Yana fired another arrow, and this one struck low. Much too low. She fired another. It went to the left this time, missing. She fired again, angry. This one flew three feet wide and hit another tree behind her target instead.
“Bosh,” she said to herself. She checked her bow again. It seemed in perfect order. She knocked another arrow and pulled it tight, and realized what her problem was.
Her hands were shaking.
She tried to steady herself, and focus hard, as she let fly. Her arrow hit the tree, but not where she wanted. Unacceptable. She could not get the pain in her chest to stop. It was so bad, it scared her. How could it hurt so bad? Bastion’s voice rang in her ears, his smile played across her eyesight, his touch rippled across her skin. Each of her senses heightened her pain. She threw her bow down in disgust, and stormed away from it.
She walked the woods a while, and came back for her bow. Setting her things against a tree, she laid down in a soft spot, and tried to sleep a while. A familiar scent greeted her, as she lay on her side. Periwinkle.
She was laying in a patch of soft, cursed periwinkle. She laid there a while anyway, wondering if her grief would exhaust her enough to let her sleep. She needed to escape this pain. She needed to escape this place. She needed relief, and knew she would find none. She longed for the curve of Bastion’s body behind her, as she cried bitterly.
Yana woke at an unknown hour. It was dark out, well into the night. She felt terrible, in every possible way. She gathered her things, and headed out of the forest, back into the meadows. She was north of the caravans, well out in the darkness. There was only one campfire nearby. She could see men shouting around the fire, but couldn’t hear them. She decided to look closer. She remembered the last time she was curious and decided to look closer. She ended up tracking black riders, and getting herself into the worst mess of her life.
These were gypsy wagons, though, and her celebrity as a hero among the gypsies should make her welcome. She figured she couldn’t do any worse. She walked closer, and smiled at the irony. This was Draiman’s caravan. She recognized the wagons.
Yana walked directly for the fire. This sorry band of miscreant gypsies was more fitting anyway. She was tired of hearing her friends harass her or encourage her with false words of kindness. She didn’t deserve kindness, and she knew she wouldn’t find too much among the Ursari.
“Oi, you sorry dogs!” Yana said, walking into the light.
“Oi!” they all welcomed her with drunken faces and lifted bottles. She knew most of them.
“Oi, Yana! We were just toasting to future success,” Draiman said, handing her a bottle as he approached.
“A toast?” Yana said. “What about a toast for me?”
“To Yana!” Draiman announced, “A gypsy more wicked than us all!”
Yana took a big chug of the drink, along with the rest, who hardly needed an excuse to drink more.
“You are a damned idiot, Draiman,” Yana said, sitting down with the bottle in her hand.
“No more so than you,” he said. “What are you doing out here?”
“Whatever the hell I please,” Yana said, taking another drink.
“Damn right!” Draiman said. “That’s the Yana I know!” The other men of his tribe joined in, joking and teasing her as she drank. They laughed about old times, and the crazy stuff they did that almost got them killed. Yana kept drinking, trying to kill the pain. The talk of old times was a welcome distraction, along with the warmth of her drink.
“I am leaving this place,” Yana said.
“Where you headed?” Draiman asked.
“Anywhere. As far as I can go.”
“Are you going with your caravan?” Draiman said.
“I can’t. We have some who are too sick to travel. I don’t want to wait.”
“You should come with us!” Draiman said. “It will be just like old times!” That sounded pretty damn good to Yana. She had felt like she would never get back to feeling normal, never shake this pain for her darling boy, the King. A long ride might be just what she needed.
“When are we leaving?” Yana asked.
“Haha! Soon!” Draiman exulted. “We have some things to take care of and a few friends to arrive, and we are off!”
They talked and laughed into the night, and Yana even did a drunken little dance as the tribe played some gypsy drums. Eventually, she wandered off a little ways, trying to clear her head. Draiman came after her.
“What are you doing away from the fire, gitana?” Draiman asked, every bit as drunk as she.
“Nothing,” Yana said. “I think I need to lie down for a moment.”
“Come, come with me,” Draiman said. Yana stumbled a bit into his arms. Draiman kissed her, as he had the night before. She kissed him back, numb from drinking and no longer giving a damn about anything at all.
Draiman escorted her back to his wagon. Yana could see almost nothing. She laid on the bedding, and let out a big sigh. She would hate herself, but she was too damn tired.
Draiman began to undress her, and kiss her. Yana did nothing to stop him. She allowed him to touch her, grateful that he at least had the sense not to speak. He got her naked, and entered her. Draiman’s lust for her had run a long time; he just wished he wasn’t so drunk. He did not mind the cold, dead look in Yana’s eyes, as he took her sex. He knew she would be much different as his slave, after they killed Bastion.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Bastion sat in his chambers, alone. He tried to think, and tried not to think. His mind swirled, thinking of the young gypsy he had loved since his youth. Thinking of his father, the King. Why did he have to depart, at the worst possible time? If Bastion was still Captain, and not King, maybe Yana would not be so far out of reach. He thought of his Uncle Otta, wondering why everything had changed. He was once a good friend to Bastion. He missed his friend, Otta.
He thought of his nights as a black rider. He loved riding with his men, even though he was the youngest of them for most of that time. They strengthened him, as did their hard nights of riding and training. He thought of everything- the way Yana danced for him, played for him, fought for him.
He played his djembe drum on his balcony, looking out onto the west meadows. He could see the big project that Obadiah had been building at his order. It only broke his heart now, but it was like throwing hot coals on a bed of hot coals. Scorching, burning, no matter how big the pile.
Servants came to his door several times through the evening, and he turned them all away, except the one bearing wine and bread. He thought about a potential battle brewing, after the news his men brought him today. He would welcome a fight, he thought. He wondered if it would have hurt less, just to die in that gulley ambush that Yana saved him from, than to be so heartbroken. It could not possibly hurt any worse.
Bastion laid in his bed finally, hoping to truly rest. He wondered if he would ever sleep well again. It didn’t seem like it. He was tired, just thinking of the life he still had to face alone, as he drifted off.
His door creaked open, stirring him from his half-asleep state.
“Yana?” he said. He could see it was a woman, but she did not answer. She put her finger to her lips, but Bastion could not make out her face well in the dark.
“Yana?” He said again. The woman said nothing, but Bastion saw that she was disrobing. In only a moment, she was undressed, naked in the poor light of one last candle across the room that still burned. She climbed into his bed. Bastion was nude already, as he usually slept that way. Bastion took her and tucked her into the curve of his body, pressing her back into his chest. She was young, and lovely.
“Yana?” he said again, more alert.
“No,” she said. She rolled over to face him, and kissed him timidly, though it was a bold move for her. Bastion looked curiously at the pretty young woman who would dare to present herself this way.
“Della?” Indeed it was Della, from the galley. The servant girl.
“Shhh,” she
said, kissing him directly, before he could say more. The fact that he knew her name, and recognized her, was enough. Bastion did not know what to think, but she did feel good in his bed. He remembered she had come to drink coffee with him in silence that morning.
Della rolled Bastion onto his back, and got on top of him. She slid down onto him, taking him inside her. She leaned back, letting Bastion see her body, looking down upon him. She struggled to take him, and it hurt, but it felt good. She had lusted for the King long before he was King, but tonight, she just wanted to comfort him. She could not bear to see so much pain in such a good man.
She laid down, still straddling him, pressing her breasts into his chest. She moved forward in gentle strokes, enjoying a moment she never thought possible, for herself. For him, she hoped it would give Bastion pleasure, some relief, some assurance. She wanted to see him strong, as King, and not as she saw him this morning, in shambles.
She moved herself harder, and soon Bastion finished. She climaxed with him, trying to be as quiet as she could. She lied next to him, and let him set her against his chest.
Bastion allowed this bold servant girl into his bed, grateful for her. He knew nothing of her, but it was nice to remember that some in his Kingdom still cared for him, and had not abandoned him. He lied there a while, thinking, his mind still on Yana, and the servant girl next to him.
“Della, you must leave now,” Bastion said, interrupting the long silence.
“Yes, my Lord,” she said, getting up immediately. She dressed quickly.
“You must not speak of this night,” Bastion said.
“Of course, my Lord,” Della said. She got to her knees next to the bed. “Forgive me, Sire. I only wanted to comfort you.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Bastion said, looking at her.
“But do not enter my chamber again.”
_______________________
The Gypsy Queen- CHAPTER 27- “fight”
Bastion stood at his father’s grave in the royal cemetery of Jedikai, near the palace. It was part of a larger cemetery, set aside for his ancestors. Next to the fresh patch of dirt, was the gravestone of his mother. He had not come around this place for a while. It was too grim. Yet today, that was fitting enough. He sat down beside their graves. The King’s stone had not yet been carved, as Obadiah had been working on his other projects. It would be done in its time, Bastion figured.
Bastion envied the dead, as he looked around. They were at peace, their struggles over. He figured he would be dead soon enough. If he had to go through life with a broken heart, maybe at least his time would be short. He was hurting so bad for his little gypsy lover, he could feel it physically. He wondered if anyone ever died from a broken heart. He wondered if Yana was hurting. Wondered if she was all right. He wondered if she even cared at all.
“Captain!” a voice called out. He turned to look. Two gypsy girls were hailing him. He stayed put, as they were walking straight for him. The noonday sun was in his eyes, making it hard to tell who they were.
“Captain!” Emilee called, as they approached. Jaelle was with her, and they both had their staffs.
“Oi,” Bastion said, without much enthusiasm.
“What ya doin’ out here at the boneyard?” Emilee asked. She realized the answer before she even finished speaking.
“Oh,” she said, remembering Bastion’s father.
“Come, sit down,” Bastion said. “I could use the company.” The two gypsy girls sat with the King, in an otherwise lonely cemetery.
“How are you doing, Sir?” Emilee asked.
“As well as can be expected,” Bastion said. “Terrible.”
“King Bastion,” Jaelle said, “I want to thank you for coming to save me from that dungeon at Tatu. You saved my life.”
“I am glad to see you doing well,” Bastion replied. “How,” Bastion said, pausing to consider whether he should ask. “How is Yana?”
“That’s why we came,” Emilee said. “She is not well.”
“Is she sick?”
“No, no, it’s not that,” Jaelle said. “She didn’t come back to camp last night.”
“She is missing?” Bastion sat up, concerned.
“Not exactly,” Emilee said.
“Tell me straight,” Bastion said, authority in his voice.
“Captain,” Emilee said meekly, “We think she is with Ursari gypsies.”
“Draiman,” Bastion said, trying to hide the rage he felt at the name.
“You... you know of him?” Jaelle said.
“I know.”
“Aren’t you going to do something about it, Captain?” Emilee said.
“What’s to do?” Bastion replied. “She chose to leave me, and now seems to want someone else.”
“She doesn’t want someone else,” Jaelle said. “She wants you.”
“The facts tell a different story, don’t they?” Bastion said.
“Do you know nothing of women, Captain?” Emilee asked.
“I know of the pain it is to love one, now,” Bastion said.
“Sire, the problem isn’t Yana. It is Draiman,” Jaelle said.
“Why?”
“I think he is a slave trader,” Jaelle said. “There is something terrible about him.”
“Terrible,” Bastion said. “Agreed.”
“Captain... we think Yana is in trouble,” Emilee said. “Big trouble.”
“Sounds like that’s what she wants,” Bastion said.
“What if he takes her as a slave?” Jaelle said.
“Then she will spend her days wishing she had chosen the prison of my palace, instead,” Bastion said.
“Will you not come to help her?” Emilee asked.
“I think I have done enough,” Bastion said. He was displeased with Yana to his deepest fathoms. Jaelle stood up, with anger in her face.
“The man I would call King, the man who saved my life, the man who loves my friend, would never fail to take action for his people!” she said, exasperated.
“It is not I who has failed,” Bastion said, standing up. “You speak to a King this way?”
“Come on,” Emilee said. “We can fight them ourselves.” She pulled on Jaelle’s sleeve, for them to go.
Bastion, King of a mighty kingdom, watched them turn their back on him. How could it be his duty to save Yana, now? How could he be expected to defend her? How could it be a failure, for him to give her the freedom she said she wanted? Must a King defend even the one who would hurt him the worst?
Bastion thought for a moment. His emotions were boiling like a bitter, salty broth. He did not want to see Yana with Draiman. He did not want to see her as an actual slave. He would rather die, on both counts. He looked at all the gravestones around them.
“Wait,” he said to the departing gypsy girls. “Did you say ‘fight’?”
Emilee turned around, and crouched with her staff as Nathaniel had taught her. She exuded aggression in her stance, inspiring him. He knew a gypsy fighter like that.
Bastion smiled, for the first time in a while.
“I will come,” he said.
Bastion marched out of the city, with Jaelle and Emilee. He had only his small dagger. No swords, slings or arrows, or black riders.
“Shouldn’t we get help?” Emilee said, having to hustle to keep up with the determined young king.
“I will not need help,” he said.
“What if you are killed?” she said.
“Then my troubles will be over,” Bastion said. “But I do not intend to be defeated.”
“You’re going to need our help,” Emilee said, glad they had their staffs with them.
“I want you to go back to your caravan,” Bastion said, walking briskly. “I know where they are.”
“Forgive me, Sire,” Emilee said. “I intend to fight for my Captain.” Bastion had had his fill of arguing with strong-willed gypsy girls.
“Very well,” Bastion said. “Just remember, some who have fought for me, have
also died.” Emilee did not reply, but steeled herself. They followed behind Bastion, and Emilee whispered to Jaelle.
“Get help, Jaelle,” she said, pointing to the camps. “Hurry.”
Jaelle broke away, as Emilee still followed. Bastion was unaware, as a punishing, violent storm brewed inside him. He crested a sloping hill north of the meadows, as Draiman’s caravan came into view. He did not break stride. He could see men there, who had spotted him. Their camp was active. He tried to count how many men there were. Perhaps he would kill all of them. Then he saw Draiman, as he got within earshot.
“The coward King!” Draiman called. Bastion walked straight for him. Bastion could see the fear in his eyes, even for his posturing.
“Why have you come?” Draiman said, in a mocking tone. “Have you come for Yana?”
“You know why I am here,” Bastion said. As he said it, Yana came from around a wagon. A glass bottle was in her hand.
“No,” Yana said. “Why are you here?”
“I am here for you, Yana,” Bastion said.
“I am not going with you,” she said. “I am leaving Jedikai tomorrow.”
“Good,” Bastion said. “But I did not come to invite you back,” Bastion said. “I came here to do my job.”
“And what job is that, gaje?” Draiman scoffed. Emilee spoke up, behind him.
“Our job is to strike down bad men!” she said. “Yana, come out of there. Come away from there,” she pleaded. Yana had no chance to reply.
“You come to kill me, Bastion?” Draiman said. “Why did you not send your black cowards?” Bastion approached him, and tossed his blade to the ground. Emilee followed, but was afraid. Draiman’s men were all armed.
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