“Timba.”
“Thank you for my flowers, Timba.” Then in an impulsive move that squeezed up from his heart, he put his arms around her and cuddled her in a tight hug, just as if she’d truly been his little bird.
The child slid her arms around his neck and pressed her face to his, returning his embrace.
His tears spilled over. Unashamed, he kissed her cheek, then picked her up and rose to his feet.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, a human suckervine, just as Daria used to do.
The gesture broke the dam holding back the people. Ahs and quiet exclamations buzzed through the crowd. But even in their excitement, the people stayed subdued; cheering might bring in the guards to investigate. A few bolder ones surged forward, hands outstretched to touch him.
He handed the girl over to Tempor, then walked through the crowd—clasping hands, grasping arms, squeezing shoulders, ruffling heads, and touching cheeks. Tears reddened the eyes of most, both men and women.
Many murmured something, and he let the words wash over him, too full of emotion to comprehend most of what people said. Some obviously wanted to cling, clutching his hand or his clothing and sobbing, refusing to let go. But someone, usually Tempor, would gently remove the distressed person, steering him or her to other arms that could comfort, or hush any who became too noisy.
Through his othersense, he could feel the people’s need to reassure themselves that he was real—their prince returned from the dead. And his need to connect with them was just as strong.
My people!
With each contact, the realness seeped into him, although he was still afraid he’d wake up and find himself a prisoner in Ontarem’s temple. He glanced over at Jasmine, rocking a baby in her arms, her thin face alight with maternal warmth. He couldn’t bear the thought of once more being Ontarem’s prisoner. Not when life had suddenly become so vital and full of possibilities.
After a long time of snaking through the mass of people, he came to the end of the throng. One woman, her gray, shoulder-length hair ruffled by the breeze, stood alone, wearing the forest green robe of a priestess of Yadarius. A priestess! He noted the frayed gold embroidery at her neckline and hem.
The people fanned out behind him, watching.
The woman looked familiar, but several seconds passed before he recognized her.
Anza, the Archpriestess.
The impact of the lost years hit him. Anza was his father’s age. When last Indaran had seen her, she’d had hair the palest shade of red, almost blond, and smooth skin over a strong nose and firm cheekbones. Her gray eyes had always sparked with life. Now they’d darkened to the color of the sea on a stormy day, bruised with her pain and that of her people.
Although time had reddened her skin and radiated tiny wrinkles across her face, Anza still possessed a leader’s face, full of character and strength. She studied him, her gaze penetrating.
Indaran walked to her; memories of their interactions flashed through his mind in shades of gray and black.
The priestess held out both hands. “Indaran.” The tone of her voice was as firm as her grip, but a tiny quiver at the corner of her mouth betrayed her emotion. “I greet you in the name of Yadarius.”
“Anza, it’s good to see you.”
“We thought you dead. We’ve mourned you all this time.”
“I’ve been told.”
“Princess Daria woke from an othersense dream screaming your name.” The words rushed out. “Neither she nor your mother could feel your heartline. Even Yadarius, when I sought Him out, could not connect with you.”
“How long has it been?”
“Fourteen years have passed since that day. Yet you don’t look much older than when you left.”
I feel ten times as old. “I was in Ontarem’s power. He cut me off from all I knew and put me, put all of us, into some kind of unchanging paralysis.”
“How did you escape?”
Indaran released Anza’s hands, pressed Jasmine’s arm, and pulled her to his side. “This is Jasmine, a priestess of the God, Arvintor. She was instrumental in saving me from the clutches of Ontarem.”
“Jasmine, the people of Seagem owe you more than we can ever repay.”
Jasmine pulled up one corner of her mouth. “Oh, I think I might have a way for them to help me. But that discussion is for a later time.”
“I want to know more about the God Arvintor, of whom I’ve never heard.”
Jasmine wrinkled her nose. “No one has.”
Anza turned and made a scattering motion to the crowd with one thin, veined hand. “Go about your business. The guards’ wits will soon return, and we must not give them any reason to suspect the king is here. You will all have time to see him in the next few days.”
The crowd dispersed, many casting longing or curious looks over their shoulders. Only his crew remained.
“What shall my crew do?”
She waved a hand to the nearest shelter. “As you can see, our living quarters are less than adequate. However, there is always room to share.”
“It doesn’t seem that way. What happens in the winter?”
“The winters here are mild. Otherwise, I don’t think many of us would have survived this last one. But we are weaker now. I don’t know how we will fare when winter comes again.”
“Every remaining life is precious.”
Her smile lightened her whole face, reminding him of the younger woman he’d known. “The greatest luck by far is having you returned to us. You and those who followed you.”
Those who are still alive.
“It’s possible your crew has family or people who knew them here. Give them leave to make inquiries. I think it would be best to scatter them throughout the camp. From time to time, the guards come within the compound, and a group of unfamiliar faces might catch their attention. Let any who don’t find somewhere to stay return here, and I will help them.”
He motioned Mastin over and gave him a few quick orders, then watched while his crew scattered.
Anza touched his arm. “Come,” she said. “I have a tent to myself. The extra space is necessary so people can have a place to come and talk to me and have some privacy. I can’t give you something to eat or drink. Our food, such as it is, is served later.”
He followed her. “The people seem thin, but not starving. Do they get enough to eat?”
She pursed her lips. “Barely. Fish, seaweed, grain porridge, herb teas. Not unlike what the poorer families would have at home. The children scavenge in the rock pools at the base of the cliffs, stretching out what we are served. I think the people of Penutar understand that in order to work hard, their slaves must be fed something. Besides, from what I’ve managed to learn, the people of this city don’t eat much better.”
She flipped up the side of a square tent and motioned him inside. A bed of dried seaweed covered the ground, scrunching under their feet and giving off a kelpy odor that reminded him of treasure walks with his siblings on Seagem’s beach.
Nothing else.
Very different from the comfortable quarters inhabited by Yadarius’s priests and priestesses in the temple at Seagem.
Anza motioned he and Jasmine to sit, her rueful expression conveying understanding of the lack of possessions. She pulled closed the door covering. The room shaded into gray light. The canvas walls belled in the breeze.
“The swords.” Jasmine pulled her robe up to her waist, exposing legs clad in blue canvas pants. The two swords hung in scabbards from belts around her waist. “I need to get these off before I can sit.”
Indaran reached over and unbuckled the belt containing his sword, lowering it to the ground before taking the second one.”
Jasmine dropped the hem of her robe, gracefully settling into a cross-legged position.
Indaran followed her example.
Anza sank into a kneeling position. “I wish I could offer you comfortable chairs.”
“Just to move is a blessing.” He reach
ed out to squeeze Anza’s hand. “I don’t mind sitting on the ground. You don’t know how much it means to me to hear the familiar sounds of the ocean, to smell the fresh, salty air. The foul incense they burn in the temple has clogged my nose for so long.”
Anza gently shook his hand, alerting him to the seriousness of what she wanted to say. “You will want to know of deaths of your family…the ruin of our city.”
“I want to know everything that has happened since I’ve been gone. But I’m sure the telling would take days, so I’ll settle for the…” his throat clogged. “Endings.”
“Eight months ago, King Stevenes died, and your family, including Princess Daria, sailed to Ocean’s Glory for the funeral.”
Indaran thought of Stevenes, his foster father. A kind man, a loving husband and father, a good king. Another loss.
“Princess Daria has grown up to be quite a beauty, and King Thaddis must have been captivated, because several weeks later, he traveled to Seagem and proposed.”
“That would have been quite a match,” Indaran murmured, pleased at the thought of his best friend and little sister falling in love. “She would have kept him on his toes. Ruffled him up a bit.”
“She publicly rejected him.”
“What!” he exclaimed. “Why?”
“The king pressed his suit during the welcome feast on the first night. So she was forced to give him an answer. However, she was not diplomatic. He became enraged, drove his knife into the table, and stalked out, vowing revenge. Looking back, I think her othersense must have given her some warning of Thaddis’s true nature.”
“True nature?” he said sharply. “I never would have said such was his true nature. Thaddis always had a hasty temper, and I can understand the insult to his pride. But to attack out of vengeance? What about the generations of peace between our countries? The ties of fostership and love he shared with our family? How could he betray everything?”
“I suspect Ontarem had a hand in corrupting him.”
“Yes.” He remembered his dream, the evil miasma wrapped around his friend’s brain, tying him to Pasinae and Ontarem. “I believe so.”
Jasmine propped her elbow on her knee and leaned forward. “What about your God, Yadarius?” she asked the Archpriestess.
“Several weeks before the invasion, Yadarius ceased to walk through our dreams. Nor could we find any other signs of Him. I, as Archpriestess, searched diligently.” One hand covered her heart. “I can’t tell you the emptiness I…we all experienced.”
“There is no need to tell me,” Indaran said. “I know. What happened after that?”
“On the sail from Seagem, Thaddis kidnapped his pilot. We know that he forced the man to give him the way through the shoals so he could bring an invasion fleet. But at the time, we thought Thaddis would attempt to abduct the princess. Your father had her placed under constant guard.”
He remembered his feisty little sister. “I’m sure she didn’t take that well.”
“No. But he also had your brothers guarded. All three were confined to the palace. None of them were pleased.”
“I don’t blame them.”
“Still, we were taken by surprise when the reavers attacked. That sea scum knew the way through the shoals to the city. Yadarius didn’t protect us. Our soldiers fought hard. The people fought. Your brothers….” Her voice caught, and she turned her face from him.
A fist tightened around his heart. “Tell me.”
She closed her eyes, fighting for composure. A minute passed before she opened her reddened eyes. “They’d grown into great warriors. And your sister, too.”
Fear of what he was about to hear made him steel his emotions. “I’m sure they were.”
“But they couldn’t prevail against superior numbers. Cihkel fell defending the docks.” Anza’s voice hitched, then she rushed out the rest. “Setteff in the house-to-house fighting, Joshel at the wall around the palace.”
Indaran bowed his head, silently mourning the loss of his brothers. After a while he looked up at Anza and cleared his throat. “My…parents and sister?”
“Your mother caught firefever not long after you were lost to us. She was already weakened from grief, and she passed to the Hall of Yadarius.”
My mother. He remembered her delicate beauty, the love she displayed to her family, the sheen of tears in her gray eyes when she’d hugged him goodbye. All this time he’d imagined her alive, and she’d been gone.
“About a month before the attack, your father had fallen from his horse and broken his leg. The limb was still weak. He and Princess Daria took their stand on the palace balconies, firing arrows into the attackers. They fought for hours, not giving up. I was at the palace, Archpriest Caifed at the temple. We prayed, begged, for Yadarius to intercede.” Her tone turned bitter. “He didn’t.”
“Perhaps He couldn’t,” Jasmine said softly.
Lost in her narrative, Anza didn’t appear to hear her. “The palace and the temple were overrun. The priests and priestesses were slaughtered. I grabbed up a wooden chair and attacked one of the enemy. I was knocked unconscious, so I didn’t see your father and sister killed. But I saw his headless body when I came to and they were dragging me out.”
This time Indaran turned away, fighting to suppress the burst of weeping that wanted to punch out of his chest.
“They herded us to the ships and brought us here. Seagem burned behind us.” Anza gulped in a deep breath before continuing. “Many more died on the journey, physically weakened, despairing.” She waved a hand in a circular motion. “These are the survivors.”
“Why weren’t you taken to the temple?” His words sounded shaky.
“When I saw what Ontarem’s priestess was doing, I made my shield very strong so she wouldn’t detect the strength of my othersense.” Anza pulled at her robe. “She didn’t recognize that I was a priestess.”
“What about Daria?”
“Princess Daria would have fought to her death. She never would have allowed herself to be captured. They must have taken her body or left it on the balcony.”
Indaran thought the pain from Anza’s words would drive him to his knees. He fought to stay upright.
Anza reached out a steadying hand and placed it on his shoulder. “It’s best that way, Indaran. Think of what would have happened to Princess Daria if they’d captured her.”
Rape, torture, captivity. Frozen as Ontarem’s prisoner. Better dead, his head told him. But his heart rejected the concept.
Daria, my little bird. You are dead because I betrayed you.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Daria, princess of Seagem, rode her mare, Teifa, beside Khan Laenser, her husband of one week. Just a few days ago, the terrain through which they traveled had been barren desert. Now the country sang with life—verdant, bountiful, vibrant, fragrant.
Each day, the beauty of their surroundings filled them with bliss. Throughout the ride, she and Khan had delighted in pointing out to one another the wonders of their restored land. They’d been so tempted to meander about, enjoying their surroundings and exploring. Hopefully when they returned….
If we return.
No. She refused to indulge in such melancholy thoughts on this beautiful day. Time enough to worry when they entered the territory of Ocean’s Glory.
Although tired from the long ride from Withea’s city of Binch-Alat, Daria couldn’t help stealing admiring glances at Khan. They’d only known each other a short while, and the newness of their relationship was far from settling into married complacency. Her happiness was such a fragile feeling. After the pain of the last six months, enduring the destruction of her homeland, family, friends, she almost feared to trust in her joy. She’d learned how quickly life could change from happiness to despair.
Khan rode his black Arabian horse, Nika, with the easy assurance of one who’d ridden since childhood. She studied his profile framed under the cloth of his headcovering—dark skin, high cheekbones, and a proud nose. A foreign face.
A beloved face.
His pale robe fluttered in the breeze. She smiled, wondering what the people of Ocean’s Glory would think of her husband.
What will the people think of me? As an enemy? As a savior? Should we have remained in our safe haven?
She’d been the one who’d tugged them away from their magical time—their honeymoon Khan had called it—to lead them into danger. All to follow a dream of a brother long dead.
Have I made the right choice? What if I’m wrong about Indaran being alive?
Khan turned and grinned, his teeth white in his brown face, his dark eyes alight with pleasure. “Look.” He pointed. “I love the purple blossoms on that tree over there. The shape reminds me of a magnolia. It grows in the southern part of America.”
“It’s beautiful,” she agreed, liking his apparent sensitivity and wondering if she would ever completely understand her new mate. He came from a different world, brought by the Goddess Withea to heal Her land. Just that concept had taken some getting used to. During their journey, he’d shared stories of his life, his world. Most sounded like tales told in front of a winter night fire. But they were true. She didn’t doubt that. Or him.
Khan kneed Nika, cantering to the tree. He rode under one of the branches and plucked off a flower. Riding back to her side, he presented her with the blossom. “For your hair, habibti.”
She smiled and took it from him, bending her head to sniff the sweet fragrance of the teacup-sized bloom. “Thank you, Khan. I love the color.” She touched one pointed magenta petal before tucking the flower behind her ear. “Shall we call that tree a magnolia?”
“Yes. A perfect name.”
To their left, the monkey-bats ended their investigations of a tree with feathery white branches and flew back to them. They swooped in front of the horses, making chittering noises, and waving their double tails in an attempt to communicate their latest discoveries. Luckily, both Teifa and Nika had become used to such behavior and continued to placidly plod along.
Shir, the female, zoomed down toward her.
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