by Shea Godfrey
“But do you, Jess?” Darry’s quiet tone was laced with concern. If she could not believe in something so essential to Jessa’s life, where would that take them?
“Not in the least.” Jessa answered. “And besides, I have a much more pressing concern than discussing religious philosophy.”
Darry let out a breath of laughter. “And what is that?”
“I need your arms around me.”
Darry sheathed her sword and gave it a long look before she tossed it to the bed where it landed near their pillows upon the quilt. When she looked back, her eyes were dark and filled with feeling. “Come to me.”
Jessa obeyed, her steps carefully measured as she crossed the room upon bare feet. She stopped only when she stood close, her eyes drawn to Darry’s lips.
Darry closed the gap between them, and her hand slid upon Jessa’s neck before it fisted within her braids. “This need you have, I share it,” Darry whispered as Jessa rested against her. “And it has very little to do with your scrolls.”
“No,” Jessa agreed, moving against her lover. “No, there is only us, my love.” Darry’s hips were tight and hot to the touch as her hands moved beneath the waist of Darry’s trousers. Darry’s body was forever a temptation, always filled with sleek strength and sensual in its movements, even in the most casual act.
Darry spoke softly beside Jessa’s ear. “I’m afraid there will be a price for this.”
“I will pay it,” Jessa promised. “Kiss me, please.”
Darry eyes were bright as she pulled back, but she did not kiss her.
“I have loved you, Akasha, for as long as I can remember.” The intensity of Darry’s gaze thrilled Jessa beyond measure, for despite Darry’s untamed expression she held control over Jessa’s happiness in a very matter-of-fact and certain manner. “And I have missed you,” Jessa added as heavy tears filled her eyes. They fell down her cheeks and she let them. “I have missed you for even longer.”
Darry kissed her, her mouth open and yet gentle in her passion. Jessa returned the deed in kind and her knees went weak as Darry tightened her embrace.
“You are”—Jessa’s lips pressed close as she spoke—“mine.”
Darry looked into her eyes. “I’ve missed you, too.”
“Do not do anything foolish tomorrow.”
“I won’t,” Darry assured her.
“Do not leave me. You must swear it.”
When Darry kissed her in answer, Jessa accepted her promise.
Chapter Nineteen
Like the Circle of Honor which lay before them, Jessa knew there were many arenas scattered throughout both Arravan and Lyoness where justice would be meted out. Nearly eighty feet in diameter, it was surrounded by four rows of tiered seats that stacked up and back, the ring completed by a simple platform at the north end for the king and queen and the royal party. The chairs set there were made of blackwood, and the carving was simple and clean. Though the cushions were made of silk, they might have been found in the home of any Blooded Lord.
The curved tiers were filled with important men and Lords of rank, the late-morning sun tinged with the first real heat of summer and bright upon the eyes. Jessa stood upon the dais between Emmalyn and Jacob and waited. Hinsa sat before them and swished her tail as she tipped to the left in a lazy manner, and Emmalyn stared down at her with curious eyes as the weight of the panther pushed against her legs.
“She likes to lean,” Jessa explained, and she knew that her voice trembled. She had put on the sable-colored dress that matched her eyes, the dress she had worn for her first official tea with Prince Malcolm, and she felt hot and overdressed. Emmalyn wore a similar outfit, however, as did the queen, so she was certain that etiquette had been served. Her stomach rolled in a rather uncomfortable manner.
Joaquin stood upon the opposite end of the circle, looking freshly scrubbed and wearing his scarlet trousers tucked into his high boots. Commander Grissom Longshanks was nearby to attend to his needs, and Joaquin undid the top buttons of his white tunic with his left hand as he swung his sword before his feet. A small line of dust rose in its wake and he smiled.
The crowd stood in a single wave of movement as Darry entered the circle, followed closely by Bentley and Arkady Winnows. She wore black trousers tucked into her boots and a dark red tunic, the sleeves rolled above her elbows.
Owen and Cecelia stepped to the platform and moved to their seats, silent as Darry took her place but a dozen feet away. Bentley held out Darry’s scabbard and she pulled Zephyr Wind free in a smooth move, the Blue Vale steel a lure for the sun as it flashed brightly into the assembled crowd.
Darry felt the weight of the sword in her hand and listened to the air around it as she turned the blade in the light, the song it sang a familiar one. She must’ve read the name in a scroll many years ago, she reasoned. It was the perfect name.
“Darry.”
Darry looked to her left. Bentley looked in her eyes and then reached out and flicked his fingers against her chin.
Darry jerked her head back at the playful touch.
“Where’s your head?” Bentley asked in a quiet voice, though she could not mistake the harshness of his tone.
Darry smiled. “Busy.”
“Then bloody well fix it,” he told her. “This is not the time for daydreaming about how lovely your Lady looks.”
“Never you mind how my Lady looks.” Darry frowned.
Bentley chuckled. “It’s hot and sticky and I want my lunch. Don’t make me kill that poor pig just to avenge your untimely death before I’ve eaten my first decent meal of the day.”
“Perhaps you just wish to sit beside my cousin at lunch,” Darry teased, and Bentley’s eyes widened.
Arkady tilted his head and gestured toward their friend. “I think he’s blushing.”
“Of course he is,” Darry replied and took a step away from them as she gave her sword a wider arc. She felt the pull of her still-healing injuries and cursed beneath her breath.
“Leave your cousin out of this,” Bentley responded. “She’s not…I wouldn’t ever…”
“Ever what?” Darry asked as she rolled her shoulders, her muscles loose and ready. She flashed him a smile. “Don’t be cross, Lord Greeves.”
The High King stepped to the front of the platform and all eyes turned to him, the silence within the circle and those gathered around it absolute. “Let the debt be paid,” he said simply. “And let honor be restored.”
Darry found Jessa’s eyes for a long moment and let the touch of a smile come forth. Jessa wore the dress that she had once admired from afar, and for a brief second, she remembered the pain of knowing that Jessa had worn it for Malcolm as they had walked through the gardens. But no longer is it so, and you are my love, sweet Jess, for now and for always. Darry turned away and walked to the center of the circle.
Joaquin smiled as he came forward, his walk smooth and his shoulders back.
Darry sized him up with an expert eye. He had the range but not the legs.
“It’s not the prick of the sword I would prefer”—Joaquin spoke softly as he flipped his braid back over his left shoulder—“but you might like the taste of this one, as well.”
Darry stopped and took her stance, just beyond his reach.
“You know,” Joaquin spoke only for her, his voice a tender breath of words, “you won’t be the first woman I’ve killed.”
Darry noted the hard turn of his right foot, his toes pointed inward slightly and his stress held on the outside of his foot. He brought his sword up and his weight was pushed forward as a result.
“Nothing clever to say, cunta?”
The bell from the watchtower chimed but once, and Darry struck high and to his right before it was done. Their swords rang out as Joaquin blocked her blade and moved awkwardly as he tried to correct his balance. Darry spun around him as her steel sparked along his own, and she struck before her circle was complete.
Joaquin sidestepped to the right, stood strai
ght, and found Darry where she had stood but a moment before.
Darry tossed his long braid into the dirt between his boots. “Footwork.”
Joaquin felt the back of his head and swung his sword between them. “Your brother was right,” he offered, his tone sharp with anger. “You are the family amusement.”
Darry let him attack and threw his aim off with a double blow of her blade as he lunged. The second impact surprised him, and he brought his back foot forward as he tried to follow her, her tempo clearly faster than he had anticipated.
Darry slid Zephyr Wind upon the false edge of his sword and gave her wrist a twist as she stepped back, forcing Joaquin to arch his back as he turned to meet her new position.
He felt his chin and his fingertips came away stained with blood.
“Footwork,” Darry said softly.
Joaquin stepped forward and swung his sword from left to right as Darry leaned back smoothly. The blade passed her and she brought the back edge of her sword up as she moved the other way. The Blue Vale steel caught beneath the notch of his left ear and sliced through the cartilage.
A wave of noise moved through the assembled crowd as Joaquin stumbled beyond her reach. He pinned his ear against the side of his head and the blood ran between his fingers and down the back of his hand.
Darry kept pace with him and faced him as he wiped his hand upon his tunic. “Here,” she said politely as she took up her first stance once more. “Try that move again.”
Joaquin stepped forward and took his place, his face red and his eyes vivid with color. His weight was properly placed and his shoulders turned to match his style as Darry noted his focused expression.
She met his attack and gave ground in a measured manner as she deflected each strike of his blade. He was not a bad swordsmen, but he was not practiced, and he had perhaps never fought in earnest against an opponent that would do him harm if given the opportunity. There are no personal guards to help you now, my good Prince. His left shoulder lowered and his weight shifted hard onto his forward foot. She turned and circled his blade, her steel strung along Joaquin’s until she could dip her weapon beneath his own and come back up. Zephyr Wind caught hold of the gold quillon of his wrapped guard, and Darry put her shoulder into it.
Joaquin’s sword was flung from his hand and skittered across the hard-packed earth as Darry stepped a bit closer, placing the tip of her sword hard beneath the base of Joaquin’s throat. Her arm was extended gracefully and with perfect form, the steel an extension of her body as she stood him straight and guided him backward.
“Footwork,” Darry said again as she struck swiftly. The edge of her blade cut the notch beneath his right ear, the wound a perfect match to the one she’d already given him.
Joaquin jerked away from the pain, and Darry turned her back on him as she walked to his fallen sword and slipped the toe of her boot beneath the blade. His sword rose into the air with a kick, and she caught the grip as she turned back around.
Joaquin slid to an unruly stop, and Darry could smell his fear as she met his eyes, Joaquin’s forward progress stalled by her smooth turn. Fear was a sharp, intense odor beneath his sweat, and Darry’s blood surged and her majik rose.
“If I wound you for each time you have abused your sister,” Darry said into the silence of the circle, “then we shall be here all day.” Darry tossed him his weapon and he stepped back to catch it.
Joaquin narrowed his eyes at her, his hand fierce upon the grip of his sword. “What do you care about Malcolm’s broodmare, cunta?” he said softly. “If it can’t be my cock inside her again, it might as well be his.”
Darry felt each word as he spoke it, and from the platform at the top of the Circle, Hinsa screamed her sudden rage. Darry’s blood stuttered within her veins and then burst forth in a flood of instinct.
Joaquin thrust his weapon but Darry knocked it aside and then up as she ducked beneath it all and their bodies collided. His weight was greater than hers, but she lifted him nonetheless and his body flipped up and over her head.
Darry stumbled to the side as he hit the ground, the breath knocked from his lungs as the back of his head thumped against the hard-packed earth.
“Get up!” Darry shouted as all of her fury was released.
Many within the crowd surged to their feet as Joaquin rolled onto his side and pushed to his knees. He grabbed his fallen sword but before he could fully stand, he was forced to defend.
Darry pushed him back, her sword a blur of light as Joaquin tried in vain to protect himself. The sound of steel as it clashed filled the air, and Darry would not relent as Joaquin stumbled and the tip of her sword sliced open his right cheek.
The crowd reacted and individual voices became a single roar. The sound rolled in a swell through the heat, and several shouts rose above the hum as they sensed the end was near.
*
Jessa let out a hard breath and moved without thought. “Akasha.”
Owen reacted quickly and swept her back from the edge of the platform with a firm hand. “No, Jessa, you cannot.”
Jessa took hold of his vest with both hands, and he pulled her close as Darry rushed Joaquin.
Jessa took a breath and remembered the first time Joaquin had struck her. She had been but eight years old, and the summer moon had been high, just two days before Solstice.
Joaquin’s left sleeve was torn as the skin upon his shoulder was slashed.
Jessa remembered the first time he had grabbed and twisted her breast, the fierce pain it had caused suddenly fresh within her mind. He had been watching her as she slept, and she had awoken, terrified and defenseless until Radha had appeared but moments later. The old woman had incurred Joaquin’s wrath, though he had stopped short of violence.
Joaquin’s collarbone was next and then his right thigh in the downward arc of Darry’s blade. His white shirt was splattered with blood.
Jessa remembered his voice within the throne room. Yes, I sent him to kill her, though what does it matter?
Darry’s sword punctured his left biceps and Joaquin cried out in pain.
Jessa remembered the whispers and the tears when her maid Lahi-Jal had been found strangled. She had been raped, the cooks said, as Jessa had stood beneath the Veil of Shadows in the kitchens. It had been Joaquin, the woman said, I saw him in the laundry with her that morning and then she was gone for sure, poor thing. The talk had gone on and on—Joaquin had followed Lahi-Jal for weeks, and Joaquin had baited her with fresh grapes from the coast. If that sweet little Lark isn’t careful, she’ll be next, just as pretty as her mother was…
There was a sharp ping of sound as Joaquin’s sword left his hand and seemed to jump upward, the blue sky bright behind it.
Zephyr Wind entered Joaquin’s chest but a heartbeat later, and Darry stepped close as she pushed the strike home, earning a roar from the crowd as the killing blow was dealt and Darry’s blade speared Joaquin’s back.
Jessa watched as Darry stepped close and spoke to him, though they were too far away and the noise around them was too great for her to hear. Darry’s left hand landed upon his face and she pushed him away as she drew her sword free.
Joaquin folded to the ground as the calls took on a definite rhythm. The soldiers who had gathered beyond the Circle called out Darry’s name as Hinsa jumped from the platform and ran to her, unafraid of the cheers as she went to inspect their kill.
Owen bent his head close to Jessa’s ear, and Jessa realized that she had turned her face to his chest. He smelled of soap and sandalwood, a clean, soothing scent. “It’s over, my young Queen,” he said in a gentle voice. It calmed her almost at once and she loosened her hands from his silk vest. “Your love has served justice upon the man who tried to kill you.”
Jessa turned her head in time to see the gold coins fall from Darry’s hand and land upon the chest of Prince Trey-Jak Joaquin, a Prince of the Blood no more.
Chapter Twenty
Jessa stood behind the Healer as he tended
Darry’s wound, and Jessa held her tongue with no small amount of effort. Darry had ripped the stitches clean through, and when Jessa had finally reached her after the chaos of her victory, Darry’s red shirt was plastered to her ribs and soaked with blood. To see the blood had been a physical shock to Jessa, and her legs had been less than confident as Bentley and Arkady escorted them from the yards amidst the crowd. Arkady’s hand was familiar upon her elbow and his offered strength had been greatly welcomed. She had wanted to hold Darry in her arms but had refrained, uncertain with so many Lords of the realm and strangers around them.
The Healer applied a fresh poultice next and wrapped Darry’s ribs with quick, expert hands as she sat upon the side of their bed. Jessa understood the wound would have to heal anew, and there was a greater chance of infection because of the reinjury. Neither of these things made Jessa happy, and her stomach cramped with anxiety as the Healer helped Darry into a clean tunic.
“Thank you, Master Devon,” Darry said in a rough voice, her complexion pale and her usual fire completely absent from her demeanor.
He held out a wooden cup. “Drink it, Lady Darrius. I know your pain is great.”
Darry’s hand trembled as she took the cup and she looked up with a stubborn expression.
“Drink it,” Jessa ordered, and she knew her voice was tight and somewhat harsh.
Darry obeyed, then handed the cup back to him.
“Get some sleep,” he instructed and tidied his leather satchel. He stood up and gave Jessa a kind smile. “See that she sleeps, my Lady. In the morning, you should change the poultice. Do you have goldenseal?”
“Yes.”
“Make a tea for her, two full measures to start with.”
“Yes,” Jessa answered again as the back of her right hand pressed against her forehead for an instant. “Thank you.”
“You know what needs to be done, my Lady,” he added. “All will be well…though you could use some rest, too, no doubt.”
Jessa let out a startled laugh and met his eyes. “Yes.”
