by Jean Johnson
“They got exactly what they deserved,” Ban agreed mildly when their gentle-minded leader drew in a breath to argue that violence and violent punishment were not what people deserved. “Better for them to discipline themselves than for us outsiders to constantly step in. Is that not what you always say, my taje-ul?”
Sighing, Djin-taje gave in. “Fine. It is. Now play your last tile so we can tally the points for this round and see who’s winning.”
Halek dutifully picked up his char-pencil, a stick lined with a core of charcoal-impregnated wax. A plain marble tile about the size of two heads in width and length made a good marking surface, so long as one was careful to scrub the marks free at the end of the day so that they did not permanently stain the smooth, white surface.
Ban laid down a tile that had no pips on it whatsoever. He capped another tile, one with three on one end and none on the other, by laying his piece crosswise. “Zero for me.”
A strange concept, giving nothing a number. Then again, so was writing, drawing marks that represented sounds. These Fae—and their Shae companion—were strange and brought strange ideas, but they were good ideas. Counting his pips, Halek marked the tally. “Seven left for me . . . and seventeen for the taje-ul.”
Ban started turning the fajenz tiles over one at a time, clicking them on the wooden surface. “I was thinking of departing with the Circle Fire traders. I have not been to the south in some time, and it would be good to explore beyond the southern mountains again. I might find the tribe Siffu came from this time. I have the descriptions and names of her family. It might give her some closure for each side to know what happened after she was kidnapped and enslaved.”
“Careful, or she might think you care,” Djin-taje teased.
Or so Halek thought. Ban replied bluntly, “She knows I do not. But I know that you do. For you, I will seek and ask.”
Seventeen, eighteen years, and Halek knew more about the closemouthed, fair-haired Fae than he did the enigmatic, dark-haired man. He was older than anyone, even Djin-taje, yet looked no older than his late twenties. He had battle skills beyond compare, could kick with the strength of an ox and cast spells like an animadj of many years. But though he looked more human than the Fae did, he was the most alien of the pantean.
Maybe he was Death. If so, then Djin-taje had to be Life, because if there was one thing clear in their strange relationship, it was that she was the one person who held him in check. Only Life could hold Death back. Halek carefully mixed up the tiles with the other two, and started selecting his required five to start. He still wasn’t completely convinced they were anima-beings. They were a little too human, particularly at times like this, to be gods.
But he would caution his people to always keep an open mind, just in case.
Jean Johnson is the national bestselling author of both military science fiction and fantasy romance, including Birthright, a Flame Sea novella, and various series, such as Theirs Not to Reason Why, Sons of Destiny, and Guardians of Destiny. Currently, she lives in the Pacific Northwest. She enjoys chatting with her readers and can be easily reached through Twitter via @JeanJAuthor.
Looking for more?
Visit Penguin.com for more about this author and a complete list of their books.
Discover your next great read!
