Camille joined her, and they both sat looking up at the sky.
“Edwell was becoming difficult. We used some herbs to force him to go to sleep. Two of the soldiers have put together a stretcher if we want to move him before he wakes up.”
Shannen nodded. “They are too tired to move now, I think.”
“Very likely. Still, I do not think many of us will be sleeping tonight.”
“No, probably not.” They sat in silence, and, after a while, Camille rose, patting her shoulder, and stepped away to check on the children. Shannen rose and made her way to a secluded area near what was left of one of the temples, letting her Maidens know that she wanted to be alone for a moment. Once she was alone, she let her bow and quiver drop off of her shoulder and she sank to the ground. She took several deep breaths, closed her eyes, but all she could see was dead body after dead body, those silver craft hovering in the sky.
All she could smell was the stench of their city and most of its citizens turning to ash.
A few more breaths.
Once the worst of her panic was past, Shannen pulled up her left sleeve, exposing her mating mark to the night sky. It was almost embarrassing how hard she hoped to hear his voice in her head, sense his presence even though he was leagues away from her. She sat, and waited, and each moment of silence brought her closer to tears than she had been at any other point that day.
She had not allowed herself to think about it too much. If their city had been destroyed, who was to say that the aircraft hadn’t also hovered over the Maarlai capital, turning it to nothing more than embers?
Who is to say that their people would have survived it? An attack on the Maarlai village would be catastrophic. The only stone buildings were the newly-constructed palace and the library. Every other structure, including those in which the Maarlai lived, were made of wood.
“Please,” Shannen whispered, the closest thing she had ever uttered to a prayer.
And, as she had always suspected, her prayer was answered with silence.
After a while, she heard a quiet clearing of a throat, and she quickly covered her arm. Camille stepped out of the shadows and sat across from her.
“Do you think they attacked the Maarlai?” Shannen asked in a whisper.
“It is possible.”
Shannen rubbed her arm and looked up at the sky again.
“My Queen, I know you have had more than enough bad news for one day,” Camille began. Shannen shook her head.
“What is it?” she asked tiredly.
“Smith has died of his injuries. I am sorry. We tried to get answers out of him.”
“Did he say anything at all?”
“Only that he would never serve George’s spawn.”
“Lovely.”
“He was an orphan, so…”
“Yes. He likely lost his parents during George’s reign and his wars with the other human kingdoms. Or with the Maarlai,” Shannen added. She shook her head. “He said our people were finally getting the ruler they deserved,” she said, recalling their short conversation as they had made their way into the city just that morning. It felt like it had been so long ago, now.
“We are, but not in the way he meant it. He was a bitter, angry, confused young man, your Highness.”
“Why try to kill me here, though? He had plenty of opportunities out on the road.”
“There is always one of us watching you. Even when you do not think so,” Camille added with some embarrassment. “We will not risk your safety. If he had tried something at any other time, we would have gotten to him first. He was alone with you, finally, so he took his chance. I blame myself for trusting him. It should have been one of us escorting you into the city.”
“I needed you to take care of the guards. That was the part of the plan that I could not leave to chance.”
“Be that as it may, we almost did not have a queen to fight for.”
Shannen shivered a little and shoved her hands into her sleeves.
“It is not likely to be the last time someone tries to kill you.”
“Thanks, Camille.”
Camille gave a little snort and departed once again, leaving Shannen to look up at the sky and try not to think about what horrors may have befallen the Maarlai capital. She glanced over at the small bow she had been carrying. She picked it up and ran her hand along the gleaming wood of its limb, the supple leather-wrapped grip.
She had defended herself, just as Renn had trained her to, so many years ago. It had been automatic, to strike out at that first ominous sound. She remembered early on in her marriage to Daarik, when one of the female Maarlai had thought to attack her from behind. Shannen had not hesitated then, either, and she had surprised many.
She smiled to herself. She had not surprised her husband, though. He had been worried, but not surprised. She had heard the murmurs later, among her husband’s people, that she was just as mean and calculating as she seemed.
In truth, there was nothing mean about it. She had never planned on learning to fight at all. She knew, from her mother, how to fight dirty if she had to, how to claw and punch and kick as if her life depended on it, because in the world they had lived in, it had been quite probable that one day it just might. The arms master in Edwell’s palace had trained all of the princesses of House Lyon in basic self-defense: how to break someone’s grip, how to disable someone just long enough to get away. That training had become useful that day against the Maarlai woman.
But the bow, the dagger… those had come to her with Renn’s training. He had already shared her bed a handful of times, and knew that she was not exactly selective in her bedmates. He’d started badgering her about the need to truly protect herself, and when she finally relented, he taught her the basics of how to use a knife. It is not as simple as it sounds. Stabbing someone takes some level of exactitude, or you will hit a bone instead of soft flesh.
She had never truly had to use those skills until she’d been forced to use them against Smith in the garden shed.
And then, there had been the bow. She had watched Renn and his men practicing on the palace’s training grounds, and began badgering him about teaching her. He’d ridiculed her, asking what she would do with a bow. And truly, she did not expect to do anything. There was something about the weapon, about the sinuous curve of the limb, the deep hum of the bowstring when an arrow was loosed, the satisfying thwack of an arrow hitting its target. It was amusement, and it was one more way to infuriate Edwell. The only thing that would have angered him more would have been if she’d taken up the sword.
Unfortunately, she was a horrible shot. She managed to hit the targets Renn had set up for her most of the time, but never even close to the center of the target. So she could shoot, but with very little accuracy. Yet it made her feel better having this bow, which Camille had stolen from one of Edwell’s loyalists.
She shook her head. As if a bow and arrow was any use against the destruction her world had seen that day. But, it was what she had. All they had were swords, knives, rakes, bows, clubs, and their own hands. Their attackers had… whatever that had been. Flashing light that resulted in explosions and flames.
“One thing at a time,” she muttered to herself. Her first concern needed to be getting her people out of Tanris. They would make their way to Darathar… if Darathar still existed. They would have to stick to the sparse woods, the rocky passes, to give themselves a better chance of hiding if their attackers returned. Avoiding open land would make their trip even longer.
Shannen rubbed her arm, then pulled her sleeve up again.
The sky was getting light in the east by the time she finally gave up hope that she would hear Daarik’s voice.
Chapter Seven
Once he’d made his decision, his people were ready to march within an hour. The Kinarian and his men had stayed as well, and Daarik was not exactly pleased to have him along, but at the same time, there was some value in being able to keep his eye on the human.
&n
bsp; For his people’s part, they had not questioned him when he’d gathered them to tell them they were marching to Tanris. He filled them in with what Kinari had told him, and Faerlah had told them what she knew of the Kinarians.
No one brought up Shannen. He was not certain that they would march as readily if they knew that his primary concern was his wife. His wife, who he had let go because both of them had foolishly believed that their individual goals were so important they could simply set their marriage aside. His wife, who his people thought he was finished with.
His wife, who a good number of even those loyal to him would like to see gone permanently. They had hoped for time, for the goodwill between her people and his to grow once she usurped Edwell and they could begin to make things right.
Time was the one thing they didn’t have.
What if she was already dead?
He had tried, over and over, the previous night, trying to contact her through the bond that they had forged through their marriage marks. Not a whisper.
His chest felt heavy. It was hard to breathe, and every time he considered the fact that once he found her, she might not be among the living…
“Calm yourself, cousin,” Janara said quietly as she approached him. “She is too stubborn to die, remember?”
Daarik didn’t answer.
“And the Kinarian could be lying,” she added.
“I doubt it. Grandmother seems to agree. Even if she doesn’t know of the Sarlene specifically, she has seen much more than we have.” He paused. “I should not have let her go.”
“Does she seem the type who would wait for you to ‘let’ her do anything?” Janara asked. “And that is exactly what you like about her.” She handed him his ax. “And for the record, I miss her. It is boring around here without her angering some of the old fools among us and bungling her way through learning our language.”
Daarik permitted himself a small smile. He had more than a few pleasant memories of teaching Shannen the Maarlai language. Their first true flirtations had occurred over books and parchment.
“I wish she was back in the library,” he said as he slung his ax over his shoulder.
“Soon enough, she will be.”
Daarik nodded, then he and Janara made their way to the gates. He looked at their village, already so empty looking, deserted. The Maarlai stuck together, in general. There were a few small groups of isolationists, pacifists that wanted to be left alone, and Daarik’s father had respected their wishes. And then there was Jarvik and his traitors.
Another danger to his wife, and he still had no idea where the old snake was.
One disaster at a time. His focus now was on finding Shannen. As far as most of his people knew, his focus was on coming to the aid of the humans, who, whether some of them liked it or not, remained under Maarlai rule. It also meant they were under Maarlai protection.
“Let’s move,” Daarik barked in Maarlai, and his people, disciplined as always, exited their stronghold in two long, straight lines, marching like the warriors they were.
The only one whose steps faltered was Janara, who seemed to be lagging behind. He looked back to see her staring back at the village. He told his people to go ahead, and he went to Janara.
“What is it?” he asked, following her gaze.
“I should have tried to protect some of the books. There is nothing saying the Sarlene will not attack here as well. Everything will be destroyed.”
Daarik stifled a groan. His cousin and her books.
“There is no time.”
“I know. I was just thinking of the first time Shannen visited the library. She told me that so many of the human books had been destroyed, either by law or due to the wars, and she had a part in protecting what was left. From what she said, there are secret underground caches hidden throughout Tanris. I wish I’d created something like that here.”
What did she expect him to say? His wife’s life was in danger, or worse; the planet he ruled was under attack by religious zealots; and he was stuck with a wayward Kinarian who had known his wife in ways he was trying not to think about too closely.
“If the worst happens, we’ll rebuild,” he finally said, taking a step forward.
“You can’t just replace the things we have here,” Janara said in exasperation. “We have the only remaining books from our home planet. No others exist. We have books the humans forgot even existed, things about their history that many of them have no clue about. Books about amazing inventions, things—”
“What do you want me to do?” Daarik finally asked, keeping his voice calm. Janara was one of the very few he trusted with all of his secrets. Plus, they had been close since the cradle. She was clearly upset, even if he didn’t really share her concerns.
“I don’t know,” Janara said, glancing back at the city.
Daarik blew out a breath. “Do you want to stay?”
Janara’s head whipped around in surprise. “You would allow me to do that?”
“If you are this torn about it, then you will be distracted if it comes to battle. Maybe it’s for the best.”
He watched her. She wore her internal debate on her face. And then, all at once, her expression hardened and she stood straighter.
“No. You may need every warrior you have. We will deal with whatever happens.”
Daarik nodded and moved back to the front of the line quickly, ensuring there would be no more talk of the dusty books and scrolls that Janara and Shannen spent so much time staring at. He understood. He enjoyed reading as well, but they were fanatical about books. He’d been nearly bored into a stupor once at dinner, listening to the two of them discuss the proper way to protect books from humidity, as if that was even a thing they had to deal with very often.
And then Faerlah and Shannen had started talking about herbs and healing and he’d been forced to pull her away from the table before he truly did fall asleep. As he marched, he smiled a bit at the memory. The flash of annoyance in his wife’s eyes at that moment, the sight of her shapely form as she’d stalked ahead of him, giving him a tongue-lashing about how she was a gods-damned princess and she did not have to do a single thing he told her to do.
That had been before they’d finally given into the lust that had been growing between them. They had spent weeks avoiding the topic, yet constantly circling it, flirting, arguing, talking. He’d come to learn, very quickly, that Shannen was anything but docile or sweet, and it had made him desire her all the more.
He forced his mind away from memories. Letting his mind wander now was foolish, with his people were out in the open and exposed, marching through hostile territory and possibly into much worse.
They marched mostly in silence. The fastest route to Tanris would take at least four days on foot. According to the Kinarian, Shannen had met with him a fortnight ago. Kinari had said that Shannen had taken a circuitous route to Tanris and its outlying areas, stopping in every possible human village and settlement to gather her forces.
Daarik turned to Redren and told him to take the lead. His lieutenant nodded and moved into Daarik’s spot at the front of the line. Toward the middle of their force, Renn and his men marched, surrounded by some of Daarik’s best. Samis gave him a small bow and moved so Daarik could take his place in formation.
“How large a force did she manage to gather?” Daarik asked the Kinarian.
Kinari shrugged. “I am not certain. She came to my fort alone.”
Daarik was unsure about whether he was grateful or irritated that his wife had trusted this male enough to go to him alone.
“Surely you have heard rumors, at least,” Daarik said.
Kinari nodded. “From what I’ve heard, she’s gained at least a few allies in every village she visits. Granted, every settlement or village outside of Tanris is home to a handful of families, at most. Most of the humans choose to live in the capital. Safety in numbers.”
Daarik nodded.
“Her primary force, as I said before, is made up
of women. The Maidens, they are called,” he added. “Maybe a dozen of them? From what my man said, they are her inner circle.”
Daarik kept his thoughts to himself. Shannen was not usually the type to put her trust in anyone, and, from what he knew of her, she’d not been very close to many women in general, until she’d befriended Janara.
“I think she prefers the company of warriors to princesses, and her Maidens are definitely the former,” Kinari said as if reading Daarik’s thoughts.
“All right. So a dozen Maidens. How many others?”
“Rumors say anywhere between fifty and one hundred. Not seasoned warriors. We’re talking about farmers, merchants, miners, those too old or too young to be of use to the King’s army.”
“Human society is foolish when it comes to age,” Daarik muttered. “Elders make the best soldiers.”
“My mother thought the same thing,” Kinari said. “She said the elderly had experience, insight, and were often more willing to sacrifice themselves, having already lived full lives.”
Daarik nodded, thinking of his grandmother. He knew that, if it ever came to it, Faerlah would not hesitate to put herself in danger, and the same could have been said of Daarik’s father, before Jarvik had begun poisoning him.
“You have to see it, Your Highness. I know you respect your wife. That is… admirable and different in a place like this. You remind me of my father in that way. But she has an army of novices, untried in battle, and she herself has no experience leading anything. Shannen was known for three things when I knew her. Reading and gardening were two of them.”
Daarik didn’t need to ask what the third thing was.
“I don’t argue with anything you’re saying, just the conclusion you’ve drawn. Shannen is smart, cunning, and driven. I don’t think she’s planning on openly marching in and battling Edwell’s forces. Assuming those forces are even there anymore,” Daarik added.
Riven (Exile Book 2) Page 8
