Dance With The Enemy

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Dance With The Enemy Page 2

by Linda Boulanger


  Yes, life as she knew it was over, but now Elenya saw it for what it truly was: a continuation. She would rise with the sun tomorrow morning, setting out toward her new life. And in the evening she would gaze up at the stars that now represented for her a different kind of hope. She thought of the words she’d written in her journal and knew they were truer than she’d thought. As penned, this was only the end…for now.

  Chapter 2

  Tahruk slipped his arms into the soft fabric of the dove gray tunic he would wear to the gathering. With a poorly contained tremble, the corisan’s small hand inched forward to smooth the lines over his charge’s thick biceps only to be pushed away. Tahruk’s countenance was darker than it should have been for one preparing for celebration. The time of the Dremis was upon them.

  With clipped movements the warrior wrapped a near-black sash around his waist and tightened it with a sturdy jerk. He despised this yearly ritual, hated the fact that the Masters chose whom the elite would marry. Not that he cared. He’d never had any need for love, observing marriage as a mere means to fulfill his obligation to beget children. Besides, his chosen had eluded him for eight years. Few were the men who reached his age of twenty and six without being bound by some maiden at the Dremis gathering. Perhaps the Masters had forgotten him.

  He smiled, only the corners of his full lips twitching upward to match the wickedness of his thoughts. Either way, his bed would be warmed by an unknown maiden, one as fresh as the new clothing that hung on his powerful frame. Hopefully she would be one of the women brought in specifically for the pleasures of the warriors whose chosen had not yet arrived. He wondered… he’d heard this year’s gathering was far more alluring in their innocence than in most years, though tonight he craved a maiden perhaps knowledgeable even though unskilled. Too often the young women, made up to whet the appetites of the too long denied warriors, were fearful, untaught -- combinations that did not go well together. Tahruk had never minded, really. Under normal circumstances he very much enjoyed his part of easing a reserved maiden into her new position as a Lady of the Courts. He was known for leaving ladies skilled in the art of love, a proficiency appreciated by visitors and need-laden warriors fresh from training or the fields of battle.

  Why then did he not feel the weightless anticipation that usually accompanied preparation for the ceremony? Though true that he despised the ceremony’s reasons for being, he was usually able to look beyond the fanfare to the payoff. And then to the three weeks of rest that followed. Tonight, though, he wore a brooding veil that refused to lift.

  Your enemy will soon walk by your side.

  The odd words darted through his mind, pinging within Tahruk’s head while he pulled on his boots. He knew the exile had been lifted from his family’s enemy and their chosen was said to be in the midst of the Dremis maidens. Again Tahruk wondered why her presence should concern him. Since her marking some fifteen years ago, their exile had ceased and her people had begun to venture to the Centrehead, though not yet in the masses that were sure to come with her union. Some already trained alongside the royal guard.

  He supposed his concerns lay in her match. Depending on whose blood she carried, her family may very well be spending a lot of time near Zanak – his family Drille. It seemed likely since the majority of Drilles were centered about Dorengar’s Centrehead that she would be living close by. He sighed. Their families would be forced into becoming civil neighbors after being at odds for nearly a century. The Courts would demand it, especially with Princess Damalenya’s line continuing their cause, claiming the death of the Aleone man should have served as punishment enough and that the exile as a whole was unjust.

  Damn their claim! Zanak had been wronged. Life had been lost there too. The woman, marked for someone else, had given birth to a child, a scrawny boy with hair the color of honeyed cinnamon, not long before the woman’s death. And soon after, the child had died as well. How could they not believe the punishment was just? And what did it matter to him? He would not be paired with the daughter of his enemy. As absurd as the reasoning for these pairings seemed, so that the royal bloodlines would remain pure and strong, idiocy in the matches did not appear to rein. Thankfully.

  The dark gray breeches of the softest leather received a rough thrust into black boots before the warrior straightened, towering over the man sent to assist him. He paid little heed to the corisan, bellowing instead for Nema. The older woman breezed in, pride simmering in the depths of her eyes nearly as dark as Tahruk’s blue-black ones. She looked him over, her neck craning toward the ceiling to take in all of him.

  “A finer man among the elite has never been, my lord.” Her voice cracked, garnering a sharp scowl from the young warrior. She chuckled, nonplused by his dark demeanor, and brushed away an errant tear. “Your chosen will be honored to carry your blood, and your children.”

  Tahruk huffed, pushing back a strand of the night black hair as it escaped its leather tie. “Were my chosen here to see me … perhaps. Though, if she were, I would surely know,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

  “As you say.” Nema pointed to a chair near the garden door of Tahruk’s chamber. “Now sit so I may properly bind your hair. You have a long night ahead of you.”

  He stared at her for a few moments before complying, both of them continuing in silence -- the warrior’s thoughts returned to the feeling that gnawed his insides, Nema on what she believed she knew to be true. If she was right, tonight would change the course of the young master’s life.

  “Why do you smile, Nema? You look as guilty as a cat whose mouth is full of yellow feathers.” His eyes locked with hers in the reflection of the gazing glass before him. “What do you know?”

  “No more than you.” Her gaze was steady, lips thinned after she answered.

  “My senses tell me nothing.” One fine brow shot up.

  “You have already said as much.”

  Tahruk watched, knowing her shrewd senses were on alert. She would know, perhaps even before he knew himself, that his body sensed the presence of his chosen. “Your intuition tells you otherwise?”

  The older woman who had always been a part of his life, who had acted as his nursemaid and governess when he was young, sat at the family table, and took the same liberties as any other family member didn’t answer at first. Instead she stared out the garden door appearing to look beyond the lovely flowers.

  Tahruk’s heartbeat quickened, his mouth drying as he watched her, relaxing only slightly when she shrugged her bony shoulders.

  “We all wait in anticipation, my lord. Each year, you go to the ceremony while we idle away the hours, hopeful your chosen will be among the maidens and the match will be superior. Until she arrives, it will be so.”

  The warrior stood, drawing the older woman’s gaze back to him. She smiled. He returned the gesture before pulling her to him. “You are a terrible liar, Nema.”.

  Her aged cackle rose into the air as she pushed him away. “An old woman is unfit for the arms of a mighty warrior when fair maidens await, my lord. And you shall much sooner find your answer there than here.” She shooed him toward the chamber’s door with a look over her shoulder. “See, the Dremis moon has begun to shine. Make haste, lad.”

  Tahruk turned in the doorframe to see the moonlight beginning to creep in through the garden door. Only Nema, who knew him even better perhaps than his own mother, understood the flash of emotions that played across his handsome face before his warrior’s mask dropped firmly into place.

  “Do not wait up, Nema, for the lady I bring home will surely not be my own,” he practically growled. He looked at her one more time, then turned, a confident stride removing him from her presence where he pushed out into the night, wishing the moonlight would wash away the churning he felt inside.

  Chapter 3

  Arms lifted, Elenya allowed her gown to slide into place, the silk whispering down her body making her shiver. The corisan assigned to help her giggled behind a discreetly lifted hand.
She leaned in to whisper something to the innocent maiden.

  “Tonight you will know the feel of a man’s hands instead, my lady.” Her voice was as silky as the material she’d slipped over Elenya’s head. “That first touch is something you will not soon forget.”

  Elenya shook again, though for different reasons. Eyes lowered, she remained quiet, hopeful the other woman with her heavily kohled eyes and lips tinted a deep red would understand the subject was not one she wished to discuss. Nor did she want to look the part of a harlot as so many of the other maidens did as they prepared for the Dremis Ceremony. She was already bound to one of the warriors, had been since she was three through the marking that would allow him to find her when she became of age. Why then must she be paraded before the warriors of the Centrehead at all?

  With a touch none too soft, the corisan lifted a brush to Elenya’s honeyed-cinnamon hair and began the tedious task of untangling the thick crop of curls that fell down her nearly bare back.

  “It’s a pity this gown was designed to cover your lovely hair, my lady.” She ran a strand of Elenya’s tresses between her fingers. “This exact hue has not been seen since the days of Princess Damalenya, I’m told. In fact, had your mother’s hair been slightly darker, she would have been the one chosen…”

  “Ceeda!” The voice of the head mistress stopped the woman’s wagging tongue. The heavyset woman strolled toward the pair, her curled fists thrust into what had once been her waist. “Folklore is best left to the story tellers, not the corisans of the Dremis maidens.”

  The green spheres of Elenya’s eyes darted between the two women as she stared at their images in the reflective glass. The older woman’s mouth barely shifted from the tight line, only a brow lifted above one eye to emphasize her statement. The impact of her words, however, was as clear as if she had shouted. Elenya’s corisan bobbed, her dark hair falling over a bared shoulder as she curtsied to the head mistress. She kept her eyes averted until the older woman turned and the sound of her footsteps could be heard on the far side of the room. Only then did she look at Elenya’s reflection and roll her eyes.

  “Close your mouth, dear. Such is unbecoming to a lady.”

  Neither is your smirk, Elenya thought, though she did as instructed -- more out of surprise than propriety. She was glad this girl did not belong to any of the families she would most likely be paired with. She was certainly nothing like the Lady Larina who had accompanied her on the trip from Aleone. She had been every bit a lady, even given her position as mistress to many as one of the Ladies of the Courts. Elenya wallowed in the loneliness she’d felt ever since they had been separated upon their arrival in the Centrehead. She hoped women like Ceeda were the exception. Surely such behavior would not be tolerated if displayed more than rarely.

  Her mind went immediately to Cerissa, another woman she’d met on the trip from Aleone. They’d picked her up along with others at one of the two stops made to take on additional Dremis maidens between her home harbor and the Centrehead. Elenya had developed an instant disliking of her, especially when she’d noticed the masked interest the other woman took in her. It made her uncomfortable, as did Cerissa’s incessant attempts to flirt with the crew, specially trained to turn off their emotions where women were concerned to protect the innocence of the Dremis maidens. Her mother would have said Cerissa was on the prowl, with her cap of spun gold that draped down her slender frame in a riotous cascade begging a man to run his hands through it. Never before had Elenya seen eyes a more beautiful blue, nor had she realized such an ethereal vision could exude such an air of one seeking mischief. It seemed obvious to her that Cerissa had every expectation of making a good match even though Elenya quickly learned she had no royal blood running through her veins. No one seemed to know exactly where she came from. In fact. When Elenya had inquired during one of their onboard gatherings, Cerissa had attempted to embarrass her by telling the group she was a Goddian warrior commissioned to protect precious cargo aboard. She’d looked directly at Elenya when she spoke the words.

  The lines of Elenya’s tinted lips thinned. The Goddians were a group of mythical women hailing from a non-existent territory. They were trained as stealthy combatants, sent into areas where the presence of men would have alerted the enemy. Cerissa, a Goddian warrior! To have to share her warrior with a woman such as that … she would not have it!

  She sighed knowing she had no say should the man whose mark she carried decide to take a second – a woman to warm his bed after his obligations with his chosen were taken care of. It wasn’t supposed to happen that way. The mingling of the blood was designed to create a bond that heightened his desire to stay faithful to the one marked for him. But all too often, the men strayed, taking seconds or becoming regular visitors to the halls of the Ladies of the Courts. Again she found herself hopeful Shemek’s words would come true. She desperately wanted the man whose blood ran through her veins to have feelings for her beyond those created by the marking – the marking intended to ensure the royal bloodlines by assuring a fierce desire quenched only by…

  Elenya’s cheeks flared with an intense burning.

  “The Dremis Moon hangs high, ladies. Time to assemble in the Great Hall.” The head mistress clapped her hands and called the women together. The warriors had returned from the last of their training only that day. They were anxious, many optimistic their chosen had come of age. Others were interested only in a warm body pressed next to theirs.

  Elenya rose, hopeful the man whose blood she carried was one of those seeped in expectancy. She wished her heart was not so heavy. Perhaps then a more positive outlook would have come easier. With held breath she fell in line, only to let the air out slowly in an attempt to ease her nerves. She knew her angst was for nothing, for in a few hours it would all be over anyway. The thought did little to lessen her fears.

  Chapter 4

  Nose in the air, he sniffed. She was there. He could smell her.

  His shadowed eyes danced over the crowd of women dressed to entice – as if their attire was required for that. The throng of warriors that trailed behind him were hungry, some driven by the need spurred by lengthy denial, others already half-mad by the scent of their chosen which assailed them the moment they entered the hall.

  With ease he swept past the women vying for his attention, his keen sense of smell propelling him forward. The increasing intensity of her scent kept him focused. He pushed away a blonde pawing at his arm. Others stepped before him, only to move quickly aside to avoid the same fate. His eyes, wide with madness, darted about. She was near, though he couldn’t tell where. He cursed the Masters for their silly rituals, making the warriors hunt through the throngs of women, both marked and unmarked, until they found their own -- all of which worked to heighten already aroused animalistic needs.

  He wondered if his chosen knew him – had her system gone on high alert as his had, letting her know she’d been marked as his? It wasn’t like every woman there didn’t know why she was there. It was the season when those who had come of age were sent by their families. The marked would be paired with their chosen from other royal families. The others would, if fortunate, find favor with one of the lesser warriors – still a privilege guaranteeing a life of prestige. Some would take on the title of second, becoming a mistress to a warrior who had fulfilled his duties and secured the bloodlines with the birth of future generations. Others became Ladies of the Court, providing pleasurable companionship to the men of royal lineage who either had no marked or whose chosen mate had not yet reached the appointed age. Even as one of many women, it was still a station garnering favor and comfort within the walls of the King’s castle.

  For years, that was the position Tahruk had found himself in – fulfilling his lusty desires without consequence. He had assumed it would be the same that year, until he entered the hall and caught her scent, realizing for the first time the madness he had seen in fellow warriors as they went about locating the woman marked for them.

 
; Looking over the sea of women, he cursed his luck. The rumors were correct -- they looked better this year than any he could recall. Hopefully his chosen would not disappoint, though he cared little at that point. His need was simple, requiring a feminine body with or without the benefit of looks. He merely wanted a woman in his bed. It had been too long, the latest training rituals taking them right up until that night, keeping the women segregated from the men.

  Where was she? His frustrated gaze fell on a golden-haired vision leaning against the support post across the room. Arms crossed over ample breasts draped in the finest of gold silk, she watched him without pretense. He knew she knew what she wanted … him. As he moved toward her, the others quickly stepped aside, disappointed, knowing where his long stride was taking him.

  He smiled. The scent, of his woman grew stronger with each step toward the golden goddess sporting everything he liked. Tall and slender, fair hair that spilled over her shoulder like spun gold, light eyes that danced with mischief, the Masters in their omniscience would have known and paired him accordingly. He licked his lips in proud anticipation thinking how other men would praise him, knowing his marked was the finest of them all.

  As he closed in, his nostrils flared. A small, dark figure darted past him, causing his direction to switch abruptly only steps from the blond temptress. Hawk-like eyes peered into the wave of feminine forms.

  “Where are you?” The words were a low growl in his throat. He plowed through those that moved too slowly, the other woman forgotten.

  Every turn he made, the woman marked for him seemed to be just beyond his grasp. Was this part of the game? The crazed intensity of the unusual mating dance made him light headed. Him! The King’s finest, outmaneuvered by a slip of a woman. All sense of reasoning fled him. His only need was to get his hands on her now.

 

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