by Shea Godfrey
Almahdi stood up straight and looked down upon his king, his laughter quiet but filled with life.
“Shivasa!” Sylban shouted and shoved up from his chair. “Guards!”
Bharjah stared into the distance as the blood poured from his opened throat and spilled down the front of his golden robe.
Almahdi de Ghalib, First Warden and Lord of Lahaba-Sha Province lifted his arms out, the curved, bloody dagger that had belonged to his wife still held within his right hand. “Asha-Aman!” he called out and his voice echoed with strength to the high ceiling.
The many doors to the chamber were thrown open and the Palace Guards rushed in as Sylban-Tenna drew his sword and grabbed his father by the shoulder. He yanked Bharjah from his chair, let him fall to the floor, and then stepped over him as Almahdi watched.
Sylban looked down at his father and watched as the blood pooled beneath his body, its flow unimpeded as it spread across the floor. He turned back to the Lords of Lyoness as the Palace Guards filled the room behind him and surrounded the table, as well. Several Lords were on their feet, but most were still seated as they stared in shock.
Sylban-Tenna let his gaze travel down one side of the table and up the other. “You will swear fealty to me, or die,” he declared and turned smoothly.
Almahdi stared beyond the searching, dark eyes of Bharjah’s firstborn son. As Sylban shoved his sword into Almahdi’s chest beneath his left arm, Almahdi spoke his last words. “Asha, your sons have been avenged.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Jessa walked through the bedroom chamber and tossed Darry’s jacket onto the bed as she passed by. Several unfinished dresses were laid out, and Jessa was determined they should be completed by the night of the autumn moon. The fabrics were not the finest silks, but she had dyed them with the help of the maid, who was also an accomplished seamstress. The colors were rich bronze and rust, and the fabric had taken them well.
The house was larger than they needed, but she found she liked the space, the rooms filled with windows and terrace doors that were still open although the heat of summer had left. The fresh air was crisp and filled with the tang of changing maples and thick pines, and she did not tire of the mixture of scents.
The manor was set upon the edge of the Yellendale Forest, north of Ballentrae and south of the Lanark River. The forest came close upon the house and the stables, but it was a comfortable union and it served them well with Hinsa’s presence.
The manor and estate lands had belonged to Emmalyn’s first husband, Evan, and when they had arrived, they had been expected. The seneschal had been there to greet them, and he had liked Darry from the moment they shook hands. He gave over a leather satchel before they had entered the house, and within it were the deeds and papers that gave Darry ownership of the properties.
The house had been in the midst of major repairs, and before they had even settled in, Darry’s Boys had taken up the tasks alongside the household staff. The stables had been repaired, and the fences, as well, and barracks had gone up within a month’s time, a home made of sturdy oak and maple that none of the men had expected. Lucien Martins had designed the two-story building, and each man was beyond pleased to have the privacy of his own room.
Jessa heard the sound of weapons and she moved through the sitting room and onto the second-floor veranda, her soft boots quiet upon the painted oak planks. She leaned against the rail and searched the courtyard below.
Darry stood beside Bentley as she slipped the leather straps of a round oak shield onto her left arm, and Jessa’s eyes widened at the sight of it.
Darry tested the weight. “It’s a good fit.”
“The wider straps should deflect the weight differently, when someone tries to lop your head off,” Bentley explained and stepped closer. He tipped the shield forward and looked to the straps. “Lucas says they will, anyway.”
Darry’s grin was filled with mischief. “And we believe Lucas, because…?”
Bentley giggled. “Because he’s the bastard son of a blacksmith.”
“Perhaps he should stand in front of me and hold it while I test out his theory.”
“Don’t be cruel, darling.” Bentley smiled. “Apparently he wishes to learn a trade.”
Darry stepped back and held the shield in front of her, her arm firm. “Hit it.”
“I’m not going to hit you.”
“No, I want to see.”
“Hit it with what, my head?”
Darry smiled and nodded toward the nearest fence post. “That rock over there, give it a good toss at my head.”
“What in the name of Gamar do you think you are doing?” Jessa called out as soon as the words had crossed Darry’s lips. Her heart had given a not-so-pleasant thud at the thought of rocks being heaved at her lover’s head.
Darry turned with a brilliant smile and looked up. “That was just for you, my love, to see if you were paying attention.”
“My wits are about me, Darrius, you needn’t fear,” Jessa responded with amusement, for she could not be angry when faced with such a captivating expression. Darry had yet to reclaim her full strength, but her wounds had healed faster than Jessa expected. Darry had lost weight and she looked lean, her muscles finely cut and her stride quicker than it had been, if that was possible. It had been nearly three months since their escape from Blackstone, but Darry had yet to regain the full use of her left arm. “Take that damn thing off.”
Darry’s eyebrow lifted and Jessa thought instantly of Cecelia as Darry’s smile slid easily into a rogue’s grin of disobedience. “But we’re having fun, Jess. Bentley’s lovesick heart wishes to play in the sun for once.”
Bentley swung hard with his right hand and Darry ducked beneath his fist with a laugh as he stumbled past her.
“Remove it from your arm, or I shall not dance with you at the party,” Jessa promised. “I shall dance with Bentley all night.”
Bentley stood up straight and turned around with a handsome smile. “And I didn’t even need a rock.”
“You will dance with me no matter what I do, my sweet Lark, and you shall love every minute of it.” Darry’s eyes darkened. “Do not threaten me with such.”
Jessa’s stomach flipped at the brazen tone in Darry’s voice, and she felt a wonderful rush of love cascade throughout her chest. Jessa happily took the offered bait and tasted the richness of it. “Bentley, my good friend, please tell Arkady that I shall dance the Mohn-Drom with him when the stars reach their peak of the autumn moon.”
Darry pulled the shield from her arm and swung it.
Bentley caught it against his stomach with what must have been an uncomfortable loss of breath at the impact. “Bloody hell, woman…”
Darry’s eyes were dark. “You have something else to say, Lord Greeves?”
Jessa turned at the polite but unexpected cough behind her, pulled from their play by the intrusion. Arkady wore an enigmatic grin as he stood beyond the veranda doors, an expression that Jessa had come to know and appreciate.
“Is that a promise?” he asked.
Jessa smiled. “She would kill us both and you know it.”
“Probably just me, my Lady.”
She glanced at the rolled parchment tied with a gold ribbon in his hand, the seal that held it made of green wax.
“Lucas brought this from Ballentrae,” he explained. “He was not followed, nor was he questioned by anyone. He is still but a hunter from the north and of little interest to anyone. Orlando was his shadow and he saw nothing amiss. Neither of them witnessed the man who delivered it. Prince Jacob’s spies are the best we’ve seen.”
Jessa’s heartbeat quickened with fear as she held out her hand. “Or not seen.”
Arkady stepped forward. “Aye, that too, my Lady.” His heels gave a hard click as she took possession of the message.
“Stop doing that, please,” Jessa said. It was an order that she had given him a hundred times and he had yet to obey.
“No, my Lady,” he said
with a smile and turned about.
Jessa waited for him to leave and then returned to the bedroom as she broke Jacob’s official seal. They stayed far from Ballentrae and the household staff were under strict orders not to speak of the changes that had taken place on the estate. Jessa entertained little fear that they would be found. She knew it would end at some point, but for now, they were safe.
Jessa stopped beside the desk and unrolled the parchment.
Darry stood in the doorway. “Jacob’s colors.”
Jessa did not look up. “Yes,” she whispered.
Darry entered the room.
“The Lord Bentley Greeves is wanted for questioning in the suspicious death of Lord Marteen Salish. He has not been charged with murder, but there is a bounty for his return to Lokey, and there is a bounty for Etienne Blue.” Jessa lifted her eyes as Darry stepped close. “A thousand gold coins offered by Melora Salish, for each of them…and the seal of the Crown Prince is upon the writ.”
“But not my father’s?” Darry asked with interest.
“It does not say, but by the inclusion of such information, it may be safe to say that your father travels a different course in this. Jacob would not waste his words.”
“What else, my love?” Darry’s voice was but a breath as she reached out and pulled with care at a dark braid of hair. The backs of her fingers brushed with warmth against Jessa’s cheek.
“My father has been assassinated by Lord Almahdi de Ghalib, and Sylban-Tenna has taken the Jade Throne,” Jessa said with an odd hitch in her voice as she looked up. “There is civil war in Lyoness. My brothers fight for the throne.”
Darry took the parchment from Jessa’s hands and glanced at it before she dropped it to the desk. “There is no surprise in this, Jess.” Darry pulled her to the side and gathered her close. “Your reasoning was sound the moment I heard it. We knew this was coming.”
Jessa took hold of Darry’s tunic collar with both hands. “Malcolm’s game is deep in play, Darry.” Her thoughts began to assimilate the new information. “Lord Almahdi has avenged his children—though I did not predict that.”
“Aye, and my father’s war will be stalled at the Lyonese border,” Darry added, “if indeed they march. There is no word of battle from Ballentrae, and nothing travels faster than word of war. My father’s couriers are second to none, and his rookery will have doubled in size since last we were there. Arravan has yet to encroach upon Lyoness. Bharjah’s death has changed things.”
“And so what do we do, Akasha?” Jessa asked as she realized that Jacob’s greatest spy was no more. Her thoughts faltered down a new avenue and it threw her into confusion. “I don’t know what to do now.”
“You will dance the Mohn-Drom with no one but me,” Darry answered in a whisper.
Jessa was startled into a smile. “Is that what is next?”
“Aye,” Darry responded. “Say it, my pretty Lark, and you shall be rewarded.”
“And I will dance the Mohn-Drom with no one but you.”
Darry smiled and her dimple pressed in her cheek.
Jessa laughed, her heartbeat quick at the desire she saw in Darry’s eyes. “Thank you,” she said. “’Tis a lovely prize.”
“Our world is here now, Jess. We will rest until our own game begins.” Darry brushed her lips upon Jessa’s. “Until then, we live for us…we live for now.”
The words moved deep within Jessa’s heart and she pulled Darry closer. “And what else do you want right now, Akasha? You seem to have a lot of free time upon your hands. Perhaps I should give you a task to complete.”
Darry’s smile was filled with delight. “Will you give me a quest? How splendid of you, my Princess.”
“I said a task, not a quest.”
“Make it both,” Darry said with whispered fire as her lips brushed beneath Jessa’s left ear, “and I shall let the panther take you as I know you like.”
Jessa bit hard upon her lower lip as Darry’s mouth burned against her throat. Her reaction was instant and she felt her need pulse throughout her body. Her majik reacted as well, and everything faded beneath its hunger for more. “Just…you should…”
“Just what?”
Jessa caught her breath at the placement of Darry’s hand as their bodies came together.
“What is my task, sweet Jess? Command me and it shall be done.”
“Close the bloody door, Akasha,” Jessa said within a smile and kissed her.
The taste of Darry’s tongue upon her own was like the honeyed wine from the far north of Lyoness, the distant memory of its flavor brought to life by the sweetness of love.
About the Author
Shea Godfrey is an artist and writer working and living in the Midwest. While her formal education is in journalism and photography, she has spent most of her career thus far in 3D animation and design. You may contact Shea at: [email protected].
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