She slipped through the doorway, following the beast and his best friend’s body.
Bastian leapt off the dais, grabbed Tressa’s hand, and tugged her away from the crowd.
“That’s not the first time we’ve seen one of those.”
Bastian glanced down at her. “What are you talking about?”
“That was another dragon, just like the one that died in our village.”
Bastian’s anger grew. He’d been so blinded by the vicious woman and the way she’d flailed on Connor to make the connection. Another dragon. More myth come to life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Tressa didn’t let go of Bastian until they were well away from the town. She laid a hand on the rough bark of a tall tree. Her panting led to a raspy voice. “Can we stop now?”
She slipped her hand out of Bastian’s.
“I don’t know where to go,” Bastian admitted.
“We should try to get back to our village. Let them know there is a way out. Maybe with more people to help, we can find a cure for the plague. We need to tell Hazel what happened to Connor.” Tressa’s heart ached, knowing how devastated Hazel would be. “And you should be with your wife.”
She glanced up at him. Bastian kicked the tree, and then stalked away ten paces. “Why do you do that?”
Tressa thought to say, “Do what?” but she knew he would see right through her. He always did. Instead she said, “Because it’s the way things are.”
“Nothing is as it was. We’ve escaped. Connor’s dead.” Bastian motioned her toward him.
Tressa took a few tentative steps, not sure what he wanted. His eyes softened, standing in stark contrast to the blood on his vest. Connor’s blood. It was all they had left of him. The only item they could offer to Hazel in consolation.
She closed the distance between them. Her fingers fumbled at the buttons on Bastian’s vest, setting free the three wooden orbs from the looped fabric. She touched Bastian’s shoulders. The vest pushed backward. Her hands slid down his arms, until the vest was at his wrists.
“Take it off.” Tressa drowned in Bastian’s blue eyes. Her fingertips grazed his wrists.
“If I take this off, I’m shedding the last of my ties to Hutton’s Bridge. That includes Vinya.”
“You have a daughter.”
“I grew up without a father. So did you.”
His breath lingered on Tressa’s forehead, stirring that longing she’d spent so many years suppressing. She tore her gaze away from his. “I don’t want to be the one responsible for your daughter growing up without her father.”
“No one is responsible for anyone else’s choices. Despite what your guilt may tell you, my desperate desire to have you in my arms again isn’t forced. It isn’t a game. It isn’t nostalgia. Whether we’re here, facing an uncertain future, or back in the village, the only consistent want I’ve ever had is you.”
Tressa read the truth in his face. It was the only truth she’d ever known outside of her love for Granna. Bastian was hers and she was his. She may have tried to fill that void with Connor’s friendship. Connor had become the wall between them.
The wall had fallen. So had her resolve.
Tressa ripped the vest off of Bastian, tossing it onto the ground. She tugged on the string at Bastian’s neck. His shirt opened. Tressa’s hands reached under his shirt, her fingernails scratching at his muscled stomach.
A groan slipped from Bastian’s lips. Tressa lifted his shirt up and over his head. He took it off the rest of the way and tossed it.
Bastian grabbed her forearms, forcing her hands from his body. “Are you done fighting me, Tressa?”
“I’ll never stop fighting, Bastian. We have to get rid of the fog, lead our people out, and figure out how to kill that bitch who killed Connor. But I swear right now, on the life of my sweet Granna, I will never deny you again.”
Bastian lifted Tressa into his arms. Her toes dangled just above the ground as he kissed her for the first time in years. To her, it felt like they’d never stopped being together. In her mind they hadn’t. This is where they were supposed to be.
“There’s no bed. No cover,” Bastian growled into her ear as they sank into the soft grass.
Tressa nibbled on his ear. “That never stopped us before.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Tressa woke in Bastian’s arms. Nothing but Bastian’s cloak shielded them from the waning night. A faint thumping in the distance grew louder with each passing moment. It sounded like an animal, a big one, coming toward them.
“Bastian!” She smacked his chest.
“More? Aren’t you tired yet?” He groaned, rolling over and out from under the cloak.
Moonlight bounced off of his thighs, exposing every part of him. Not that she hadn’t seen it all before.
“Something’s coming!” She sat up, but pulled the cloak over her chest.
Bastian grabbed his breeches and shimmied into them. Tressa wished they’d had the whole night to themselves. The sun wasn’t even cresting before trouble decided to search for them. She grabbed her dress, pulling it over her head. The linen felt too heavy compared to the lightness she’d experienced in Bastian’s arms. At least this time she knew there would be more later. The last time they’d been together, she’d cried the whole time, knowing she’d never feel him in that way again. Their final goodbye, stolen in the meadow next to the fog where no one would search for them, closed a door neither of them dared open again, even though both left a hand on the latch in their hearts.
A great beast, hooves as solid as a tree, and hair hanging from its neck reared up next to them. Taller than a cow, but unmistakably a horse. The last one they’d had in Hutton’s Bridge died forty years ago. Without a significant pasture to roam, their horses became lame and weak, eventually unable, or unwilling, to reproduce. Granna had told Tressa about their magnificence. One more of Granna’s stories come to life.
A man sat atop the horse’s strong back, his legs grasping tight to the horse’s barrel, reminding Tressa of her own legs wrapped around Bastian a few short hours ago.
A blush spread across her face. It wasn’t shame; it was anticipation for what lie ahead.
Bastian drew his sword, his other arm hovering in front of Tressa.
Tressa eyed the man. He didn’t wear all black like the soldiers who’d taken and killed Connor. His dark hair was cut short. A mustache graced his upper lip and a friendly twinkle sparkled in his eyes. No, he wasn’t here to harm them. A simple passerby, perhaps.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, his voice steady and non-threatening.
A shape swooped from above and landed on Tressa’s shoulder. “Nerak!” She reached up and ruffled the owl’s feathers.
The man chuckled and slipped off his horse. Bastian still hadn’t lowered his weapon, his muscles as tense as ever.
Tressa rested a hand on his arm. “If he’s with Nerak, I’m sure he’s okay.”
“You don’t know that,” Bastian said. “She may have led us out of the fog, but she also took us straight toward Stacia’s army.”
A shadow fell across the man’s face. “Stacia is our enemy. She may be the queen,” his eyes were downcast, but filled with fire, “but she’s had us under her thumb for too long. We’ve been waiting for you.”
Nerak dug into Tressa’s shoulder. “You have the wrong people,” she said. “We’ve only recently arrived here. We’re not from this land.”
“I’d know my own daughter anywhere.” He reached out his hand.
Before he could connect with her trembling cheek, Bastian’s arm shot out, blocking him.
“Don’t touch her,” he warned.
The man pulled his hand back, unruffled. “Are the two of you coupled?” The man lowered his eyes to their partially dressed bodies. He’d managed to avoid making their lack of clothes an issue until that moment.
“Yes,” Bastian said, “since she first pulled my ribbon from the basket.”
The man
nodded. “Congratulations, Tressa, for finding a man who cares for you. It’s unusual when marriage is left to fate and reproduction.”
Tressa’s mouth hung, slack. He knew her name.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” Bastian whispered in her ear. “He could have been sent by Stacia.”
Tressa ignored his breath on her cheek, giving her full attention to the man in front of her. She didn’t remember her father. He’d left when she was only a babe, leaving her to Granna’s care. He knew disappearing into the fog was a death sentence. No one ever returned. No one lived.
She, Bastian, and Connor had proven them wrong. There was life beyond the fog. If they could survive, why couldn’t her father?
Nerak’s talons dug into her again. Truth. Believe.
But if he lived, why didn’t he ever come back for her and Granna? Her heart tugged at the thought. It was the same decision Bastian made. To stay with her. Not to run back the first chance he got.
“I couldn’t find my way back,” the man said, answering her unasked question. Her father, if she believed him. “I tried. I failed. And I wasn’t the first. There’s a small community of us in the forest.”
“And Stacia lets you live?”
He sighed and looked over his shoulder. “She doesn’t know we’re there. Unlike Hutton’s Bridge, which everyone knows about, she doesn’t realize some of us escaped. We remain hidden.”
“We should at least go to his village,” Tressa said, despite her trepidation. “Where else can we go, Bastian?”
Bastian’s eyes narrowed. She knew he didn’t believe a word the man said. She wasn’t sure she did either. They had no options other than to wander.
The man shook his head. “You’re Bastian? Incredible! Your mother, Jayne, lives in the community.” He laughed. “I should have seen the resemblance. You have the same eyes.”
Bastian swung his gaze to the man. “My mother is dead.”
“No, she’s not. She left six years after I did. I know because I found her bloodied at the edge of the forest, alone. The other two people with her died in the fog. By some miracle, she found her way out. Do you remember her?”
Bastian nodded slowly. Tressa could only image the pain flooding through him. She’d never known her father. He was but another story of Granna’s. Bastian was a small child when his mother was chosen. Tressa remembered the way he clung to the edge of her skirt, weeping, begging her not to go.
She had patted him on the head, urging him to be brave. She promised she’d see him again. For the first year he stood at the edge of the fog every spare moment, waiting for her to come back. When she didn’t, he withdrew into himself even more. He shunned everyone but Tressa and Connor, leaving the rest of the village behind before he’d ever had the chance to cross the fog.
“We will follow you,” Bastian finally said. “If you’re lying, I’ll gut you.”
“Fair enough,” the man said. He looked at Tressa. “Would you like to ride?”
The beast huffed a warm breath out its nostrils and pawed the ground with its hooves. She shook her head. “I think I’ll walk.”
“We all will.” He took the lead in his hand. “Follow me. We must hurry before day breaks and Stacia’s people find us.”
They walked in silence for a few moments when he spoke again. “I’m sorry about your friend.”
“How do you know about Connor?” Tressa asked. Bastian stalked silently next to her, lost in his thoughts.
“I was in town when they called for everyone to repent. I saw the whole thing. The two of you were obviously not from the town. Your hair, your clothes, everything was wrong. It’s not unusual for Stacia to bring in outsiders. Her riders frequently catch people from other kingdoms near our borders. But I knew that was not the case with the two of you.”
“How?” she asked.
“Because when I saw you, I thought I was looking at the wife I had who’d died in childbirth. You could be her twin, Tressa.” He sniffled tears back. Whether it was from manly pride or good self-control, Tressa didn’t know, but she was glad he did. Enough tears had been spilled.
Bastian stalked ahead of them, mumbling something about scouting. Tressa let him go. Typical Bastian. He would need time to sort through his feelings, ones he likely would repress until he could see the woman the man claimed was Bastian’s mother.
“Why did you say you’d been looking for us?” The word “father” had been on the tip of her tongue. She didn’t dare utter it. Not yet. There was more proving to be done before she’d allow herself.
“Every year, on the day three are sent into the fog, we send out a scouting party. We wait five days, no more, no less for survivors. I wasn’t looking for you, specifically. I never hoped to see you again.”
Tressa glowered at him.
He held up his free hand. “Before you judge, hear me out. I know about the horrors in the fog. I lived through them, by some miracle. I never wanted you to face them, Tressa. I hoped for a long, happy life in Hutton’s Bridge with a husband you could tolerate, and maybe love, and many children.”
The pit in her heart grew wider at the mention of children. Being barren was a black mark on her value as a human in Hutton’s Bridge. But now, with Bastian in this new place, where success didn’t depend fully on the fertility of each woman, Tressa hoped the chasm would heal itself.
“Speaking of children, if you are coupled and bonded, where are your children?” His eyebrows crinkled together. “They never send a couple out to the fog. The leaders were never so cruel. Why are the two of you here? What became of your family?”
“It is only the two of us,” Tressa said, her voice low and steady. She didn’t know him, or have any measure of his compassion to their situation. Nor did she particularly want to explain it to him. What lay between her heart and Bastian’s was theirs alone. It was too precious to give it over to a veritable stranger for judgment.
“I’m sorry.” He patted her arm. “I know what it is like to lose someone I love.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I left you behind. I was grief-stricken when your mother died.”
“Granna raised me just fine.” Tressa couldn’t imagine another upbringing. Granna had loved her completely and she in return. She’d wondered about her father, but never missed him.
“How is my grandmother?” he asked, laughing. “She was so spirited, I swore she’d never die.”
Tressa’s voice lowered. “She died only a few days ago. There’s a plague overtaking the village.”
“I am sorry to hear that.”
“Now you know why we must find our way through the fog and back to the village as soon as possible.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t allow that.”
“What? Then why search for survivors each year?” She was confused. “Have you given up on Hutton’s Bridge?”
“All will be explained when we arrive at the village. I promise, what we have to tell you will make sense. Just give us a chance.”
Tressa looked ahead for Bastian. His red hair stood out among the tall, green grass. She wanted to go back for her people. She wasn’t sure Bastian would agree.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Before the sun lit the tops of the trees, they arrived in the village. Bastian kept his hand on the pommel of his sword, still convinced treachery might await them. The man knew too much and exactly how to leash their hearts to his will. Despite wanting to kill him and move on with Tressa, the boy in Bastian had to know the truth.
Was his mother still alive? Had she kept her promise to see him again? And would he even recognize the woman who’d been elevated to ultimate perfection in his mind?
Despite the law not to bear arms, for years he’d trained with the sword in private. It had been his goal to go into the fog and find his mother. Bring her back. Everyone thought he belonged in the forge because of his strength. Little did they know the strength came from the secret training, driven by only one goal.
When he began to look
at Tressa as more than just a playmate and friend, his focus shifted to protecting her. The lengths he went to save her from the fog were successful, until the last choosing. Someone thwarted his efforts, rigged the game. He swore if he ever found out who, they’d die by his hand. Slowly. Painfully.
He volunteered to go with her, only to be with her in the moment she died. He never suspected, not for a moment, that they’d take another breath in the fog. It was a death sentence. If it wasn’t, his mother would have come back for him. Wouldn’t she?
Inside a thick copse of trees far away from the road stood four cottages. Crudely constructed, but his sharp eye told him they were more solid than they appeared. A trick for the casual onlooker. In fact, the entire settlement appeared abandoned. The stones surrounding the fire pit listed to the side, sloppy and forlorn. Bastian sauntered over to it. Just as he suspected—the fire had been put out with water, ashes scattered. It looked old. It was only another well-constructed illusion.
“The trees block the firelight in the evening. At least most of it. We’re very cautious.”
Bastian didn’t turn around to see whose voice it was. He already knew. It was the same one that had sung to him every night before bed when he was afraid of monsters lurking in dark corners. The same voice that had soothed him when he tripped and skinned his knee. The same voice that had promised she would be back for him.
A hand fell on his shoulder. Light as a feather, but weighted with so many bittersweet memories and unresolved expectations.
“Mother,” he said, turning around.
“You used to call me Mama.” A tentative smile graced her face. She’d once had a full head of red hair. Now silver strands of hair reflected the sunlight. A few more wrinkles than he remembered had settled around her eyes. Other than that, she was the same woman whose skirts he hid behind when kids more clever and quick of tongue teased him.
Gods & Dragons: 8 Fantasy Novels Page 72
