“I’m going to go clean up.” Her voice sounded hollow. He didn’t miss the way she rubbed at the gooseflesh covering her arms.
He doubted Ashayna’s upset was purely caused by their brush with death, or having to kill the wardlen. No, it was something else. Something she wouldn’t be able to wash away. Magic.
She made for the stream, but paused and turned to him. “I’ll help you with the boar first.”
“I’ve got it. Go wash up. I’ll be along shortly.” She nodded her thanks and left him to finish butchering it. It was a good activity to keep him occupied. Better than worrying over why there were more wardlens loose, or the ease with which his bondmate dispatched creatures with a natural resistance to most defensive magic. No matter what the elders said, or weren’t saying, the evidence was stacking toward one, harrowing conclusion. But there wasn’t anything he could do about that tonight.
By the time he finished with the boar, darkness had fallen, and Ashayna was still standing upon the river’s bank, looking out across its moonlit waters. “When I killed them with my power, it felt right—so very right. Like I was born to dispatch them. I took joy in it…what am I?” Her voice drifted into silence. Though, the edge of horror in it still echoed in Sorntar’s ears. She sounded so lost.
“My bondmate.” He stepped up behind her, encircling her with his arms. From respect and desire, tenderness grew in his heart. When he started to undress her, she allowed him. Her outer vest was the first to go, and then he tugged her shirt free from the waistband of her pants. The buckle of her belt gave him trouble, but at least she held still while he fought it. Her pants were easier. When she stood before him in only a shirt, he stopped, taking a moment to discard his own clothing.
After unlacing the ties of her shirt, he raised her arms and pulled it over her head. Her breasts glowed pale under the light of the moons, her nipples a dark shadow. His eyes glided down her flat belly to another patch of shadow between her legs.
While his body warmed to the sight and scent of her, he wanted to give her comfort, not stir up more complications between them.
After he grabbed soap and a rag, he eased into the slow-moving water, tugging Ashayna along behind. The water was cool, but easy enough to suffer. When it reached his thighs, he stopped and faced Ashayna away from him. He ran the rag over her shoulders, and then moved down, leaving a trail of suds along her lower back and over the curve of her butt. He moved down her legs.
When her back was clean, she turned around at his urging. He washed her graceful neck, then her breasts, and when he slid the rag lower, Ashayna sighed, relaxing into his touch.
“I think I’m jealous of a rag.”
“Sorntar?” With a shake of her head and a weary little grin, Ashayna broke free of her depression. She finished washing herself.
As he scrubbed blood and gore from himself, he kept an eye on Ashayna, watching for signs she was sliding back towards depression or shock. When he was clean, he dragged himself out of the water. Guiding Ashayna along ahead of him, they returned to the fire.
She still didn’t look like her normal, spirited self, so he wrapped her in a blanket and then he sat down and settled her between his legs. She relaxed against his chest and he started to groom her hair. Now, if he could only draw her into conversation.
“I was thinking about how to arrive in the human city, since my flying in would cause pandemonium.” As he had hoped, she glanced over her shoulder at him with mild interest. “I think it best if we arrive in disguise. I can cast a weaving over you to change your hair and features. For myself, I can manage some shape-shifting when needed. Any ideas of what I should pretend to be?”
She thought about it for a moment before a wan smile touched her lips. “I’d like to see you as a plain, work-hardened farmer, complete with calluses and bronzed by the sun.”
“Do I detect another comment about me being too handsome?” He played along, visibly preening at the idea, more than willing to take the blunt of one of her pointed barbs if it would restore some of her confidence.
“Most-certainly. Let me see a work-weary farmer.”
He stood up and came around in front of her. Immediately, he missed the feel of her in his arms. But he needed to distract her, not himself, so he let his eyes drift closed as he turned his thoughts inward. The familiar heat of his power flowed out in small waves, much like when he went from bird to hybrid, though not nearly as strong. He felt one moment of dislocation as his physical body melted into fire and another shimmered into being.
The image in his mind had been of a stranger with pale skin, brown hair, a strong build and of medium height.
“Yes, that’s much better, but for the fact none would believe you to be a farmer. Perhaps a well-off merchant; not rich, mind you, or there would be no need for you to be here. Nor have I met a rich merchant with a warrior’s build.” She kept her eyes level with his shoulders. “You need to be taller if I’m to be your daughter. I can say I get my height from you.” She licked her lips and swallowed nervously.
Sorntar grinned when her gaze dropped lower. Apparently, he was more of a distraction than he’d intended. “Is there anything else you would like to criticize?”
“Yes actually, change your voice. It belongs to nothing human.”
“Very well, let me try this again.” The second time he called much less power, only the merest trickle. After delicately picking through Ashayna’s thoughts, he knew he now had a tall frame, dark hair streaked with grey, and a time-weathered face, but one still striking. A neatly trimmed beard framed a hard mouth, one he hoped would put fear into the heart of a lesser merchant.
As if she couldn’t help herself, her gaze roved to study his new body. Sorntar picked up another of her thoughts: well-endowed.
“For the love of everything good, could you please find something to wear?” She jerked her head to one side. An interesting shade of crimson climbed her cheeks.
He picked up another blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders, then sat down behind her.
After a few moments of urging, she relaxed against his chest. “Now what about your voice?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead he debated what phrase a merchant might utter. Then it came to him. He was glad she couldn’t see his wicked grin.
“My lady, might I interest you in sampling some of my fine wares this beautiful evening?”
Ashayna coughed and snorted with laughter. When she had herself under control, she peered at him over her shoulder. “Use that tone on the ladies of the court and they will be very interested in sampling your merchandise.”
“I trust you’ll defend my honor.”
When she grunted in her usual manner, he relaxed, thankful to have been able to distract her from her worries. Sorntar practiced using his new voice until Ashayna’s head began to nod and sleep claimed her. Smoothing her hair away from her face, he stroked his knuckles along her cheek. After he fussed with her blanket, he settled her more comfortably against his chest and just watched her sleep.
So this is love. The thought was accompanied by a deep sense of contentment.
***
Over the next three days of travel, Sorntar practiced being a human at each rest stop and when they made camp at night. Thankfully, there were no more incidents with the wardlens. As it was, he did not need to report the incident to his parents. His mother had contacted him moments after Ashayna had fallen asleep, informing him they were tracking his progress and were aware of the attack. Only many carefully chosen words and reassurances to both queen and council had convinced them he and Ashayna were well able to protect themselves. The elders had grudgingly allowed them to continue into human-held territories.
On their eighth day of flight, Sorntar told Ashayna they had crossed into human lands and would soon catch up with their santhyrian friends. They would land at the next clearing and walk to where the santhyrians waited.
Chapter Seventeen
She was growing soft.
&nbs
p; Or at least her feet were. Ashayna glanced over her shoulder to see Sorntar, in human form, struggling up the narrow trail several paces behind. His boot caught on a protruding tree root. Without his wings to aid his balance, he lacked his usual grace and stumbled into a tree trunk. Ashayna didn’t laugh at his disgruntled look. Instead, she focused on the weight of her pack and the two bundles under each arm.
Thankfully they were almost to their destination. The smell of cooking had been with them for the last bit of the journey. The path turned suddenly and a clear view of the camp was visible. It didn’t occur to her tired mind to wonder at santhyrians making fire and cooking food. She remembered Sorntar had mentioned the santhyrians had made some friends—human friends—and those same human friends might find their arrival rather too sudden.
A series of surprised gasps greeted her moments before a hunting bow was pointed at her heart by a young woman who frowned with a Stonemantle glare. Ashayna blinked, then shouted in joy. “Sorsha, you’re here! How?”
“Who are you?” Sorsha’s voice held no warmth.
“It’s me.” Ashayna wanted to run across the distance and scoop up her sister in a hug, but she spotted Lamarra hanging a step behind and she looked uncertain, almost afraid. Sorsha, on the other hand, didn’t look unsure or fearful. She’d always been good with a bow and now she held her it leveled at Ashayna’s heart.
Sorntar circled in front and gestured with one hand. The bow ignited in blue fire and burned to ash, scattering pale dust upon the ground. Sorsha jumped back with a cry of surprise, gingerly cradling her blistered fingers with her uninjured hand.
Ashayna realized what was wrong. Sorntar’s weaving worked very well, apparently. “Sorsha, Lamarra. It’s all right. It’s me, Ash.” She tried to reassure them, hoping her voice, which hadn’t been changed, would be enough for them to recognize her.
“Who are you really?” Lamarra’s face twisted with bewilderment.
“One moment,” Sorntar said in a stiff voice. “I can clarify the situation.”
Sorsha’s expression darkened when it settled on Sorntar. “Tell me who you are. Answer truthfully.”
“Sorntar,” he said with a regal nod of his head, “Crown Prince of the Phoenix, though not even my own mother would recognize me in this form.”
On the heels of Sorntar’s words, Ashayna felt power prickle along her skin. The weaving began to unravel.
Sorsha stood frozen, speechless for once. Lamarra took advantage of the rarity. “Ashayna, it is you, but how?”
Ashayna drew breath to answer, but Sorsha broke free of her shock and gave a happy cry of recognition. Before Ashayna could react, she found herself in an iron embrace as her sister tried to squeeze all air from her lungs.
“Ash, we’ve missed you so. We got your letters… your santhyrian friends brought them. Why didn’t you tell us you were coming in person? Never mind that.” Sorsha started gesturing wildly towards the other side of the tent. “It doesn’t matter why you’re here. I’m just glad you are. Summer Flame was hurt. Shadowdancer and Winter Frost went to find Old Mother—they’re not back yet.”
Ashayna’s mind was awhirl, though she understood the gist of her sister’s words. She’d met Old Mother and her two grandchildren, Beatrice and Roan, while she’d been scouting.
And for the better part of seven years Ashayna had been trying to get Old Mother to return to civilization, but no amount of arguing could change the old woman’s mind. The elder claimed she couldn’t live in the village where her only son had died. Ashayna knew there were other reasons for living alone. If Old Mother carried magic in her blood, then an acolyte would eventually sniff her out. When he did, Beatrice and Roan would not long outlive their grandmother. Ashayna couldn’t blame the old woman if she thought the risk of lupwyns was the better choice. Being torn apart quickly had to be better than smelling one’s skin charring as the flames melted flesh from bone. Gooseflesh rose on Ashayna’s arms. If Sorntar hadn’t come into her life when he did, she might have faced a similar choice.
Apparently, all her friends knew each other. She’d bet anything Larnkins were involved with this mess.
“Summer Flame is hurt?” Worry colored Sorntar’s voice, and he took a step away from Ashayna’s side for the first time.
Sorsha’s eyes narrowed as she studied Sorntar. “Ash’s letters mentioned you, but more importantly she gives you her back. It’s notoriously hard to gain Ash’s confidence. If she trusts you, so will I. This way.” Sorsha nodded her head towards a small hut. Ashayna couldn’t see anything over the tall grass, but as the evening breeze picked up, she detected the coppery taint of blood.
“Summer Flame was caught in one of Roan’s snares. His left hind leg is badly lacerated. Beatrice is inside trying to mend it, but she’s still early in her training. Shadowdancer and Winter Frost split up to go look for Old Mother.”
“I’ll see what I can do until the others arrive,” Sorntar said.
Sorsha led the way to the small hut in the center of the clearing. “He’s sheltering inside. Beatrice fears he’s going into shock from blood loss.”
Sorsha held the door for them. It was dark inside, only a small fire offered illumination. With a slight motion of Sorntar’s wrist, a pale mage globe burst into being. The new light increased in brightness, giving Ashayna’s eyes a chance to grow accustomed.
Summer Flame stood with his head hanging down, his eyes dulled by shock and pain. The other occupant in the tent—a small, blonde girl—jumped to her feet and faced Ashayna, her expression a mix of surprise and betrayal. “Sorsha! How can you bring a stranger here?”
Ashayna realized the girl was addressing her and had mistaken her for her sister in the dim light.
“I’m Ashayna, Sorsha and Lamarra’s elder sister. This is Sorntar, my bondmate. He is not human for all he looks it now.” Ashayna raised her empty hands in a motion of pacification. “He can help.”
Sorntar moved to Summer Flame’s side. Beatrice hovered at Sorntar’s elbow, watching him with misgiving as he examined the santhyrian. But her healer’s training quickly overrode her doubts as Sorntar ordered her to blend various herbs to strengthen the santhyrian. Ashayna moved to a safe distance while Sorntar and the girl attended to Summer Flame.
A slight tugging sensation under her heart warned her when Sorntar began sharing power with Summer Flame, but she didn’t feel depleted at all, almost like power was flowing in from elsewhere as fast as Sorntar was giving it away. Ashayna was sure Sorntar would find it interesting, but she’d rather their power have some kind of limit.
Ashayna didn’t budge from her corner until thundering hooves outside announced the arrival of the other two santhyrians. The hut’s door shuddered as it was thrown open. An old woman walked in. She took one look at Sorntar, where he knelt tending to Summer Flame’s leg, and smiled. “You can stay, and Beatrice; everyone else, out now.”
She had no wish to challenge the old peasant woman to a battle of words. Old Mother would win. Ashayna made to follow Sorsha and Lamarra out when Sorntar spoke.
“Go no farther than the fire. I will join you when I can.” Sorntar didn’t look up, and she didn’t question him. She just hoped the fire was close enough to pacify their Larnkins.
“Do you need help?”
“No. Go, be with your sisters. Old Mother is skilled and I can feed Summer Flame power.”
Ashayna nodded and left the hut. Outside, Sorsha stood with an arm over Shadowdancer’s neck. She rubbed his nose with her free hand. The stallion seemed pleased with the attention. Somehow, Ashayna wasn’t surprised those two had become fast friends.
When they saw Ashayna emerge from the tent, Lamarra and Sorsha both watched her with disbelief, like they expected her to vanish again at any moment.
“It’s me, honest.” Ashayna gave them a tentative smile. “Seems we all have much to tell.”
The sun slid past midday with the full telling of each other’s stories. They were just coming to the conclusion of Ashay
na’s flight when Sorntar emerged from the tent.
“Old Mother sent me to reassure everyone Summer Flame will be running again soon. She also said to remind Lamarra and Sorsha of the lateness of the hour…” By Sorntar’s slight smile, Ashayna bet his wording was phrased nicer than Old Mother’s version.
“Don’t worry, I can say we were with the seamstress, getting fitted for tomorrow’s masquerade,” Lamarra said.
Sorsha, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, jumped up with a laugh. “You and Ashayna must come as surprise guests to the party. It will be grand. I’m sure you could think of some official reason for coming.”
When Sorntar agreed, Ashayna groaned. Helpless to stop her sisters and Sorntar, she sat back and listened while they made plans. Once everything was arranged, they said their goodbyes and departed with a promise to meet in the morn.
Chapter Eighteen
A lattice-covered window opened onto a courtyard garden, allowing light to reflect in thin bands onto cream-colored walls. Though the room at the back of the inn was clean and adequately furnished, it was small for one of Sorntar’s height and his crest brushed the ceiling. At least it was quiet. Ashayna was just beyond in an adjoining room, preparing for the evening with Lamarra.
Sorntar fanned out his freshly oiled wings, absorbing the sun’s late-day heat. Silver bands circled his wrists and ankles, sparkling with jewels of pale blue and deep indigo, a close match in shade and hue to his plumage. More jewels were clasped to the three largest feathers in his crest and down the length of his longest tail-feathers. Ashayna had marveled at the design the first time she had seen him wear the jewels. He hoped it inspired awe in the nobles of society as well.
In Deception's Shadow Box Set: Book 1-3 Page 20
