Lyon smiled as his mother agreed.
“We are so very, very proud of you all. And,” she added with a glance at the ring Shaina now wore, “glad you two have found your way to each other.”
“It was difficult for her,” Lyon said. “You know how she hates being told what to do.”
She nearly elbowed him, would have had she been more recovered from his near death.
“I had not noticed that,” her father said dryly.
Even Shaina laughed at that, although part of her reaction was sheer joy from hearing Lyon laugh. He was sounding stronger by the minute.
“I’m afraid she got that from both of us,” her mother said.
“You must admit,” Shaina said, “all that old talk about destiny was rather the epitome of being told what you will do.”
“No,” her father said quietly. “Learning—far too late—you are the next flashbow warrior is that.”
Her gaze shot to her father’s face. In his eyes she saw the love that had always been there, more than a little pain, and a fierce regret. Lyon urged her, with a nudge at the small of her back, and slowly she got to her feet. She faced the man she had come here hating, but now loved even more because she understood so much more.
“I understand, now. I still wish I had known, but I understand. And I realize that you have been teaching me, giving me the tools I will need, all my life. That it was only the final knowledge you withheld. And that you did it out of love.”
Her father stared at her. She saw moisture glistening in his eyes. “Ah, Shaina,” he whispered, and she had never heard such a broken sound from this man who had guided her life, who had been ever strong, tough, and sardonic. And then she was hugging him, and he her, so tightly she doubted either of them could breathe.
Her mother hugged them both, and Shaina felt the dampness of tears that had spilled over on her cheeks, mingling with her mothers. After a long, jubilant moment, her father drew back. Only then did Shaina see that Lyon’s mother was crying too, and Dare’s eyes were damp as well. Rina was simply beaming at them.
Tark looked a bit stunned, as if he’d never seen such family love and forgiveness before. For a moment she locked gazes with him.
Welcome, she thought, and put as much of the word as she could into her smile. After a moment he smiled back at her, a smile so full of awe she knew he’d realized this was his now.
Her father had crossed the room and taken up something Rina had had behind her. Now he brought it back and stood before her.
“There will be a formal ceremony when we return to Trios,” he said, “but I’ve already waited too long. This is yours now.”
Shaina stared. In his hand was not the traditional apprentice weapon, but his own flashbow, gleaming silver as he held it out to her.
“But this is yours,” she said.
“And now it is yours.”
“But you—”
“I think I can make do with my secondary bow.”
She had no doubt of that, he was, after all, the greatest flashbow warrior Trios had ever known. But this?
“But—”
“You saved my life with this, Shaina. And put an end to the man who helped guide the near destruction of Trios. You’ve more than earned it.”
“For what it may be worth, your king agrees,” Dare said when she still hesitated. It was part of the form—the warrior chose, the king approved, but it still took a moment before she could move. And then Lyon got to his feet. With amazing steadiness, considering, he stood beside her.
“As do I,” he said softly. “And I am the one who shall have to deal, am I not?”
At last she put a hand on the elegant, lethal weapon. Unarmed now it lay quiet, yet she thought she could feel a slight tingle along her fingers.
“Were it not your right,” her father said, his voice low and husky, “it would not respond to you.”
She took it then, felt an electric sort of snap as a current seemed to run through her. Then it settled, and it was merely a tool in her hand. A very special, very powerful tool. Waiting to come to life at her command.
“A queen and a flashbow warrior,” Dare said with a wondering shake of his head.
Shaina’s breath caught. She hadn’t thought of that. Bonding with Lyon meant she would one day be queen. Her gaze shot to his face.
“I think Trios can withstand it,” he said with a grin.
Her mouth quirked. “I’m not queen material,” she said ruefully.
“I think you and I need to have a talk, my dear,” Shaylah said dryly.
“You are precisely queen material, my love,” Lyon whispered into her ear, making her color as his breath tickling her ear made her wish he was well enough to think of other pursuits.
The door to the room swung open. Eight heads snapped around, eight hands streaked to weapons. Instinctively, Shaina glanced at the orb, as did Lyon. It sat quietly. No enemy warning here.
An old man stepped out of the shadows.
“How in Hades did he get in here?” Tark growled, his weapon aimed at the old man’s head.
“You!” Shaina exclaimed.
“You know this man?” Dare asked, his disrupter aimed squarely at the newcomer’s chest. The king of Trios had lost none of his reflexes.
“Yes,” Lyon said. He looked at his mother. “And so, I believe, do you.”
Shaylah frowned. “I do?”
The old man smiled at her. “I’m not surprised you do not recognize me, little sunbird. It has been a very long time.”
The queen’s brow furrowed. Then cleared as her eyes widened. “Theon? Theon, is it truly you?”
At the delight in her voice all weapons came down. She ran forward and threw her arms around the old man. After a moment, he drew back and looked at her.
“It has been too long, little Shaylah. But your blood is strong, and you have passed the essence on to your son. I am glad he is recovering.”
“He almost didn’t,” Shaina said starkly. “When I first laid that orb upon him it did nothing.”
The old man turned. “They say to heal it must be held by a still-living Graymist.”
Shaina opened her mouth, but could not say the words, as if speaking them would make it all too real, all over again. Lyon spoke them for her.
“And I was not.”
Shaina felt the spike of pain in the very air of the room as those who loved him reacted.
“So I had heard,” the old man agreed easily.
“I still do not understand why it worked, then,” Shaina said, fighting off the painful images of Lyon lying bloody and broken on a field of battle. “I am only thankful that it did.”
Theon walked over to the orb, glanced back at Shaylah. “If I may?”
“Why ask?” she said with a smile. “You seem to know more of it than anyone.”
“What I know was told to me by your grandmother, who had a great fondness for the tales.”
“I remember,” Shaylah said softly.
“You have not held it?”
“No. I’ve been . . . distracted.”
“Of course.” He smiled at her. “Your grandmother told me the orb spoke to all Graymists, but to the head of the family most of all. And you are, now, the oldest of the Graymist clan.”
“Well, I’m feeling much older than I did a few days ago,” Shaylah agreed wryly with a glance at Lyon.
“Then take it,” Theon said, holding it out.
The queen took the orb. The crystal leapt to life with a fierce, steady glow. And held, longer than either Shaina or Lyon had seen before. Shaylah looked startled, and for a long moment stared down at the orb in her hands. Then her head came up, and the smile on her face lit the room. She gave her mate a swift hug, and then went to Shaina and Lyon. She took her s
on’s hand.
“Oh, my dear Lyon, it did not work for you.” She turned to Shaina. “It worked for you.”
“But I am not Graymist.”
“No.” Her queen, the woman she loved second only to her own mother, put a hand to Shaina’s cheek. Her smile was radiant. “But your son is.”
“My—”
Her breath caught. Her eyes widened. Shock numbed her. Lyon’s arm steadied her. And then she felt a flood of heat rising from deep within her, coloring her chest, her neck, her face as the others reacted, the men with a blankness she thought was probably typical, the women with gasps followed by slowly growing smiles.
Rina was the first to recover. “Well. That’s a fine way to find out.”
“But . . . already?” Lyon said, sounding a little shaky. “And after only—”
He broke off before he would have truly earned that elbow, Shaina thought, still feeling a little numb. It was enough that it had been announced to all and sundry, without the details of how it had come about. She stole a glance at her father, who looked shell-shocked. The king looked nearly so.
And then her mother was there, hugging her, then Lyon, then Shaylah. Rina joined them, her teasing laugh a joyous thing.
A child. She was carrying a child. Lyon’s son.
She had to believe it. The orb had done everything promised, had been right about everything. Dear God. The very thought made her shiver. Lyon’s arm tightened. She leaned into him, feeling suddenly weak.
Ridiculously, the first thing that occurred to her was that this explained why she had not been able to see through the screen, but had been able to see the treasure. She was already pregnant, even then.
“I think,” old Theon said, “that soon I may have to take up my brush again.”
“I would count it an unmatched favor if you would, my dear old friend,” Shaylah said, still smiling so widely Shaina couldn’t help but feel the warmth of it. “We need a portrait of our king at last. We have sadly missed having an artist of your talent.”
“And in time,” Theon said, “a portrait of this entire family, for the thought of this combination of Graymist and Trios royalty, of Claxton and Silverbrake, will give an entire galaxy hope for a final and lasting peace. And perhaps one day this child will assure it.”
“That’s a lot to lay on a baby who’s not even here yet,” Rina said, bringing them all back to practicality.
“I think,” the queen said briskly, “there are two people here who need some time alone.”
“I think,” Rina said with a grin, “there are four sets of two people here who need some time alone.”
The laughter eased the emotions. And at last Shaina was alone with the man who was her destiny, who had always been her destiny. Her bonded mate.
And the father of their child. A child who had his own magnificent destiny, if the old man was to be believed.
She believed him.
Epilogue
KING DARIAN OF Trios arose early. He walked quietly to the window of the royal bedchamber and looked out at the pink and orange streaks that heralded the coming sunrise. He smiled as in the distance he saw a familiar silhouette against the sunrise. A kingbird, soaring. They were returning, as Trios healed.
The grounds were still deserted at this early hour. For a moment he simply savored the peace of it. A peace hard won. The cost had been high, many had died to do it. He doubted anyone would take it for granted, here or on Arellia, ever again.
A movement caught his eye. Two people stepped out of the lower palace doors, into the courtyard. Close together, arm in arm, dark head bent to golden, they walked in silence, as if they were savoring the peace as was he. Rina and her Tark, Dare thought. The hero of Galatin, twice over. He could not have picked a better man for her.
When Rina had told him, privately, of the isolation he had endured, of the way his own people had rejected him as a symbol of a time they wished to forget, he was incensed. He had moved quickly to offer him that rarest of things, a royal offer of immediate citizenship.
“You mean . . . become Triotian?” Tark had asked, seeming startled.
“I do.”
“But I know what is required. I can bring nothing of value you do not already have.”
“You would be welcome even if you were not already a hero, a legend among us.” Dare liked him even more for the way he shook his head in bemused doubt at that. “You would be welcome because you have brought joy to someone very important to many Triotians. Rina was a symbol of what we nearly lost, a child regained, hope renewed.”
“I do not deserve her,” he said. “But I do love her. Beyond measure.”
“I believe that. That and my respect for you as a man makes you someone I greatly wish to stay.”
“I thought . . . more was required to become Triotian.”
“I should think the word of the king would do,” he had said dryly then. “And if not mine, then the hundreds of others who would line up to put their name down for you. We have peace once more, and there is no one on Trios who does not know we have you to thank for it.”
He had meant it. He meant it still, as he watched the couple walk toward the lightening sky. Thanks to Tark the enemy had been pushed back again, perhaps forever. They had never expected the resistance that had met them on Arellia. They were in a shambles, and word had come last night that they appeared to be retreating from the sector altogether.
They had never even set foot on Trios this time.
And they never would. He would see to that. And when his time was past, Lyon would see to it. And then his son after him.
His chest tightened. For the first time, he saw his years as a slave as insignificant. If that was the price for the joy he had now, he would pay it again, gladly.
It had been a long, hard journey since the Coalition had first invaded and conquered this gem among worlds. His people had been slaughtered. He had endured his father’s brutal end, then the guilt and horror over the death of his childhood love, Brielle, Dax’s own sister, followed by his own enslavement. For a very long time, when he had believed there was no one else left alive, he had wished for death, for an end to the torment.
He turned to look over his shoulder to where Shaylah lay sleeping. She had, with her courage, her conviction, and her unfailing sense of what was right, changed everything. Not merely his fate, but he himself. In one of his few fanciful moments, he once had thought that when he had first seen her was the instant when everything started to change, when the momentum shifted, leading them to this time.
Through Shaylah had come Califa, once his fiercest enemy, now a trusted friend. He would have forgiven her much for what she had done for Dax, the man who had ever been his brother in spirit if not in blood. But now he accepted her for herself, for a woman who had changed herself at the very core, for the love of a once-tortured lost soul. Dax, who had been lost to Trios as so much had, but had finally come home and was now all Dare had known he could be. The greatest flashbow warrior Trios had ever seen. At least, Dare thought with a smile, until his daughter took over one future day. He thought Shaina, her father forgiven and her path now straight and true, would match him.
And most of all Lyon, so strongly certain of himself and his destiny. Dare acknowledged the ache inside at the tragedy they had so barely escaped, but it was eclipsed by the pride that filled him at the man his son had become.
They had fulfilled that destiny, these two, and were without doubt the pair to fulfill the new one, they and their child.
His grandson.
He felt a shiver as memories swept him, of the days when his mind, his body, his very soul had not been his own. Of the days when the treatment he had endured had made him doubtful he could ever sire children.
Shaylah slipped up behind him, slid her arms around his waist, and held him tightly. Al
l the memories vanished at her precious touch, replaced by the warmth and joyfulness only she brought to him.
“It is well done, my love.”
He put a hand over hers. “None of it would be as it is now, if not for you.”
“Us,” she said. “None of it began until there was us.”
“And our son, and then our grandchild will see Trios into the future.”
“He will.”
“I love you, my queen.”
“Would you care to prove that, your majesty?”
With a joyous laugh he turned, took into his arms the woman who had saved him from so much more than slavery.
“Indeed I would,” he said, and swept her up in his arms and carried her back to their bed.
And he found joy almost unbearable as the sun rose over Trios.
The End
(Please continue reading for more information about the author)
About the Author
“Some people call me a writer, some an author, some a novelist. I just say I’m a storyteller.”
—Justine Dare Davis
Author of more than sixty books (she sold her first ten in less than two years), Justine Dare Davis is a four-time winner of the coveted RWA RITA Award, and has been inducted into the RWA Hall of Fame. Her books have appeared on national best-seller lists, including USA Today. She has been featured on CNN, taught at several national and international conferences, and at the UCLA writer’s program.
After years of working in law enforcement, and more years doing both, Justine now writes full time. She lives near beautiful Puget Sound in Washington state, peacefully coexisting with deer, bears, raccoons, a newly arrived covey of quail, a pair of bald eagles, and her beloved ’67 Corvette roadster. When she’s not writing, taking photographs, looking for music to blast in said roadster, or driving said roadster (and yes, it goes very fast), she tends to her knitting. Literally.
Find out more at her website and blog (where she posts some of those photos) at justinedavis.com, Facebook at JustineDareDavis (which also gets photos), or Twitter @Justine_D_Davis (which mostly gets odd observations, favorite quotes, interesting links, and the occasional question flung into the ether).
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