Awaken (Tales of Dormiraa Book 2)

by Cassandra Dean

  Stahg flexed his hand. “I grew weary of his rants.”

  Bharia looked over the five fallen. “The Spindles grow bold.”

  Wiping his sword, Stahg sheathed the great weapon, adjusting the strap over his chest. “They know Thalia’s Confirmation is upon us. They wish to make noise, and this is how they choose to do so.”

  Bharia replaced her daggers in their sheaths. “We should return to the palace for more reasons than one. We should let them know of this.”

  “Yes.” Stahg fell silent a moment. “She is well, Bharia.”

  He always knew her, even better than she herself did sometimes. “I know.”

  A large, strong hand cupped her shoulder. “We will find her soon.”

  Almost absently, his thumb traced her collarbone. A shiver rushed through her skin, her blood a fire. She wanted to take his lip between her teeth, wanted to shift so his hand covered her breast, her nipple brushing his palm. She wanted to take the passion roused by battle and turn it to another kind, one where he was naked and beneath her. Inside her.

  Heat a burn on her cheeks, she shrugged him off. “We should get to Rivermouth.” She did not want these things. She could not want them. Not when she was alone in this want.

  Retrieving his hand, he curled his fingers into a loose fist. “What shall we do with them?”

  Did she hear disappointment in his tone? By the warrior, now she was inventing fancies. “Leave them. They’ll wake, and maybe they’ll think twice about attacking Guardians when they are clearly inadequate.”

  He glanced up at the ridge. “We should take their horses, bring them to Rivermouth. We don’t need them following.”

  She nodded, her gaze somewhere left of his.

  “I’ll do it.” He swung himself on his horse and headed in the direction they had first seen the assailants.

  She watched him go. She would conquer these feelings. They would reach Rivermouth before the day's end, be on a ship to Queenstor with the first tide and everything would be as it was. They would find Thalia, they would guard her once more, and she would no longer feel such for her fellow guardian.

  She knew it in her bones to be true.

  Voyage

  Night had fallen, the electrical lights of the utilitarian cabin flickering with the creak and groan of the ship as it sliced through the waves toward Queenstor. The dual berths did not move, fixed to the wall on one side and constrained by a rail to prevent an occupant to fall on the other. The room was completed with a table bolted to the wall and two stools rooted into place.

  Arm flung over her forehead, Bharia absorbed the roil of the ocean as she lay in one of the two berths. The artificial light hurt her eyes, and her stomach had yet to accustom itself to the movement of the ship, though they’d been mired in this voyage for over a week. Galling that Stahg was unaffected, his colour the same as always and his movement free of stumble and lurch.

  Worse still, though, was the feeling of being trapped. Though the ship was large, they were still contained within it, and nothing Bharia did would lessen the moments between finding Thalia and this. She could not purchase a faster horse, or arrange for transport in a mechanical conveyance. She had merely to wait, confined to this cabin and the ship around it.

  The knowledge gnawed at her.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she battled the wicked ache in her head. For a day this ache had held her, her stomach lurching as a particularly vicious wave took hold of the boat and threw it to the next. “How long until we reach Queenstor?”

  “Another night and day.”

  Turning her head, she cracked an eye only to wince at the light.

  Stahg sat on the hardwood floor, an arm draped over each of his up-drawn knees.

  Regarding her through his lashes, he leant his head against the wall. “The captain said the weather will continue to be fair and we will make good time. We should make landfall not long after the princess’s ship docks.”

  “He is certain?”

  “He is as certain as he can be.”

  Stahg was ever pragmatic and, at times, completely without imagination. Directing a sour look at the room, she pushed herself up.

  The move was a mistake. Pain blossomed in her head, such that she winced.

  Blue eyes narrowed. “Your head pains you.”

  “I am fine.”

  “You always say that, and it is always false. Come here.”

  Lowering her arm, she raised a brow at the command in his tone.

  He regarded her steadily, his hand unwavering as he held it out for hers.

  Moments passed as they regarded each other. Finally, she hauled herself off the bed, gingerly moving across the roiling floor before taking his hand. She wasn’t certain if the shiver was because of the pain or because of his touch.

  He tugged her to him and she did as he bade, seating herself. He turned her so her back was to him, long legs drawing either side of hers as he pulled her against him, his chest brushing against her back with every breath. The pain in her head became a distant thing as she concentrated on her breathing… on concealing her reaction to him.

  A tug and the tie of her braid became undone. Her breath hitched. “What do you—” she managed.

  “Hush.” Gentle fingers picked at the strands, loosening the tension in her head.

  Closing her eyes, she leaned into his touch. The tips of his fingers wove the strands of her hair, making small circles on her skull.

  “You should have said your head pained you,” he murmured. “This could have been done that much sooner.”

  “I thought it would abate.” Tilting her head, she stifled a moan as his thumbs caressed her neck.

  Fingers tightening on her skull, Stahg exhaled.

  Her eyes snapped open. In his breath was censure and disappointment, but he remained silent.

  Irritation filled her. He always did this, he always sat in judgement and then refused to comment. Twisting to face him, slow in deference to her head, she demanded, “What have you to say?”

  Pale blue eyes regarded her steadily. She stared back, ignoring the pain in her scowl, the stretch of her muscles.

  Expression neutral, he finally said, “You never ask.”

  Brow creasing, she said, “I ask. All the time.”

  “For help. You never ask for help.”

  Anger, sudden and intense, blinded her. She was not as others, bleating for aid at the slightest provocation. “I am not helpless.”

  “I know this.” A hint of frustration crossed his face. “But neither are you invulnerable.”

  “We are none of us invulnerable.”

  “Don’t be obtuse.”

  “Do not,” she said evenly, “call me obtuse.”

  Against his hips, his hands tightened to fists. “I only wish you would ask, when you have need.”

  “If this is a trouble, I will remove myself.” Putting her hand to the floor, she shoved herself up. Her stomach protested, and her head also, but she ignored both.

  He caught her arm. “That’s not what I meant.”

  She hovered there, halfway between rising and sitting. “Then what did you mean?”

  He definitely wore frustration now. He let her go, running his hand over his jaw. She sank to sit before him, legs crossed.

  Hands resting on his knees, he leaned forward slightly. “You were in pain, Bharia, and you did not tell me. How can we partner, if you will not trust me when you have need?”

  “Why do you ask me these things? We have been partnered for over eight years. You know I trust you. You know this.”

  “I know this.” His index finger ticked against his knee. “I know you keep your pain to yourself. I know you suffer aches of which you tell me nothing. I know you worry about Thalia, and if we will find her, but you do not share these things.”

  “And what of you? I never know what you think. You hide behind passivity and stoicism, and I am to discern from this you wish me to speak?”

  “I have not sought to push—�
�

  “But you seek now?”

  “Now we are alone!” The words exploded from him.

  Her eyes widened. She’d never seen Stahg in such a passion, not in all the years she’d known him.

  His hands tightened on his knees. “Now we are only two, without the princess between us. I would speak of this, Bharia, and have it remedied.”

  “Do you believe such issues will be solved by a few minutes of talk?”

  “Of course not. If we begin discussion, I would count myself well satisfied.”

  His gaze was too intense. She averted her eyes, focussing on the strong column of his throat. “What do you want of me, Stahg?”

  Silence fell. It weighed heavy upon her, as if loaded with things left unsaid.

  “For you to tell me when you have need,” he finally said. “Will you at least attempt to tell me when you need help?”

  “I will.”

  “Good.” He swallowed, the movement drawing her gaze to his throat like a lodestone.

  His skin was golden in the artificial light, his jaw lightly stubbled with blond. She wanted to run her lips over him, feel his texture, taste the salt on his skin. Her own skin heated, a shiver racing through her flesh and, of a sudden, she realized her position. She was positioned between his legs, his long limbs drawn up either side of her, his fisted hands resting lightly on his bent knees, his face a breath from hers.

  Slowly, she raised her eyes. Blue held her gaze, clear and steady. As if in a trance, she raised her hand to his face, and his skin was smooth beneath her fingers, warm beneath her touch. She traced the line of his cheekbone. The underside of his jaw. His mouth.

  “Bharia.” Her name was a guttural whisper over her fingers, his gaze never straying from hers.

  By the Maiden, what was she doing?

  Dropping her hand to her lap, she attempted a smile. She was fairly sure she failed. “I am tired, Stahg, and my head pains me. I shall dim the lights, if you have no objection.”

  He said nothing for the longest time. She held on to her poor attempt at a smile, pretending nothing out of the ordinary had occurred... as if she had not had his flesh beneath her touch.

  “I have none,” he finally said.

  She nodded and rose, dimming the lights before settling again in her berth.

  She did not sleep, but she gave the appearance she did, and she failed not to remember the sensations of his flesh against hers.

  Home

  Bharia shifted on the stone bench, her skin numb even through the soft leather of her trousers. They’d been seated for half of the hour or more, waiting for the warden to call them to attend him. The antechamber where they waited was as utilitarian as the rest of the Guard’s Keep, containing only that which was necessary—the bench upon which they sat, a portrait of the king and the supplicants who awaited the warden’s pleasure.

  Exhaling, she looked down at her hands. She despised waiting. She would rather know her fate. Lacing her fingers, she counted the nicks in her skin, souvenirs from swordplay both practice and malicious, and memorised again the awkward bend of her smallest finger, broken so long ago she could scarce remember it.

  They had arrived in Queenstor on the morning tide, making their way to the Guard’s Keep before the sun had lightened the sky. It had been close to a decade since they’d trod the streets of Queenstor and much had changed. Dormiraa was the centre of fashion and Queenstor its jewel, as changeable as the seasons and the Fashion Houses dictated. Despite this, though, the Guard’s Keep remained the same. The traditional home and training grounds of the guardians, Guard’s Keep had been Bharia’s home from the time she had been interred as a young girl until the moment she had left as Thalia’s guardian and it, above all else, was unchanging. There was some comfort in that. So much was different, but the Guard’s Keep remained.

  Upon their arrival at the Keep that morn, they had been ushered to separate rooms to report. Seven years had taken time, so it was only now as the sun set that they were directed to the warden.

  A long leg slid into view. Stahg, shifting on the hard bench.

  Bharia kept her gaze straight ahead. They had spoken little since their disagreement aboard ship, but then they had always spoken little. It had been she and Thalia in discussion, with Stahg the silent third. Now, though, the silence was different.

  Brows drawing, she dug her thumb into the web of flesh between her opposite thumb and forefinger. She was still uncertain what he wanted. She had vowed to request help when required, and he would be the first she would ask, but she was a woman grown, more than capable. She had, for all her life, relied upon herself and no other, and had been taught time and again such a philosophy was correct.

  So aboard ship, she had forced normality. Silence and amiable companionship, and he had allowed it, as he always did, but she found herself wishing he would leap again to challenge, that he would allow emotion to dictate his actions. He was altogether too still, but she had felt his gaze upon her, that calm blue gaze that spoke louder than any challenge.

  The door opened and the warden’s page appeared in its frame, her demeanour tranquil. “You are called.”

  Bharia stood. Her stomach dropped, and she wavered. Closing her eyes, she swallowed. She was not apprehensive. Perhaps the fish in last eve’s meal had been bad.

  A warm hand settled between her shoulder blades. Startled, she whipped her head around but Stahg had already started toward the door, the brief comfort just that.

  The Warden’s Chamber was as utilitarian as the antechamber. Most of Queenstor was noise and colour, as befit the fashion centre of the world, but the guardians had never been loud, their role as protector demanding they blend with the background.

  The warden himself sat behind his desk, his massive shoulders still straight though his hair was now completely grey. “Guardians. Sit.”

  They did as bidden. Back straight, Bharia looked the warden direct and made attempt to ignore the slip of her stomach.

  The warden’s expression was expressionless as he regarded them. “You have been away too long, and when you return, you lag behind the princess. Your report was adequate, but I would have you explain.”

  Stahg spoke. “Is the princess well?”

  The warden gave them a hard look. “She is. She arrived two days ago in the company of the tailor, unharmed.”

  Relief flooded Bharia. The frivolous tailor had not abandoned the princess but instead delivered her to her father as was his duty, though perhaps it was something more. She had seen the looks he had given Thalia, and the ones the princess had given in return.

  “Explain,” the warden said.

  Nerves ran riot in Bharia’s stomach as Stahg answered. “We were attacked in Dyerston, and separated from the princess. Our plan to meet, should this occur, failed. Guardian Bharia was injured, and by the time I was able to reach the agreed upon location, the princess and the tailor had already set sail for Queenstor. Guardian Bharia rose from the sick bed earlier than was wise, and we boarded the next ship to Queenstor. We have no explanation for our failure. We allowed the princess to be separated from us.”

  Leaning back in his chair, the warden regarded them. Stahg appeared calm but Bharia saw the faint tick in his jaw. As for her, she awaited the warden’s next words with dread leaden upon her.

  Finally, he spoke. “Your explanation is adequate. You shall remain guardians to the princess, but know this could change.”

  Next to her, Stahg tensed. “Both of us?”

  “Yes.”

  A great rush of emotion streaked through Bharia. Greater than the relief Thalia was well. Greater than the knowledge they were not to be punished with a lesser assignment. Greater than all, her relief she would not be parted from Stahg.

  “However, know this isn’t my choice,” the warden continued. “The princess has decreed it, and the king has agreed. You will be watched, and closely. You have allowed her separation twice. Do not allow it again.” The warden’s expression hardened. “Oth
er matters have need of discussion. I would have word of the Spindles. Tell me what you heard on the tour.”

  Stahg again spoke, his voice holding a lightness only those who knew him well would hear. “They are spoken of in whispers only, but these whispers have become louder with each year that passes. We were ambushed on the road—”

  The warden held up a hand. “That is in your report. What is your feeling?”

  Stahg glanced at Bharia. Tilting her head slightly, she raised one brow. Stahg knew her thoughts on this. They had discussed the Spindles at length over the years, from the time they were little more than rumour to the attack on the Kings Road.

  He read her as if she had spoken. “We do not like it. It is too quiet. They plan something, of that we are certain.”

  “Even though you were ambushed?”

  “We were two guardians alone. They sent five when they should have sent ten. They were testing us, testing our response. I would wager there have been easily thwarted attacks on the palace?”

  The warden levelled his gaze upon them, saying nothing. Finally, he nodded.

  “There will be more, and then there will be none. They are planning something.” Stahg shrugged. “They are too quiet.”

  The warden shifted his gaze to Bharia. “You agree?”

  She nodded sharply.

  “I will take this under advisement.” The warden stood. “The princess has commanded you attend her directly upon your arrival. I have detained you long enough.” He looked between them. “You did well, to bring her back in one piece.”

  “We did not bring her back,” Bharia said.

  “So you can speak.” As if to lessen the harsh words, the warden smiled, the expression foreign on his blunt features. “You made it so a pampered royal knew what to do when unavoidably alone. You have succeeded, guardian. Be proud.”

  The page appeared at the door, escorting them from the Warden’s Chamber and through the underground passage leading from the Keep to the palace. The passage ended in the royal families’ private apartments, and they were quickly ushered to the princess’s chamber.