“Lady Ashayna, welcome.”
Prince Sorntar’s greeting came as a shock. His voice sent a strange thrill through her blood. Was she getting ill? Her magic awakening again?
Sorntar motioned for her to take a seat at the central table, which occupied most of the pavilion’s space. She glanced at her father, and he nodded his head before joining her. After Sorntar took a seat on a stool, Ashayna and the rest of the delegation followed. She sat with shoulders square and elbows tucked against her waist, spine rigid. Three copies of the treaty sat upon the table, each waiting for two final signatures.
Elder Cymael and General Stonemantle had come to agree that the Elementals would reclaim one quarter of human occupied lands, and the villagers within those territories were free to stay or go as they chose, but no acolyte would ever venture upon Elemental lands uninvited. There were so many details Ashayna had missed while she’d slept for two days. She couldn’t even focus enough to read the tiny, flowing script, not with Sorntar watching her through assessing eyes the whole time.
Sorntar gathered the papers, gave them another quick look, and then signed his name. After the ink was dry, he pushed them across the table to her. Under the sinuous foreign script, which must represent his name or perhaps his title, she contemplated the first blank line awaiting her signature. Without reading the treaty, she signed each. It didn’t matter what it said. She knew, no matter the pretty words they wrote or what they chose to call it, this was the beginning of her enslavement—her life now belonged to the crown prince.
How would these magic wielders change her? In a turning of the seasons would she recognize herself? Would she be like them? To become a mage—to use a gift she doubted and feared. She glanced up at Sorntar. What of becoming his bondmate? If she was truthful with herself, bonding worried her more than training to use magic. Did she have a choice? Would she lose herself to the creature within?
“Then it is settled,” Cymael said, intruding upon Ashayna’s thoughts. Then the elder stood and bowed to both General Stonemantle and Crown Prince Sorntar. “May both your chosen paths in this life know many blessings.”
Her father ignored the others and faced her. “Ashayna, I’m sorry.” While his voice was cold, a gruffness in his tone conveyed much more. She heard and understood what no one else recognized. He wanted to throw duty to the wind and rescue her, but he didn’t have that luxury.
When the silence took on a hard-edged quality, Ashayna replied, “Father, I knew what I was doing when I answered the duel. I knew I couldn’t win, but this way I could help my people. This is a bloodless way. You taught me well. Now you must let me go.” She met his intense stare with one of her own. “Duty first.”
Her father stood unmoving, one hand gripping the signed treaty, the other locked in a fist. When he moved at last, it was to sigh, a sound full of bitter helplessness. “Duty first.” He covered the distance in three strides and reached out, hugging her to him in a fierce grip.
“Take care, daughter.”
With one last nod to acknowledge the responsibility she had accepted, he walked out of the tent. Her father didn’t look back. He was simply and totally gone. The other officers followed him out. His quick departure hurt, but she understood. A clean break was better for both of them. Leaning against one of the tent’s support beams, she slid down its length until she sat in a crouched position.
“I can’t claim to understand what you’re going through right now,” Sorntar said as he rounded the table and came to her side, “But I’ll help you as much as you’ll let me.”
“I don’t need your help. I certainly don’t want it.”
Chapter Six
Ashayna found herself alone with her nemesis, who seemed unconcerned by the upheaval he had caused. Sorntar held out a long-fingered hand, expecting her to obey his unvoiced command to hurry along, no doubt. It was unfair to blame him for everything, since it looked like he had no more choice than she, but she needed a scapegoat for her hurt and anger.
Disregarding his outstretched hand, she straightened and walked from the tent. She halted when she reached a group of mounted riders gathered between two rows of tents. The horses stood calmly, almost lazily, accepting both phoenix and lupwyn without a hint of nervousness. The tallest, a shadow-dark stallion, stood at least eighteen hands. They had broad, deep chests, well-muscled hindquarters, and the cleanest legs Ashayna had ever seen. Her sister Sorsha would give a year of her life just for the honor of riding one of them.
“They’re not horses. Santhyrians are another of the Elemental races,” Sorntar said from just behind her.
A new suspicion grew in her mind. “How did you know what I was thinking?”
“We are bondmates. Our minds are open to each other—your thoughts easy for me to touch. It is a natural intimacy between bondmates.” His breath tickled her ear and caressed her neck. Warmth radiated all along her back.
She fought the urge to lean into him, and carefully took a step away. When Ashayna looked over her shoulder, he was looking beyond her, his expression open, unaware he’d been crowding her space. Unable to bury a spark of anger at his intrusion, she glared. “Well, don’t do it again. Intimacy isn’t welcome between us.”
He gave her a sharp nod. “As you wish.”
When he said nothing else, she followed his lead and looked back to the santhyrians as one with a flame-bright coat broke away from the group and approached her with a gentle step. He was the only one without a rider.
The shadow stallion pawed the ground with a hoof and snorted in challenge to the flame-red chestnut. Ashayna froze, awaiting an explosion of violence between these two. Three breaths later, peace still remained undisturbed.
“They’ll not fight, at least not physically. Shadowdancer just told Summer Flame to hurry and pick up his mane ornaments—that would be us.” Sorntar laughed. “As you can guess, Shadowdancer isn’t the most sweet-natured of creatures. However, this bright one is my oldest and most trusted friend, Summer Flame.” Sorntar rubbed the stallion’s nose. “We have been together since he was a foal and I a raw fledgling. Flame, may I introduce Ashayna Stonemantle.”
The big santhyrian bowed and ‘hailed’ at her shields before speaking.
“Welcome little human. I offer you my friendship.”
“Thank you, Summer Flame. I hope we’ll be good friends.” Mild bemusement tugged at her. She was talking to a horse. Now that wasn’t something she thought to be doing this afternoon when she’d woke up this morning.
Sharp talons seized her waist, lifting her through the air in a blur of speed that left her stomach behind. The world righted itself with a jolt. Ashayna grabbed handfuls of the stallion’s mane while loosing a string of curses.
“What are…do I look like a sack of grain?” Ashayna snapped.
“Had I known there’d be an extra ‘sack of grain’ on the return journey, I might have requested another santhyrian to join our delegation.” Sorntar mounted behind in a smooth motion. “But I suppose I can endure riding double if I must.” He used his weight to shift her slightly ahead. He leaned forward and threaded his arms under hers to reach a fistful of the santhyrian’s mane.
She scowled at his dry humor. “I have my own horse,” she added a little desperately. Shifting farther forward, Ashayna tried to get away from the hum of magic radiating off him like heat.
“A horse can’t keep up with a santhyrian.”
Marsolwyn, astride Shadowdancer, raised her hand and gave the command for the delegation to move out. Summer Flame surged forward and they cleared the last rows of tents. The protest Ashayna had at the ready stayed on the tip of her tongue. Her father and the cavalry stood to either side of the main avenue, and they were flanked by every soldier, scout, messenger, and stable boy still in the camp. When they saw her, they stood at attention, showing her an honor she’d never thought to receive. She swallowed hard—her father had done this. That’s why he’d left so abruptly.
Ashayna nodded to her father while
bringing one fist to her heart. She couldn’t trust herself to speak. The santhyrian broke into a gallop, saving her the embarrassment of breaking down in front of the men.
They’d not even given her a chance to say goodbye to her mother or sisters, Sorsha and Lamarra. She swallowed hard and tried to think of other things, like the smoothness of the santhyrian’s gait. One day, she’d have to find a way to introduce Sorsha to a santhyrian.
Sorntar encircled an arm around her waist. Strangely, his touch brought her comfort. Deeper into the forested hills, Ashayna witnessed just how agile the big horse-like beasts could be. The santhyrians jumped over fallen branches, twisted and snaked their way between the broad trunks, and found game trails Ashayna would have been hard-pressed to spot. But the greatest miracle—they managed to avoid low hanging branches that would have scraped off a rider.
After a lengthy uncomfortable silence, Sorntar ventured some questions. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you become a scout? I didn’t think humans allowed their females to partake in a duty where danger was near-constant.”
“I owe my freedom to luck and a very old superstition,” Ashayna said. “My father has no sons. His older brother died without siring any either. That would have ended the direct Stonemantle bloodline. But there is a legend—as long as a Stonemantle is allied to the Emperor’s bloodline, the empire shall never fall. Having no male Stonemantle heirs created a problem. The emperor’s advisors came up with a solution. Long ago a noble- blooded woman could govern her family if she willingly defended her people. I was trained for battle and named my father’s heir.”
“You’ll take General Stonemantle’s place one day? That’s a heavy responsibility for one so young.”
“No, I’ll never be a general. My father refused to allow me to join the military. It’s too easy for a man to lose his heir in the thick of battle. Instead I’m a scout, which is still too dangerous as far as my father’s concerned. It was scout or military. He didn’t have a choice. Besides, I don’t take orders well. And twenty-three is not so young. What about you? You still have nursemaids following you around.”
Sorntar chuckled, the rich sound a physical touch along her spine. “I’m twenty-seven, and will probably still have nursemaids, as you call them, until I reach my first century. For many immortal races, it’s not age, but training that dictates how much responsibility we’re given. And I’ve had a lot of training.” He sobered a moment later. “Back to my original question—since we’ve deprived your father of his heir, what will he do?”
“Whatever he must. He’ll continue to strengthen his position, and then he’ll expect me to charm you into releasing me or escape on my own. If I were to find my way home, he’d spirit me onto the first boat back to the empire and deny knowing anything about my whereabouts.”
Sorntar cleared his throat. “Then why are you telling me this?”
Ashayna smiled, but felt only despair. “Because we both know I’ll never be free of your people. I bear a Larnkin. If I returned, I’d die at the hands of an acolyte, eventually. I planned to leave before the Larnkin could betray me, to run off into the forest and live or die as fate willed.”
“Grey Spires will be a grand improvement over starving in a forest,” Sorntar said, and then tightened his hold on her waist. He sounded upset at the thought of her death.
“Perhaps.” If only his words were true. “Anyway, tell me something about your city. How long until we reach it? It must be several days’ ride.” No matter how good a stallion’s gait, she grimaced at the thought of riding double for any length of time. The last thing she needed was for the crown prince to realize she was aware of him.
“My home is on the opposite side of this land. It would take more than two moon cycles to travel the distance if we were to ride all the way in a normal manner,” he explained. “But Summer Flame and Shadowdancer are both powerful mages. They, and the other santhyrians, will carry the delegation safely through the Wild Path.”
“Wild Path?”
“It is a place not of our world; it is a bridge spanning the worlds of living and Spirit. It does not interfere with an awakening Larnkin like a great weaving for a Gate would.”
“Can’t I just walk?” Ashayna murmured to herself, half in jest.
If Sorntar heard her mutterings, he chose to ignore her comment. “A santhyrian stallion can access the Wild Path using one of the permanent archways. You’ll be able to see one very shortly.”
Summer Flame slowed to a trot as the trees thinned and opened into a meadow. She would miss her mare, but hoped to become friends with one of the santhyrians. To have a mount with such speed and grace would be superb, and they were as intelligent as she. It would be a true partnership any scout would envy.
“The gods may have done better had they made me a santhyrian,” Sorntar rumbled.
“Most like.” Ashayna laughed at his dark tone, then choked to a stop with the realization she’d not mentioned the bit about the santhyrians aloud. Clenching her jaw, she gathered her courage to give him a sharp reminder to quit reading her mind but swallowed the challenge. Summer Flame tossed his head, and halted three paces before a sun-blanched stone archway. Every instinct within her screamed this would be the last time she’d see her world.
It was after midday, and the sun’s light shone at an angle that should have passed through the open archway to land on her skin with its gentle spring warmth. Instead, she stood in the shadow of something far more solid. A chill raised hair on her arms. On the opposite side of the meadow, trees blushed with a hint of young green leaves. Their hues were muted, misty when viewed through the opening. On a hunch, she lowered her shields. A power unlike anything she recalled brushed against her senses, wholly foreign, yet on another level, nagging in its familiarity. This was not the warm living power Sorntar wielded, but a cold, scentless, weightless power. It seeped through the yet-unopened archway, much as a persistent draft will find a way around a loose window closure.
“That you can feel such power is surprising. I can’t. No phoenix can. We’re of air and fire and can only work other types of magic a little.” Sorntar’s thoughts invaded her mind. He continued as if he didn’t notice her slight alarm. “The lupwyns, being of earth, can sense a santhyrian working spirit magic, some few can even work it. Those lupwyns able to weave spirit often join the santhyrian ranks. It’s interesting you can work fire and sense spirit.” His tone hinted it was more than interesting.
“I would say alarming.” Ashayna gave a small mental push. Sorntar still didn’t take the hint, so she raised her mental barriers, forcing him out of her thoughts.
Sitting stiffly, she turned her attention back to the archway and whatever the two santhyrian stallions conjured. She held her breath. Runes carved into the stone began to glow with white light. As the light intensified it spilled over into the opening, like the stone bled. With each passing moment, more light poured forth until it covered the arch’s entire surface. Before the power had been a mere trickle, now it flowed like a fast moving river. When the light from both sides merged in the middle, the surface solidified, banishing the view of the meadow. A blurred view of a mist covered road appeared in its place. In the distance there was another arch, twin to the one before her.
The power washed against her shields in one great wave, then smaller ones, until it drained away. Ashayna looked over her shoulder to silently ask if such a thing was normal. Sorntar nodded. There was no time to worry in any case. Summer Flame galloped through the stone archway. A great pressure descended on her when they passed under the threshold. The strong, silken hairs of Summer Flame’s mane cut into her palms.
Thick grey mist shrouded this new world. No sun or sky was visible, yet it lacked the solid darkness of night. Illumination came from a dense mist churning around the santhyrians’ legs. There was nothing beyond the road she could distinguish. In fact, the only discernable object was the archway. She glanced back and saw not one, but three arches, with nothing to mark one diffe
rent from the rest. A sense of dislocation took hold. How did they navigate such a place?
“Where are we? What is this?” It came out sounding harsh. She couldn’t help it. Some unnamable thing here put her on edge. A sense of quietness lay thick against her lungs. She would go mad if forced to stay in this timeless place for long.
“Each archway leads down a different branch of the Wild Path,” Sorntar explained. “The pressure you felt when we passed under the arches is a direct result of distance traveled. You may find transitions between one location and another uncomfortable the first few times.”
Ashayna let out her breath in a deep sigh and resorted to magical communication again. At least he wouldn’t have to go peeking into her thoughts to know what she was thinking. “In the future, I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me something of the magic before shoving me through.”
He grunted in response.
Summer Flame galloped onward, racing full out to the next arch. None of the santhyrians missed a stride. After the third such jump, Ashayna relaxed her fingers, rubbing her palms against her thighs to restore circulation. Shivering, she realized there was a soul-deep chill to this place.
“Cold?” Sorntar rubbed some warmth into her arms. She found his touch as unsettling as the grey mists, just for a different reason.
“I’m fine. It’s just this place…”
“There’s nothing to fear.”
“I’m not afraid.”
Another lengthy silence descended. When she was able to unclamp her jaw, she glanced over her shoulder only to be distracted by how close the nearest santhyrian galloped. All were riding in a tight formation, but she’d thought the nearest santhyrian ran farther back, for there was no steady sound of hoof striking ground, no wind rustling in hair or mane, no scent. She realized even her mount raced forward on silent hooves.
Betrayal's Price (In Deception's Shadow Book 1) Page 7
