“Our purpose was to get demon heirs,” Asherah replied. “We were to be the source of Sahlgren’s new legion.”
Tor shoved back from the table and walked to the far side of the chamber; Caol’nir stalked after him.
“Now you have confirmation of what the king plots under our very nose,” he hissed in his father’s ear. “I told you that things were wrong. I told you that there should not be a fifth door to the temple.” Caol’nir gestured wildly and the blue ribbon about his wrist caught his eye. “Is this why all the priestesses were brought to Teg’urnan? As a final offering for the mordeth-gall?”
“Sahlgren said he brought the priestesses to the Great Temple for safety,” Tor replied, “likely to keep them away from this plan.”
“You believe that?” demanded Caol’nir. “Ethnia—”
“Was a great tragedy,” finished Tor, his tone letting his son know that the matter was finished, at least for the moment. The Prelate of Parthalan strode back to the elf king, and addressed the consort who was once a slave.
“How long has this gone on?” Tor demanded of Asherah, but it was Sarfek who answered.
“It began fourteen winters past, when Ehkron raided my master’s home,” Sarfek began as he hobbled in from the corridor. “He only kept us novices alive. He ate my master’s heart before our very eyes. Were dragged about the edges of the kingdom for three winters, enthralling the legion to send reports that all was well while we forced the soldiers to build dojas. Any home within a day’s travel of a doja was burned. The men, we killed; the women were not as lucky.” Sarfek sank into a chair, as if speaking for so long had sapped his strength. His words hung over the room like a cold fog, chilling all in attendance.
“I will rip Ehkron’s heart from his chest and shove it beating down his throat,” Caol’nir vowed. “We’ve failed you all.” He spoke to the faeries before him, but he was only thinking of his mate, alone in Teg’urnan.
“My lady, you have my deepest regrets,” Tor said to Asherah, “you all do. I know words said this late are useless, but had I known of your plight I would have retrieved you myself.” Asherah murmured an acknowledgement as Tor resumed his seat. “Well, Lormac, what are we to do? It seems my king has run amok, and we are begging the elf lord’s help.”
Lormac acknowledged Tor’s words with more grace than Caol’nir had expected, and looked to the map before him. He studied it for a moment, then, oddly, he smiled.
“We need to know what Ehkron ultimately wants,” Lormac said, his eyes glinting. “We certainly cannot ask him, so we will learn his plans another way.”
“What way is that?”
“We capture a mordeth.”
Asherah speaks…
Tor and Caol’nir both argued against Lormac’s plan to capture a mordeth, but to no avail. While capturing any demon was fraught with risks, snaring a warlord was surely nothing but folly, they said. When I indicated the burnt dojas on the map—dojas that I and my Ish h’ra hai had personally destroyed—even the Prelate fell silent.
They selected a doja that was uncomfortably close to the Seat for their attack, so close that they hoped to be there and back in the space of a day. Tor and Caol’nir rode out to the doja, accompanied by Harek, and returned with detailed drawings of the camp and the surrounding landscape. It was decided that a small force would be best suited to the endeavor, and that Lormac would lead the Prelate, Caol’nir, and ten of his personal guard, along with five healers for the slaves who’d survived their torments.
“No one has more of a right to see this doja destroyed than Torim and I,” I declared when they tried to dissuade us from accompanying them. “You would deny us our retribution?”
“I’d rather spare you the sight of it,” Lormac began, when Harek spoke up.
“If not for Asherah, none of us would be free,” Harek stated, looking at me with such appreciation it made me uncomfortable. “We are no longer of Parthalan, but of the Ish h’ra hai. We are loyal to Asherah alone, and we will see her safely to the doja and back.”
There was no arguing after that, and Lormac’s advisors assembled supplies. We would leave four days hence, and attempt to take the doja by noon. While others were making decisions, I went with Torim to her chamber. As soon as the door shut behind us, she looked at the Sala on my arm.
“Forsaking me so soon?” she teased.
“I did not ask for this,” I replied. “He just put it on me. I had no idea what he was doing!”
“And yet, you’re still wearing it.” I protested but Torim held up her hand. “Do you want to wear it?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“Then go to him and find out.”
I don’t know how long I stood outside Lormac’s door, debating whether I really wanted to enter. It would be so much easier to just return to Torim, to hide away in the familiar warmth of her arms…but she would know that I hadn’t spoken to Lormac and just send me right back. Eventually a saffira came down the corridor, and rather than have her think I was skulking about outside the king’s chamber, I finally knocked on his door. Lormac’s manservant admitted me, then announced my presence.
Lormac hurried from the rear chamber and enfolded me into his arms; he was bare to the waist, his skin damp and warm. He must have been bathing. “My star,” he murmured into my hair, “don’t ever knock on that door again. My chamber is yours.” He nodded to his attendants and they left, and I was alone with the man who would be my mate. I pulled out of his arms and crossed my own over my chest.
“Forgive me,” he said, indicating his state of dress, “I didn’t expect to see you tonight. But I’m glad you’re here.”
“Torim sent me,” I said shakily. I glanced at his chest, his wiry muscles limned in firelight. The amount of skin on display made me uncomfortable, and I turned away.
“You don’t want to look at me?”
“I don’t remember ever being alone with a naked man.” Lormac chuckled as he wrapped his arms around my waist.
“I’m far from naked,” he commented, “and I’m honored to be the first.”
“I didn’t say you were the first, just the only one I remember.” I didn’t move or turn around, and Lormac released me. I peeked over my shoulder and saw him pull on a tunic.
“Sit with me,” he said, and I took my place next to him. He placed his arm around me and I rested my head on his shoulder; it unnerved me, how natural it felt to mold my body to his. “Torim sent you?”
“Yes.” I fell silent after that, and we sat together for what seemed like half the night before I got the courage to go on. “You just put this on me without asking.”
“If I’d asked, what would you have said?” Again, I was silent, and Lormac read volumes into what I’d left unsaid. “You’re free to say no.”
“I am?” I must have sounded too eager, for his face was pained as if I’d struck him. “It’s not that I want to deny you. When we escaped, I swore that no one would ever know me in that way again. All I wanted was to be free. And to free the others. I never imagined that I might one day have a mate.” I leaned against him as I traced the stones of the Sala. “And then you put this on me, and now everyone assumes that I belong to you. I don’t want to belong to anyone.”
“Asherah, it won’t be like that,” he said.
“I heard the Prelate call me ‘your consort.’” I said. “That certainly sounds like belonging.”
Lormac held my wrist with one hand, while the other moved my fingers to the oval stone of the Sala, the only stone that wasn’t green; it was dark pink and smooth, warm to the touch. “This stone signifies the king’s heart,” he explained. “Until I met you, it was white and cold, but it warms and the color darkens as my feelings for you grow. Once you are my mate, it will be a deep red. If you take me as your mate.” He turned my face to his, his gray eyes reflecting orange in the firelight. “You wouldn’t be my consort, or my lover, if you accept me. You’ll be my queen.”
“I cannot be a queen.”
“You’ve never asked,” I retorted, feeling bold despite my anxiety.
“May I?”
I searched his face, and try as I might I could find nothing but affection. And compassion. And hope. Having decided to no longer sabotage my own happiness, at least for the rest of the evening, I leaned toward him and pressed my lips to his. It was sweet and gentle, and Lormac made no demand to take things further. Once we parted, he held me close against his chest and said something or other, but I felt something strange against my arm.
“The stone, it’s darker!” I stared at the Sala, feeling the warm gem under my fingers, surprised beyond reason to see such a tangible representation of Lormac’s affection for me.
“Let’s see if we can make it darker yet,” he murmured as he kissed me, harder and longer than before. Afterward, he tightened his arms about me and I rested my head on his shoulder.
“I don’t know how to want a mate,” I said softly. “I don’t know how to want you. Yet here I am, and I don’t want to leave. I won’t lie; the idea of you claiming me terrifies me.” I didn’t speak of my real fear, that if he saw the horrible wounds that covered me from neck to knee, permanent reminders of what I had been, he would be sickened and never wish to look at me again.
“Are you scared now?”
“No.”
“Then stay, and let me hold you. We can work out the rest later.”
Chapter Nineteen
Asherah stayed with Lormac that night, thought she tried slipping away just before first dawn.
“I thought you were asleep,” she explained when Lormac caught her elbow. Asherah sat beside him. “I only wished to return to my chamber.”
“I can have your things brought here,” Lormac offered, but Asherah shook her head.
“That won’t be necessary.” Asherah leaned forward, her elbows propped up on her knees as she traced the heartstone with her fingertip. “Am I truly free to refuse you?”
Lormac brushed his fingers across her cheek, hoping it wasn’t the last time he would do so. “Yes.”
Asherah was silent as she stared at the heartstone. “Will you be angry if I say no?”
“No. I’ll be heartbroken, but I won’t be angry.” He was already heartbroken, mostly because Asherah had not fallen into his arms as he had hoped. Lormac cursed under his breath; in his eagerness to proclaim his feelings for Asherah he had put her so ill at ease she could hardly speak to him. “Forgive me; I went about this the wrong way. I should have…” Lormac shook his head as he leaned forward, copying Asherah’s posture. “Nexa save me, I’ve no idea what to do. I’ve never asked someone to become my mate.”
“I’m honored to be the first,” Asherah quipped.
“The only,” Lormac said.
“Among faeries, a man would never ask a woman to be his mate,” Asherah offered. “The woman is the one who chooses.”
“And the man just abides by her decision?”
“I suppose.” Asherah rested her head against his shoulder. “It’s not the same with elves, is it?”
“It’s not.” Lormac cupped her hand and pressed her palm against the heartstone. “Will you do something for me?”
Asherah leaned back and regarded him.
“What do you need?”
Love. Companionship. You spread naked atop my bed, screaming my name. “Keep wearing the Sala. Touch it, feel it, think on a life wearing it. Then tell me your answer.”
Asherah smiled at him, not one of her usual, tight smiles that were more of a grimace, but a genuine smile. “I can do that.”
###
Asherah spent the next four nights in Lormac’s chambers, though they had confined themselves to his parlor. Asherah had looked over maps, eager to find some clue that would remind her of her former life, and Lormac told her tales of elves, of past battles, and of his ancestors. He told her about the Sala, of the magic that coursed through it born of earth and stone, and how he held a measure of power over both.
During these long nights Asherah mostly listened in rapt attention. Lormac had worried she would find his stories boring, but she claimed to enjoy them all. When he felt that he had talked enough, she told him tales of faerie gods and of how Parthalan had become a kingdom, but faltered when she realized she had no stories of her own ancestors.
“Worry not, little star,” he soothed, “we’ll make our own memories.”
Asherah smiled and settled back into his arms; she had grown somewhat comfortable with him holding her, and Lormac embraced her whenever he could. Lormac had already known he enjoyed being with her, but he looked forward to those evenings as if he was spending time with Nexa herself. After his attendants left for the evening, Asherah let her guard down, and he learned that she was funny, intelligent, and even slightly mischievous. What she was not, however, was eager to give him an answer.
“Little star,” he asked on the fourth night, “have you thought about what I’ve asked you?”
“Must I answer you so soon?” she asked. She laid her head against his chest and looked up with wide, black eyes. “I know you need my reply, but I so enjoy this time with you. Being here with you, like this, makes me happy, and I don’t want that to change just yet.”
The Sala railed inside his mind, but Lormac ignored it. He understood why she was putting him off, and he could hardly blame her. Moreover, he wanted Asherah to come to him willingly rather than see their mating as nothing but a course of duty.
“I’m glad you’re happy,” he said as he stroked her hair. “You’ll tell me soon?”
“Soon.”
###
As he led the small band of warriors toward the doja, Lormac had difficulty concentrating on the battle that lay ahead. Being as much a warrior as a king, Lormac had never before let his concentration falter when he was about to engage an enemy, whether it be for a small skirmish or a full scale attack.
Not so on this morning, which had dawned clear and cold with a biting wind. Lormac preferred fighting in the cold, for the stench of spilled blood quickly turned rank in the heat. He glanced to his side at the woman who occupied his thoughts, the woman who stared straight ahead, her knuckles white where they clutched the reins. Lormac had wanted her to remain at the Seat, but she had refused him outright.
She refuses me often. Never had it taken Lormac more than a moment to get a woman into his bed; then again, whenever he’d been refused in the past he’d just moved on to another. That had changed when his star strode into his keep with more concern for her people than herself. Lormac had loved her that day for her compassion, and for something new every day since.
He glanced back at her, fearlessly heading toward a nest of demons. Fearless, as a warrior queen should be. Lormac imagined their life together as she travelled with him on campaigns, fighting by his side. The soldiers that fanned out around them, all handpicked by Lormac, cast sidelong glances at Asherah and Torim, for in the elfin lands women were rarely warriors and would never be sent against a known grouping of demons.
That will change, Lormac thought, smiling at Asherah. His soldiers watched as Asherah smiled back, just as they had also noticed that Asherah wore the Sala. No one would dare to question Lormac, for as Lord of Tingu the Sala was his to bestow as he chose. Still, Lormac knew that Asherah felt their curious glances. He also felt her growing sense of disquiet as they approached the doja so unbearably close to the Seat.
“How can this doja be so close, yet the elves have no idea of its existence?” Torim whispered to Asherah as they closed in upon their destination.
“How can half of Parthalan’s legion have been enslaved and the Prelate have no idea?” Asherah countered.
“I think those in positions of power grow complacent and deny that such evil can not only exist but flourish in their lands,” Torim continued. “Hillel, I don’t want you to grow co
mplacent.” Asherah looked at Torim, but before she could question her, Lormac approached.
“My ladies,” he said, “come, the doja can be seen from this hill.”
They followed him to the crest, and Torim’s breath caught at the sight of the doja. “It’s smaller than most,” Asherah said. “Perhaps no more than twenty are held inside.”
“How many demons?” Lormac asked.
“Maybe as few as five, along with the mordeth and magic handler,” Asherah replied. “Who knows how many fae guards they have.” Harek began explaining the layout of the doja, when something caught Caol’nir’s eye.
“That guard,” he said, pointing at a man dragging something from the doja, “he’s called Olwynn. I served with him at the Southern Border. How is he enslaved here?”
“Once you’re put under thrall, you’re moved far from anything familiar,” Harek replied. “It’s to keep you docile, under their control.”
“Docile, eh?” said Tor. “I’m of a mind to agitate them.”
Lormac called for his soldiers to assemble. “I will lead the charge,” Lormac proclaimed. “My lady, will you ride beside me?”
“Of course.” As she took her place next to Lormac the soldiers now murmured with approval. They still found it odd to have a woman warrior in their midst, but a warrior queen who rode beside the king deserved respect. Once they were in position, Lormac grabbed Asherah and kissed her hard; he attributed her stiff limbs first to surprise, then embarrassment as his gesture caused a great whooping cheer from his soldiers.
“Tradition,” Lormac explained with a glint in his eye, “the longer the kiss between the king and queen, the swifter the victory.”
Asherah glanced over her shoulder at the cheering elves. “Shouldn’t we be trying to surprise the enemy?”
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