It tasted so good that he couldn’t even find the urge to rail at himself for making such a mistake.
My heart is no longer my own.
He’d made her a gift of his blackened organ, sins and all. If she told him to drop dead at her feet, he could do nothing to prevent it. Yet he still couldn’t feel any concern.
Her image that had filled his mind as her water pummeled him into the sands would never fade. Dressed in the simple white cotton gown from their Dream, she bared teeth at him in magnificent fury, blood smeared on her face, neck, and chest, dripping from the nine Red warriors kneeling at her feet. The vengeful White Dragon had very nearly succeeded, until he’d thrown the truth at her.
Truth was one of his favorite weapons, yet as a double-edged sword, it often cut him just as deeply.
“What have you done, baka?” Gana kicked sand in his face and spat on him. “She knows exactly where we are. Wells, I can still feel her curse shimmering on my skin!”
Mykal swirled the last swallow of water on his tongue, savoring her curse, as the other tal called it. “She already knew we were coming, fool. She invited us. We’ve lost no advantage.”
“Your advantage,” Gana said the words slowly through gritted teeth, “runs for the dunes to bury their heads in the sand before she tears us all apart.”
Pushing upright, Mykal smirked as tents collapsed, the tribes dispersing as quickly as they’d arrived. Many of his kinsmen lay sprawled on the sands, eyes wide open and staring up at the slim crescent, water spilling from gaping mouths to form dark puddles beneath their corpses. Greedily, the starved earth lapped up her offering.
“Impressive,” he whispered, shaking his head with a wry smile. “I didn’t expect her to kill so many before we even started this Dance.”
“And the rest flee! We had an army she couldn’t possibly defeat, and now only a handful will be stupid enough to risk setting a single foot on her precious Green Lands.”
Ignoring him, Mykal felt his heart stutter oddly and stumble to a halt. Reflexively, he touched his chest, waiting long agonizing moments. Pain banded his chest, his breath wheezing in his throat. The Shadow of Death enclosed him in deadly wings.
He’d Given his heart to her, so when she died, he would too. If her heart ceased to beat…
He reached down the bond to fly toward her, although she remained miles away in Shanhasson. She lay crumpled on the Great Seal, her hair and gown dripping wet. Her young Red clutched her to his chest, smoothing her hair from her face as he whispered urgently.
The connection was so strong that Mykal could hear the boy’s words.
“Please, na’lanna, take a breath. Just one.”
Mykal staggered and fell to one knee, bracing himself on his left hand to keep from tumbling face first into the sand. :Iyeh, brightheart, just one breath. Will you let me take this Dance so easily?:
Hovering over her, so close, he could almost touch her. He stretched harder, his right hand reaching through time and space to stroke her cheek, finger one of those beautiful marks on her body, and dream about where his might lay beneath her creamy flesh, just waiting for his teeth to bring it out.
Her eyes flew open and she sucked in a deep, loud breath. His heart crashed against his ribcage, thumping frantically to catch up to hers. She saw him, somehow; she stared directly into his eyes. Her hand floated toward him, her mouth moving, but he couldn’t hear her.
:Give me your blood, brightheart, and I’ll hear every—:
Something hard and cold shoved beneath his chin, snapping his head back so hard that his teeth crashed together. It flung him back so hard he stared up at the slip of moon again, flat on his back in the damp sand.
“What is wrong with you?” Gana cursed and grabbed a handful of taamid to shake him thoroughly. “Are you drunk?”
Mykal caught a flicker of Shadow, a small gleam of white, and then the presence was gone. Something—or someone—had warned him off quite effectively. He couldn’t help but laugh. These warriors of hers would surely give him a beautiful dance.
“Drunk? Iyeh, I’m drunk on moonlight.”
He took a quick tally of who still stood with him: Gana, Nijar, and Asad. She knew the Black Dragon was a tal, so Asad couldn’t be used as camouflage. Nijar might be his best bet, for Gana’s age wouldn’t fool her.
The trader hovered on the edge, his gaze flickering uneasily from the shouting tal’Tellan to Mykal and back, trying to place his bet on the survivor.
“Enough,” Gana growled. “I will lead us to the Green Lands. You’ve already done enough damage.” He drew his scimitar and raised it over his head. “Who’s with me?”
Mykal stood, deliberately keeping his face pleasant and his hands well away from his weapons. For this, he needed no steel. “Did you know,” he began conversationally, “that this land is technically part of Far Illione? Indeed, nearly fifty years ago, a great city stood on this plateau, Nurzhan, their watchtowers guarding against the wilds of Keldar.”
He’d even walked those golden halls once, but that was another life, another name, now long dust. “A vast sandstorm claimed the city, dumping so much sand on top of the buttery stones that the city was lost. Those lovely Green Lands were swallowed by our sands.”
Gana snorted. “You weren’t even alive then. How could you know about Nurzhan?”
“Indeed.” Striking like his tribe’s namesake, Mykal grabbed the man’s hand gripping the scimitar and thrust the blade into the trader, eliminating his two weakest—or strongest, depending on whether he won or lost this Dance with her—opponents in one fell swoop.
The Far Illione trader crumpled with nary a cry. Gana sagged to the sands, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly.
“We’re on Green Land soil,” Mykal said gently. “You harmed a Green Lander.”
Gana couldn’t speak, but Mykal saw the question in his wide, panicked eyes. Leaning closer, he whispered into the dying man’s ear. “I, my friend, am not exactly Keldari.”
Tal’Tellan fell on his face in the sand. Nijar stared at the dead man and touched his hand quickly to his forehead, heart, and mouth. “May Somma’s waters cleanse us of our devalki.” Eyes bright with hope, he reached out and touched Mykal’s damp taamid. “You helped Gana harm the Green Lander, so why aren’t you dead? Has she truly forgiven you?”
“Harm is such a relative term.” Mykal slapped him on the back and winked. “How could I harm a man who plotted against his High Queen? I did her a favor.”
Shaking his head, he headed back to his tent to change into some dry clothing so he could squeeze every drop of her precious fluid directly into his mouth before the cruel sun evaporated it. Sadly, she had neglected to claw this taamid—and him—to shreds this time, a grievance he would ensure she corrected as soon as she laid eyes on him.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
DRAINED FROM THE GREAT SEAL’S MAGIC AND SHAKEN MORE THAN SHE COULD DISPLAY BEFORE HER COUNCIL, SHE WANTED A BATH IN THE HOT SPRING WATER TO CLEAR AWAY THE BLOOD, AND THEN SHE WANTED TO BE HELD. Sal and Dharman were only too willing to comply. Now dry and comfortable, she had an arm wrapped around each warrior’s neck, her hands wound in their hair, and they cuddled her between them in her bed.
She didn’t realize Jorah was gone, until she felt his bond weigh heavy in her mind. He was coming to her, fast and hard, with vicious anticipation that quickened her heartbeat with dread. “What has he done?”
If Dharman knew, he refused to answer. Even when she tugged on his bond hard enough that he grunted, all he would say was “Only what you ordered.”
Sitting up, she scooted to the edge of the bed as the door opened and the golden Blood trotted into the room. He glowed so brightly that she squinted, forcing her eyes to focus on him.
Jorah knelt and set a lumpy basket before her. “The task to which you set me has been completed, na’lanna Qwen.”
“What task?” Bewildered, she glanced at the basket. Loosely woven rushes sagged, dark and wet. Her stoma
ch tightened and she gripped Dharman’s thigh. “What have you done, Jorah?”
He smiled, and it was like she’d never seen him before. A strange dark light glinted in his golden eyes. He was still bright, still shining, but he no longer seemed quite so untouched and young. A hint of darkness clung to him, a subtle cloak about his shoulders that flickered in the corner of her eyes. “You said you wanted the head of the one who ordered the twins poisoned.”
She closed her eyes a moment to hide her dismay, but she knew they all felt her emotions through the bond. She’d never meant for one of them to hunt down the person who’d sent that poison, not really. She’d certainly never intended to sit down and open a present, hoping to find a severed head inside. Lady above, what if she’d said something about eliminating her entire Council? Would each Blood even now be offering a chopped body part for her perusal?
“But you made the order!” Jorah’s voice trembled with anxiety, rising sharply. His eyes shimmered, his lips trembling on the verge of tears. “Great Vulkar, Dharman, tell her! Tell her I felt her Call!”
She reached out to comfort him. Shaking, he buried his face in her lap and clung to her. “On my honor, your very life, I felt your Call, na’lanna Qwen. I only thought to fill my place at your side, to draw your attention to me in some small way in hope that you might…”
His voice broke and he clutched her so hard she couldn’t stifle a groan. “Jorah, I’m not angry, not exactly, but when word gets out that I’m simply executing my enemies at will… Lady, the nobles fight me at every turn already, and now I’ve got the Keldari to deal with. I don’t have time to quell outrage that my own guard is indiscriminately killing Green Landers. Dharman, what do you know of this?”
“You may have meant the words casually and not as an order, but when you said you wanted the person’s head who threatened your children, it felt... different.” Dharman spoke in a hard, controlled voice—the voice of her First Blood, not the warrior she’d taken to her bed. “The air felt heavy with your intent, making it difficult for us to breathe. Jorah felt your words as an order that he should address personally. Who am I to keep a Blood from terminating anyone who wishes to bring harm to you in any way?”
“What did this Call feel like?”
“I smelled it,” Jorah replied, his voice muffled against her. “I felt it in my bones. This is the man who ordered your children’s food poisoned. When I touched him, I saw him make the order and recognized the face of the assassin we killed in the hallway that day.”
Her stomach twisted. Gregar had often said her Call as his mark affected him much the same way. Holding her breath, she tilted Jorah’s face up and searched his eyes, looking for any hint of Shadow.
That Shadow which makes a Death Rider invisible for the kill makes him vulnerable to other Shadows. Other darkness. Other death.
“Still, I hesitated until this night. I found this,” he dropped a red bead into her hand, “on the ground and I knew it was time. Vulkar gave me the sign.”
“A red kae’al,” she breathed. Only Death Riders earned the red beads for their marks in Vulkar’s name, but a Blood never wore kae’valda beyond the red memsha proclaiming his oath to sacrifice every last drop of blood in his body. Then again, women weren’t supposed to have Blood. Who knew what sort of warrior Jorah might have been if she hadn’t chained him to her side before he’d even won his first honor?
“Chain me, na’lanna Qwen.” He stared back at her, composed, now, and so grim that she felt the temperature drop. “Perhaps I killed too eagerly at the hope of winning your favor.” He unsheathed his rahke and laid it on top of the basket. “My blood is yours. If you ask, I’ll slit my own throat deeply enough that Dharman may take my head with a flick of his wrist to redeem my mistake.”
So grim, so hard, so cold, despite the warmth of his golden eyes and skin. His glowing innocence had been banked by death. In my name.
“Nay, na’lanna,” Dharman corrected gently. “For your love.”
She stared back at Jorah, trying to sort through her feelings, his, and the rest of her Blood. Rhaekhar had always known her heart must be shared, but had he known so many warriors would vie for her attention? Some women were wooed with pretty phrases or sweets, but Jorah had set out to kill for her.
Face twisted with emotion, eyes blazing even while darkness hovered about his shoulders, he plead in anguish, “Na’lanna Qwen—”
She turned her head to Dharman. “What’s my name?”
A flicker of surprise shot through his eyes, but he replied immediately. “Shannari.”
“Tonight, I’m only Shannari, not na’lanna Qwen, High Queen of the Green Lands, Khul’lanna, nor the holder of your bonds, but merely a woman who loves you. A woman who is quite afraid that we’re all going to die on the morrow, and I refuse to go to Vulkar’s Clouds without showing you how much you mean to me. Do you understand?”
“Aye, Shannari.”
Sal repeated the same.
She turned her attention to Jorah still kneeling before her. The cloak of wavering shadows had disappeared, leaving behind the gleaming golden Blood.
“It’s an honor to serve…Shannari.”
“Honor has no hold on my heart, Jorah. I don’t want you to serve. Do you—”
“Aye, I love you,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you drilling so fearlessly with the Shadowed Blood. Think you Varne could have faced Gregar so confidently? Let alone you, an outlander woman, especially when we all knew what tempted him to Shadow. If you ask, my answer is always aye.”
She tried to smile, but tears blurred him into a golden halo. “I’m asking you, then, to join me in bed, my Blood.”
The largest smile she’d ever seen on his face flashed like rays of sunlight through a hole in the heavens. Reverently, he breathed, “Vulkar, may He sire many foals. Aren’t you even going to look inside the basket?”
Sal and Dharman looked at each other and burst into laughter.
“Lew, could you get rid of my... present?” With a smile, the Blood immediately picked up the basket and gave it to Jahne at the door. She shifted deeper into the bed. “It was the new Duke of Pella, right? He was trying to live up to his predecessor’s title of the Duke of Cups.”
Jorah crawled onto the foot of the bed and paused, his hands hovering over her ankles. “Aye.”
“What's wrong? You seem so... shocked... that I finally asked.”
He shot a pleading look at Sal, of all people, and not Dharman.
“We feared we’d all die virgins,” Sal admitted. “At most, I thought you might take Dharman, I prayed you might take me, but beyond that…” He shrugged and managed to look sheepish. “You’re not a woman to open your heart easily, na’lanna, Shannari,” he amended, “and we all knew your heart must fall first before we’d ever have your body to treasure, which only made us love and yearn all the more.”
She blinked back tears, unsure whether to rail at them for not telling her of these fears and years of agony she’d put them through, or to curse at herself because they were absolutely right. She was supposed to be Our Blessed Lady’s Daughter, Her shining gift of Love in this world, and instead, she’d been stingy with her love for these warriors who’d die to keep her safe.
Dharman used his bond, his touch unsure in a way he hadn’t acted in years. :As First Blood, I should have acted for their sake and yours. I should have asked permission to discuss it openly with you and your mate. Forgive me, na’lanna, Shannari. My hesitation then only makes you feel worse now.:
:If you’d asked to speak to me about it, I would have shut you out, the same way I shut you out one hundred times before.:
:A thousand,: he replied wryly, taking the sting out of his words by rubbing his mouth softly against hers. :Then I should have gone to Rhaekhar and let him act as First since I obviously failed to assist you.:
Ashamed at her own annoying inhibitions despite the love for these warriors welling in her heart, she sat up and pulle
d in her legs so Jorarh could come closer. :You were young, barely a warrior, Dharman. I shouldn’t have been so inconsiderate for so very long.:
Aloud, she said, “Forgive me, Jorah. If I had the ivory rahke, I’d lay it on the bed between us.”
“There’s no need,” he replied, his voice thickening now that his dream was at hand. “You gave me more than enough blood earlier, although I’ll give you every drop in my body if you want it.”
“Take off your memsha.”
Immediately, he tugged the red cloth free of his hips and tossed it aside. “What may I do?”
His bond blazed molten gold like his hair, his gaze a physical touch that awakened her skin. She wanted to push him flat and rub her face against his sun-kissed skin to see if he smelled as good as he had earlier. Later, she reminded herself. This first time’s for him.
“Anything my First says you may.”
The surge in Dharman’s bond told her she’d pleased him well with that comment. He gave a command to Sal and her gingerbread Blood slipped off the bed. Lightly, he traced the ring his teeth had left on the swelling curve of her breast. She let her head fall back and groaned, trembling as heat pooled in his mark. “Don’t deliberately touch her marks and don’t put your mark upon her. Otherwise, what do you want?”
Jorah’s gaze slid down her belly to between her thighs. “I want to feel her release under my tongue, I want to come inside her, and I want her to mark me anywhere she desires.”
“Agreed.”
She’d told him to be First, but this was entirely too heavy handed. “Wait a minute. I—”
Dharman closed his lips over hers on a low rumble of appreciation. :I thank you for allowing me to handle the negotiations.: Which diffused her prickly pride, as he’d intended, until he added, :Allow me to handle the Black Dragon likewise to ensure your safety.:
:I am entirely capable of protecting myself. Need I remind you?:
:Nay, Shannari, I know very well your skill.: He kissed her harder, a fierce edge gleaming in his bond like steel, and pushed her back to lie on the mattress. His tongue stroked deep, his fingers digging into her chin, gripping too hard.
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