Darius stood abruptly and made his way to the soft bed. It had been a very long time since he had slept in a bed and never in one so fine. A pallet of straw and a scratchy blanket had been a rare luxury for him, and most nights were spent on the hard ground, in a tent reserved for the instructors of the academy. Now, as he lowered himself to the bed, he imagined he would be asleep before his head touched the goose down pillow, but it was several hours before he finally drifted into a dream filled slumber where a soft, pale face and eyes of blue and golden fire danced in and out of his dreams and made him restless.
Dearra was faring little better in her room, where she was frustrated with herself, yet again. Why, she wondered furiously, did her temper always choose the worst times to make itself known?
Brin, as usual, was silent. It seemed he only had something to say now if he knew it would be annoying to her. Darius had a way of making her heart flutter like the wings of a hummingbird, simultaneously bringing out the very devil in her.
Always, always, always she acted without thinking things through first. Her father doted on her and saw her impulsiveness as endearing, a sweet personality quirk. Dearra’s mind raced back to a time when that had not been the case, to one of the few times her father had been truly angry with her.
She couldn’t have been more than six years old and a lynx was reported in the area. The people believed it had a sickness, and spoke in whispers of fear about the deranged animal acting so strangely, coming in among the people without fear, taking meat left drying over the fires. It had even killed a couple of the dogs roaming freely on the farms.
Dearra’s mother was beside herself with worry and asked Hugh to order Dearra to remain near the castle. Alanna told the little girl herself, but feared her instruction would carry little weight with the precocious child. Dearra had meant to follow the orders of her father. She worshipped him and tried always to please him and make him proud. She wandered out of sight of the guard standing at the gatehouse, just long enough to pick up the pretty blue feather that had caught her attention as it drifted and fluttered in the breeze. The distant yelp of pain was enough to make her cast aside all promises to her father and sprint, headlong, down the path in search of the animal. Rounding the corner she saw a large, spotted cat standing over the body of the little terrier she knew from the castle. It was just one of the many little dogs that were left to run freely to help keep the rodent population in check. Housecats had their uses, but Hugh preferred the feisty terriers to deal with the vicious island rats. Besides, a cat couldn’t bark a warning at the approach of invaders or danger the way a dog could.
The lynx’s eyes were wild and rolled in their sockets. Foam dripped from the animal’s bloodied mouth. It let out horrible snarls, enough to stop any sane man in his tracks. But Dearra’s eyes blazed when she looked at the torn and mangled body of the sweet, little dog, and she pulled her knife from her waistband, and rushed impetuously at the offending beast.
The knife she held was just a toy, asimple carving made by Daniel to please the child, but Dearra had spent hours working her tiny, wooden blade the way adult warriors did, and had managed to put a sharp, little point on the end. Had the lynx come in low, or if Dearra tried to lunge at the cat, things would have ended differently, but luck was with her. The cat sprung at the little girl, its weight knocking her to the ground and laying her flat on her back. The wooden dagger had been braced between her body and the cat’s at such an angle that the animal’s own weight had impaled it on the wooden spike. The tip of the knife pierced the animal’s heart and it died without further struggle.
It had taken Dearra a good twenty minutes to extract herself from beneath the lynx that had surely weighed as much as she. The adrenaline coursing through her at the victory gave her the strength to drag her trophy back to the keep, imagining the pride she would see in her father’s eyes all the while.
When she came into view of the gatehouse, the guards had stared at the blood-covered little girl dragging the limp body of the dead feline. A scream from one of the cooks quickly brought Hugh and Alanna into the yard. Dearra watched as her mother’s hand flew to her mouth in horror and fear.
“Don’t worry, Mother,” she said, beaming, “I’ve killed it. Now we can all go out and play again.”
Hugh ran to her, kicked aside the carcass, and ordered it burned immediately where it lay. Then he scooped Dearra into his arms and ran his daughter to the well where he dumped bucket after bucket of icy water over her to wash away the blood and determine where she was wounded. When Hugh was satisfied that somehow, miraculously, his most beloved child had escaped completely unscathed, he lifted her in his arms, and carried her into the keep without a word, and Dearra was sure she would get the praise she so richly deserved.
It took a full week until she could sit properly again, but even the pain and humiliation of that spanking was nothing to the heartbreak of losing her father’s favor. Saddled with a guard wherever she went for the next year, it took a very, very long time to earn her father’s trust back, but Hugh eventually softened to his wayward daughter.
Every time she looked at him, her sad eyes had torn pieces from his heart until he could no longer hold back his love.
So, Brin’s voice broke in, clearing the memory from Dearra’s mind. You’ve always been this much trouble, then? I had forgotten that story. Well, it’s good to be reminded that it’s not just me that brings out your more colorful side?
“No, it’s not just you, Brin.” Dearra heaved a heavy sigh. “But I must say, you do have a way about you.”
Brin actually chuckled at Dearra’s soft lament. The sound was warm and rich, and filled with humor. There was no meanness in the laugh, only genuine amusement that touched Dearra’s heart and made her feel a little more connected with her strange new companion.
Go to sleep, girl. You’ve got a big day ahead of you tomorrow.
Brin’s words were still inoffensive and without superiority. Dearra suspected the memory from her childhood had stirred a small part of the sword.
Dearra blew out the candle at her bedside and tried to sleep, but visions of a dark skinned, handsome warrior flitted in and out of her dreams, making her restless.
Chapter 11
Morning finally came, but it was just a formality, as Dearra and Darius were both awake long before the sun decided to make an appearance over the eastern horizon.
Darius heard the soft scraping in the lock, and he wrapped the blanket more tightly around his hips as Dearra knocked lightly and waited for his invitation to enter. He felt awkward, standing half exposed in the chamber, but he had been reluctant to put the offensive clothes back on. He hoped Dearra would have some water brought so he could wash his things out. It was probably a futile gesture, considering the state of his gear, but he had to at least try to salvage it.
“Enter,” he called out, still feeling somewhat clumsy granting permission to the mistress of the castle.
Dearra entered the room and froze in her tracks. The blanket Darius had draped around himself covered him quite well, actually, and there was nothing immodest about his appearance. Men went around bare-chested all the time. It could get quite hot on the island, and the men had no qualms about removing a garment or two in their quest to be more comfortable while they worked. The women, of course, were more conservative, but even they could sometimes be seen in nothing but a sleeveless, soft leather vest, tied shut in the front with leather lacings, and a pair of soft short leggings. The women claimed they deserved to be comfortable as well, but it wasn’t lost on the men that the only time they seemed to be so scantily clad was on the practice field. Many speculated the women wore the alluring garments to gain unfair advantage in their practice matches with the men. And the men could hardly complain when their ploy was successful and the sting of loss was so pleasantly tempered by the feminine curves to which they had been treated? All remained well in cases such as this as both parties felt as though they had received the better end of the barga
in.
It wasn’t the fact that Darius had no shirt that stopped Dearra cold, it was the scars covering his body that had affected her so deeply. Long, white lines were etched into his beautiful skin, some no more than a whisper on his flesh, others that must have cut quite deep when they were first inflicted. Dearra surmised they had been received on more than one occasion. She struggled to imagine how a warrior could have been injured so.
Darius misunderstood the look on Dearra’s face, and struggled to apologize for his informal attire. “I was hoping to wash my clothes and myself today, if the water could be spared. I did not mean to upset you, Dearra.”
She shook her head at his words and frowned a little before speaking.“What happened to you Darius?” came her hushed question.
Darius looked down at himself, not sure what Dearra could be talking about. When at last he saw the scars on his chest, comprehension dawned, and he answered her in an off-handed manner that startled her almost as much as the scars had. “Oh! Those! Well, ah, that’s just a Breken training technique, Dearra. It’s nothing, really. When a child is small, my people believe he will avoid making the same mistake twice if he has a little reminder to go with the lesson. I never found it especially effective myself, but at least I never needed as much ‘instruction’ as some of the other students.”
Dearra stepped into the room and closed the distance between them. Her tiny hand fluttered to his chest stopping just short, as if pausing to make a decision in her mind, then she reached out tentatively and followed gently, along one especially brutal slash that extended from his collarbone to the middle of his stomach, with just the tips of her fingers.
It was Darius’s turn to freeze where he stood as her gentle touch turned his skin to fire beneath her fingers. She pulled her hand slowly away and Darius snapped back to attention when he heard a choked sob escape her lips.
“What is it, Dearra? What’s wrong?” Panic at the tears coming from the eyes of this little warrior flared through him.
“They…they beat you?” Dearra said, stuttering through her tears.
“It was so long ago, Dearra, it doesn’t matter. Please don’t cry, Dearra.”
“But…would they do this to Pip?” she whispered.
The desire to scoop her into a protective embrace was so strong his arms shook as he fought to control the urge. Instead, he spoke as kindly and reassuringly as he could, saying anything, anything at all, to take that horrible look of desperate pain and fear from her eyes. “No, Dearra! They will not harm him. He is worth more unmarked and untouched. I can’t say Phillip will have an easy time; the Breken are cruel masters. They may taunt him and make him doubt your love for him. That would be their idea of a fun way to pass the time. But they know that hurting him would make you more likely to fight than simply pay the ransom and go. Their profit diminishes if they lose fighters in a battle with you. If you do not pay the ransom, they will want to sell him as a slave, and in this case again, he will bring more untouched and whole. He is safe, Dearra.”
“But if the Breken seek only a ransom, why not pay it and get him back now?” Dearra looked to Darius for answers and gradually brought her tears under control.
“Because my kin are not likely to just hand him over after the first payment. They will demand more and more, until eventually they will set him lose in the desert, claiming to have honored their promise to free the boy, or they could say he had sickened and died from an unknown ailment and they had been forced to burn the body, when they really sold him off to another band. We would never be sure, Dearra. We need to go and get him and play along with their demands for money. We will set up a base of communication at the port city amongst the traders who come to do business with the Breken. They are an unsavory lot of scoundrels and thieves, but we will be safe enough if we bring along enough silver to smooth our way. That time is a long ways off though, Dearra. The Breken know exactly when we will be coming to retrieve Pip. When they burned the ships they knew you would have to rebuild and would not be able to make the trip until spring.”
“What if King Jaymes had loaned us a ship and we tried to make a late season crossing? They couldn’t know he would refuse us.”
“No, that’s true, but if they had been wrong about that, you would be trapped by the winter ice on the way back, and they would have yet more prisoners to ransom.”
Darius spoke with such disdain for his kinsman, Dearra sensed how much he hated what his people were.
“Please, Dearra. No more tears, now. I find it…hard to see you cry.”
Brushing aside the few traces of offending tears, she remembered the bundle she had set down outside his door. She turned to retrieve it, and as she returned to his side, he could see she carried clothing.
“The pants may be a bit short, but I will have some new made for you. Your boots come up high, like ours, and should cover your legs well enough. I will have some hot water brought up as soon as possible. You’re too big to use my tub, and it would be a burden on anyone to haul father’s large tub all the way in here, but you can wash, and later we can go swimming, if you like. That should allow you a good soaking.”
Delighted by the prospect of hot water and a refreshing swim, a happy grin lit his face. The change in him was profound. This wasn’t the teasing smile she enjoyed so much, but an expression of pure delight. For an instant Dearra could see the handsome and happy little boy Darius must have been in the days before the Breken had started his training.
***
Darius stepped from his chamber after having washed and dressed. The pants weren’t that bad, really, and Dearra had been right about the boots covering what the pants did not. The shirt was a little snug through the chest and arms, and he was unable to button it as far as he would have liked. The simple clothes were comfortable, he had to admit, and he was greatly enjoying the sensation of being clean again. He wasn’t supposed to go about without Dearra, but when so much time had passed and she had yet to make an appearance, he grew bold and chanced a look around.
He made his way silently down the steps and toward the main hall he had seen the night before. As he neared the entry way to the Great Hall, a small, wooden ball rolled in front of him and came to a stop against the far wall. He stooped to pick it up and held the toy in his hand. He recognized the item for what it was, though the Breken did not encourage play in their children. As with anything in Breken society, play was acceptable so long as you didn’t get caught. Darius and some of his classmates had amused themselves with hand carved balls much like this one in spite of that. As he stared in silent fascination at the toy, he felt an almost imperceptible tug on his pants near the knee. When he looked down, he saw a little boy about the age of three, tugging to gain his attention.
The child had tousled brown hair and dimples on his jam-stained cheeks. One of the buttons on his pants had come undone and another was threatening to do the same. He held one pudgy hand out before him, clearly indicating he was seeking the return of his toy. His head was tipped so far back to look at Darius that he was almost in danger of toppling over, but he showed no fear as he addressed the giant before him.
“Ball pwease, misser,” came the sweet voice.
Darius lowered himself to one knee in front of the toddler and handed the ball back to its rightful owner, who promptly dropped to the floor and rolled the ball back in Darius’s direction.
“Pway, misser! Pway wit me!”
Darius was about to roll the ball back in the little boy’s direction, when a terrified scream tore through the air.
“Jeremy! Somebody, help! Jeremy!”
Looking up to see where the danger was, Darius swept the child into his arms to shield him from the unknown threat. When he saw the horrified expression on the young woman’s face, it didn’t take him long to realize he was the danger. The mother, seeing her baby with the Breken warrior, had panicked. Dearra and a handful of others came running from around the corner to see what was wrong. Darius set the child down, and the li
ttle boy scampered to his mother who squeezed him tightly to her chest.
“I’m sorry. I meant no harm. I came across the child as he was playing,” Darius said, his tone tense and guarded.
“What were you doing in the hall unattended at all?” said one of the men who had come out to investigate the commotion.
Dearra stepped forward. “I told him to meet me here after he had bathed and dressed,” Dearra lied coolly, daring anyone to doubt her. “Surely he can walk from one room to another without a leash. And since when is stopping to play with a child a crime?”
“I was not playing,” Darius stated flatly, feeling embarrassed now to be caught in such an un-Breken-like act.
At the word play, Jeremy wiggled free from his mother’s confining arms and ran up to Darius again, demanding, “Pway, misser! Pway wit me adin!”
“I, uh, I…maybe later, Jeremy, okay?” Darius said, fumbling.
The men laughed heartily at the young man’s discomfort, and they walked away now that the crisis had passed.
Jeremy howled over his mother’s shoulder to his new friend as he she scooped him up into her arms and left the room, “Pway! Pway! I wanna pway some moe wit misser!” His howls echoed through the stone passages as his mother removed him to another part of the castle.
The Destiny Series Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 10
