, power crackling at his fingertips, both the girl and the old woman knew that the visit that day would not bring flowers but thorns. As Yesubai curtsied for her father and diminutively lowered her eyes in the way he expected, he lashed out—first with the unnatural power stored up in his arms, and then with his fists.
Precious silks went up in flames. Chunks of stone blew away from the wall and crashed into the opposite one. Little dolls with intricately carved wax faces melted into puddles. When the physical destruction proved ineffective in calming his temper, he finally turned on his daughter.
Bravely, she stood before him, head bowed and calm while he raged about the things he wanted but were just out of his grasp—such as his lust for a woman who spurned him, the fact that Yesubai was a cowering weakling, and that her birth had denied him the son he so very much wanted at his side.
With the rage of a bull, he drew back his arm and struck Yesubai across the face with so much strength that the force picked up her thin frame. The wind tossed her veil aside and whipped her hair. With a sickening smack, Yesubai hit the wall and slid slowly down, crumpling into a heap on the floor. The little girl lay still, her broken body hung like a lifeless doll tossed carelessly over jagged pieces of stone.
With a cry, Isha rushed forward into the path of the monster only to be rewarded with a broken leg, a crushed windpipe, two blackened eyes, and deep purple bruises down her body. Her ward was dead and Isha knew she would be soon joining her.
In the quiet after his departure, she wakened. Pain licked her limbs and pounded beneath her eyelids, and yet she sensed a fluttering touch on her arm. Yesubai. The girl was alive.
She touched her beloved caretaker with tender, tentative fingers, and a warm tingle soothed the pain that arced through Isha’s limbs. Hours passed and, as she healed, Isha pondered the things she’d been able to glean from her master’s rants. It seemed he had recently failed in an attempt to infiltrate a neighboring kingdom, which spurred his rage. He’d screamed that the amulets would belong to him and that if he had to go through a thousand soldiers to get his hands on the young princes, then so be it.
As he’d beaten his daughter, he’d said that she was worthless and as docile as her mother and that a powerful man such as himself needed a strong and compelling woman to stand at his side. He said he’d only wished he’d killed Yuvakshi before she’d given him a mewling daughter to be the thorn in his side.
Isha lay quietly, the swelling in her face and body subsiding thanks to Yesubai’s healing touch, but the young girl, with bleeding cuts from her father’s rings marring her beautiful face, cried and softly apologized, saying that there wasn’t much she could do to help with the leg. It didn’t matter. Isha would heal enough.
The limp she had following that day was a reminder for Isha to stand firm against evil. It actually gave her a sense of pride to know that she’d been brave enough to defend her ward after all. Yet, as heroic as she’d been that day, she still desperately feared the future. What would her master do when he learned that the two of them had not died?
On that day full of pain and sorrow, Isha came to understand two very important things.
First—there was a magic, darkly used by the father, which had been somehow passed on to the daughter. And second—Yesubai’s father had indeed killed his late wife and would not hesitate to murder again. She’d suspected him of the blackest evil before, but now she knew that he was capable of worse. Much worse.
One
Veil
I sat at the mirror as Isha brushed out my hair in smooth strokes and fingered the petals of the yellow flowers I’d just arranged. My father had returned from a successful campaign, one that opened new avenues for acquiring wealth. Not that the people or the king would ever see a golden coin, a fat sheep, or even a bolt of precious fabric. No. The only ones who would profit from my father’s exploits would be his close supporters—men nearly as vile, deceitful, and corrupt as he was.
Of course no one actually came close to perpetrating the deeds he had. If I were, in fact, to compare the leches’ doings side by side against the acts of villainy performed by my father, they would all fall short. I’d long ago stopped counting the number of people he’d had killed in the most violent of ways. If it hadn’t been for Isha, I would have quietly disappeared years ago.
Unfortunately, the magic I’d been able to hone only applied to myself, other than the little bit of healing I’d been able to provide for Isha over the years—a skill we carefully kept secret. We both knew the danger we’d be in if my father ever found out I was in possession of even a drop of the magic he possessed. So the two of us watched and waited, but there was never a time when we weren’t surrounded, never a time when a guard wasn’t at his most attentive. They all knew what would happen to them should they fail my father. Until such time as our circumstances changed, we were trapped.
I was always careful, always vigilant, but even more so now that he’d returned. It was my sixteenth birthday, and the king, as kind a man as my father was contemptible, had requested my presence at a celebration. He was throwing an elaborate party and, though I was grateful for his thoughtfulness in inviting me, my stomach twisted with nerves.
When the festivities were announced, I inwardly cringed, knowing the activity would require me to be on the arm of my father, a position I loathed, but even worse, it was a position that was inherently dangerous. Still, to mark the day of my birth by attending a lavish event at the palace was a special and rare enough affair that I looked forward to the occasion regardless. Especially because I thought I just might get an opportunity to visit the king’s famous garden.
Isha announced that my hair was finished. She’d artfully arranged it so the bulk of it hung down my back, but she’d pinned up several sections at my crown and affixed little jewels among the strands. Attired in sumptuous yet as markedly modest silks as my father would allow, I presented myself for Isha’s inspection.
She clucked her tongue. “You were always a beautiful child, my little Yesubai, but you are becoming a breathtaking young woman.”
Taking the sheer veil from her hands, I wrapped it around my back, placed it carefully over my hair, and gave her a hint of a sad smile. “And you know how much I wish I was of a plainer appearance. Beauty only serves to draw more of his attention.”
As she pinned the veil in place, Isha countered, “Perhaps your beauty stays his hand more often than is in his nature.”
“Perhaps.” I fixed the lower portion of the sheer golden veil across my face, felt the telltale twinge in my stomach that meant someone of great power was nearby, and said, “He approaches. Secret yourself in the closet.”
“Yes, mistress.” Isha cupped my cheek with her soft, wrinkled hand. “Be safe tonight.”
I patted her arm. “You as well.”
Isha turned quickly, taking the brush with her, and limped away. For a large woman with a bad leg, she moved silently, a proficiency we had both mastered out of necessity. Though I listened carefully, even I could not hear an indication that she was present. From the closet, she would be able to see the exchange between me and my father, but she had implicit instructions not to intervene no matter what happened.
The likelihood that he would heap abuse upon me before we met the king was minimal anyway, and even if he did, I could heal myself, whereas my ability to heal any injury she sustained was limited. If only I could practice my magic more openly, perhaps I could attain a level of power strong enough to be of real help.
Steeling myself, I lowered my eyes at the precise moment the door opened. My father entered the room with his aide, Hajari, a man as vicious as he was ugly. Standing rooted in place, I subdued the flinch as Hajari closed the door behind him and
felt the hum of energy in my body as I purposely relaxed my limbs.
“And where is your lazy nursemaid?” my father, Lokesh, immediately questioned. “She has a bad habit of leaving you alone too long.”
“I am never truly alone, Father,” I said softly and felt the frown of his annoyance. I’d been careless in my comment. It smacked of boldness. Quickly, I added, “Besides, there is not a soul living in the house of my esteemed father who would dare to approach me with malevolent intention. Your powerful influence is felt even from a distance.”
After a moment of intent scrutiny, he decided to let my comment pass. “That is as it should be,” he said impatiently.
“It was perhaps rash of me,” I voiced quickly, “but I sent Isha to bed early. She is feeling sickly, and I did not wish to attend the king with a sniveling, unsightly red nose.”
He grunted but immediately lost interest in Isha. My father deplored weakness above all things and detested seeing it in others. As long as I’d known him, he’d never taken ill, but any soldier who so much as coughed in his vicinity was immediately sent away from his presence. His aversion to sickness worked in my favor, but I knew he was far too intelligent for me to use that particular trick again.
Circling me, he boldly appraised my appearance, and though my hands clenched when I saw Hajari’s vile leer displaying his blackened and broken teeth—something he only dared to do behind my father’s turned back—I quickly opened my fingers and smoothed my skirts. It would not do to show my father I felt fear or nerves. He loved nothing more than invoking the emotion in others. Even Hajari’s face was impassive when my father circled around.
“I suppose you are attired appropriately,” my father said. “Though you know I prefer lavender to this gold. It brings out your eyes.” He cupped my chin and I obediently lifted my gaze to meet his.
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