She cut the thought off and fought the urge to lay her hand over Brin’s where it rested under her breasts. The effort required to shield herself from the Bond link sapped her energy. The shaman battered at her relentlessly, waves of love and near-irresistible tenderness alternating with a despair so dreadful, it threatened to suck away her sanity again. He was so strong.
Noble fool. Bastard.
Savior of his people, said a small voice. She ignored it.
“Lufra’s tits, we made it,” said Trey. “Who’d have thought?” He gave a short laugh.
Twink’s great dark eyes were sunken in his head and he favored his injured leg. Anje bent to smooth his dusty turquoise plumage between her fingers. As for Brownie, the old vran looked more like an untidy pile of mud-colored feathers than ever. He blew hard, whistling softly with distress on each breath.
Anje twisted to look up at Brin. “How much further?” she asked, doling out the words like a miser.
“Two hours to Quaremel, where the temple is.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the lights. “Where we should be. Half an hour to my ranch. Where I want us to be.” She gritted her teeth as Brin stroked his palm the length of her braid before dismounting. He pulled her down into his arms, letting her slither down the front of his body, flush against all that warm muscle.
“Scout.” He bent his head to kiss her, but she clenched her fists and turned her head aside. Every muscle in Brin’s great frame went rigid, as though he held himself together with willpower alone.
Trey shifted her braid aside and his lips pressed softly to the nape of her neck. “Chelisand will be fit to be tied. We’re days late.”
Brin straightened and his brows drew together. “Too bad,” he said brusquely. “We’re having one more night.” Still on foot, he turned onto a narrow downward track, leading the weary vranee.
“Who’s Chelisand?” asked Anje.
“High Priestess,” said Trey. “My cousin. Terrifying woman.”
After that, conversation lapsed again. Anje’s thoughts circled endlessly in a litany of desperate curiosity and paralyzing dread. Her fists clenched so hard, her nails dug into her palms. No matter how many times she thought of it, her mind couldn’t encompass the physical possibility of her own death, but she could imagine Brin’s in an infinite variety of hideous ways. And she could visualize Trey’s desperate grief only too clearly.
Because she’d seen it before.
It occurred to her for the first time that it took more courage to stay and wait than to ride forth to battle.
Brownie’s horns glinted in the fading light as he lifted his head and whickered. Abruptly, he and Twink surged forward and Brin sighed deeply as he held them back with a firm hand. “Home.” He boosted Anje onto the big vran and mounted behind her. With Trey and Brownie bringing up the rear, they trotted smartly down the track, across a landscape of softly waving rasa grass. “My lands start here,” he said, pointing at a copse of candlewoods and fell silent once more.
A group of low buildings came into sight, strategically placed for a view down the valley toward a wide river. They were painted a creamy buff shade, the thatch of the roofs glinting a golden-brown in the last rays of the sun.
As they thundered into a dusty courtyard, a door flew open and a small, round elderly woman came out, shading her eyes with her hand. From another direction, a tall stick of a man loped into sight, wiping his hands on an apron.
Brin leaped off Twink and caught the woman up in a hug, while the man thumped him on the shoulder, a broad grin lifting his long mustache. “You made it!” he said and strode over to Brownie. “Trey, good to see you.”
Trey smiled as he dismounted. “You too, Djalen,” he said as the man slapped his back.
Djalen turned toward Anje, still grinning. “I see you found…” The words trailed away and all the color ebbed from his face. “Lufra’s tits!” He grew even paler. “Uh, sorry, Lady.” He drew the old woman to his side. “Sasreela, come see.”
The woman continued forward slowly, her gaze never leaving Anje’s. When she drew level with Twink’s shoulder, she sank painfully to her knees in the dust. “Lady, you honor us,” she whispered.
Deeply uncomfortable, Anje slid hastily off the vran and bent to assist the woman to her feet. Brin came to stand behind her, laying his hands on her shoulders. His touch steadied her. “Anje, this is Sasreela, my housekeeper and healer for the neighborhood. And this old reprobate…” he gestured at the thin man, “is her husband Djalen, who does the cooking and rules us all with an iron fist.”
Shifting one hand to her throat, he rubbed her torque between his fingers and thumb. Sasreela’s gaze sharpened. He turned to the elderly couple. “Anje’s as human as you and I. And just as bloody-minded.” The grimness about his mouth relaxed a little. “My Bondmate.”
Sasreela’s hands flew to her mouth, stifling a squeak. Her faded blue eyes grew very round in her wrinkled face. “Oh,” she said. “Oh.” Then she recovered. “Come inside, do. Quick, before the hands see you or you’ll be up drinking all night.” Tears shone on her cheeks as she glanced up at the Sun and its hungry Shadow. “You’ve cut it awfully fine, Brin dear.”
They entered the house, the interior cool and sweet with the smell of polished timber. “I know,” said Brin heavily. He smiled, but no warmth reached his eyes. “Djalen, send someone with a message for Chelisand, will you?”
Djalen nodded and bustled away, while Anje looked around, frankly curious. Her first thought was that the house echoed the colors of the landscape, cream, buff, green and gray. It wasn’t especially tidy, or particularly grand. There were comfortable chairs scattered around and a pile of huge, squashy cushions in one corner. The floor was covered with a selection of rugs, woven with sinuous designs in varying shades of muted green on a cream background. A large fireplace, unlit, took up one wall and in the other was a niche containing a statue and a vase of wild flowers.
Intrigued, Anje went closer. The statue, no more than a foot tall, was of a draped female figure holding a child. Even to her untutored eye, the workmanship was exquisite. The craftsman had used the grain of the golden-brown timber to delineate the flowing lines of Lufra’s garments. For Anje had no doubt it was She, from the love shining in Her beautiful face to Her dainty toes.
“My father made that. Lufra as mother.”
Anje turned, startled. “I thought he was a blacksmith?” she said without thinking. She pressed her lips together in annoyance.
Brin ran a gentle finger over Lufra’s sandaled foot. “He was, but he loved wood. It was his hobby.” He shrugged. “He and my mother died before I was twenty. Since then, it’s been me and Sasreela and Djalen.”
“And Trey,” she added.
“Yes, thank Lufra.” Djalen’s voice called something from another room and Brin curled a hand around her upper arm. “Let’s get fed and bathed. I want you two in my bed.”
Anje snorted and pulled her arm away.
When he ushered them into his suite an hour later, she thought the bed was more like a lake than a place to sleep. The room was large and airy, with blinds of woven rasa-grass at the windows, and it needed to be, because Brin’s bed seemed to occupy acres, low to the floor, swathed in some flowing, blue fabric. A heavy dresser of that same golden-brown wood, sat under the window and on it was another statue, much smaller than the other, made entirely of some pale glinting stone. The subject was a woman, kneeling, completely nude, with her head thrown back and her back arched, frozen at the point of climax. Each breast, every voluptuous curve of flesh, was depicted with brilliant artistry.
Trey picked it up and placed it on Anje’s palm. “She’s lovely, isn’t She? Turn Her over.”
The stone felt warm in her fingers. Inset around the figure’s spine and ribs were silver lines in a sinuous pattern that was very familiar. Anje’s heart stumbled and tingling rivers of sensation ran through the wings on her back. Fingers trembling, she set the little goddess back on the dresser.
> “It’s an omen,” said Trey. “Lufra wants you to succeed.”
“Maybe.” Brin lounged back in the bed, a mound of pillows at his back. Like Trey, all he wore was a sarong knotted low at the hip. Anje had insisted on tying hers under her arms, despite Trey’s vocal disapproval. The shaman had said nothing. He held out a hand. “Scout?”
She put her hands behind her back, knowing she was being childish. Ah Mother, but she ached all over! Her neck and shoulders were one huge knot of tension and something deep inside her felt bruised and battered. She supposed it was her heart.
Brin stared into her eyes for so long, she grew uneasy. “What?” she demanded.
“Forgive me,” he said, his voice so low it was no more than a half-heard rumble. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “This—” Springing to his feet, he strode to the window, giving her his back, his shoulders rigid. His fists bunched at his sides, all the tendons and veins in his arms standing proud.
“Fuck,” snarled Brin, who never swore. “Fuck. Fuck!” He rammed a fist into the wall and Anje jumped. Trey put a gentle hand on her shoulder and she subsided, her heart hammering.
The shaman spun around, dropping his shields, and she gasped aloud. The link was alive with his pain, the starkness of it a punch to the gut. “It’s tearing me apart. Gods, not even the Hssrda could devise a better torture. If you ran again…” He drew a breath. “I’d have to stop you. And…and I’m not sure I could.” His inky lashes swept down as if he couldn’t bear the sight of her. “Even with the torque…I might be able to get it off.”
In the silence, she could hear the clink of a bucket, a vran whickering, a low buzz of voices. A vast hollow seemed to open up inside her.
“But it’s the future of your people,” she said. Holy Mother, she must be losing her mind! Trey’s question had set inside her, provoking as a pebble in her boot. “In your place—” she had to swallow hard before she could finish the sentence, “I’d do the same.”
“The Feolin mean nothing to you. Lufra’s price costs me my honor.” Brin’s hand closed on hers so tightly, the bones creaked. His voice went very low. “But I swear to you, Anje, you’ll survive this. Whatever the cost.” He let her go.
She had to blink to hold back the foolish tears—she, a scout and a warrior! But the Mother knew he meant it, every word. She didn’t want to contemplate the sort of quixotic nobility he’d think was necessary.
Dropping her head, she pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. It couldn’t be so. It couldn’t! Surely, there must be a way out!
Sparks bloomed behind her eyes as she sank onto the bed. Think, think! She’d been so stupid, allowing panic to blind her. There was something she was missing, there had to be. “Do you truly believe Lufra chose me?” she asked, feeling her way.
“I could hardly miss it,” Brin growled. “She hasn’t exactly been subtle.”
“So if there’s a fault, it’s not yours, it’s Lufra’s.”
Next to her on the bed, Trey inhaled sharply. “Lufra can be stern, Anje, but She’s never unjust,” he said. “She wants the Feolin to be happy.”
“Just like the Mother. In fact…” She frowned, remembering the wooden figure in the niche. “Isn’t motherhood one of Her aspects?” When they nodded, she went on, “Why would She desire the death of Her favorite shaman, Her child?”
Excitement widened her eyes, made her heart falter and skip a beat. “Don’t you see?” The words tumbled out. “Trey got it. It’s a setup. She regrets the severity of Her punishment, but She can’t take it back. She’s a goddess, after all. She’s got a reputation to maintain.” The return of hope was so acute, it hurt. “So She’s arranged everything to give us the best possible chance. Lufra’s on our side!”
Trey stared at her in frank astonishment. Brin’s lips quirked and a few of the shadows left his eyes.
She faltered. “Maybe?”
“Anje, you’re amazing.” Brin shook his head and sank down next to her on the bed. “And I thought I understood the female mind. I don’t see it, but go ahead and believe if it helps.”
The beat of her blood was edgy, intense. She shifted, the mattress firm beneath her, the tight sheets polished and cool under her clenching fingers. “It’s still about trust,” she insisted, “but it’s not me, Brin—it’s your own goddess asking for a leap of faith.”
“Maybe you’re right and maybe you’re not. My soul’s been Lufra’s since I was a lad.” He took her hand and pressed his freshly-shaven cheek into the palm. His skin was warm and smooth. “But—” The breath hissed between his teeth. “I hate Her for this. What She’s done to you. Me.”
The words echoed in the airy space. Trey said, very softly, “Brin, don’t.” But the shaman shook his head and growled under his breath, his face dark with suppressed emotion.
“If I…left,” Anje went on, filling the awkward silence, “the Rite would be impossible, wouldn’t it?”
“I gave my word to the Queen and Council,” said Brin.
After a short pause, Trey said thoughtfully, “You could try Chelisand. Or one of her priestesses. It wouldn’t be a hardship. They’re all eminently fuckable. And highly trained.”
Anje snatched her hand back, the fingers crooking into claws. “I see.”
“It won’t work without you, scout.” Brin smiled painfully. “I’ve told you that. You’re Lufra’s Gift. And my heart.” Cradling her cheeks in his big hands, he stared deep into her eyes. “You have superb natural instincts and we know the Goddess favors you. But you’re not a puppet. Love or hate. Choose.”
“What do you mean?” Her brain still racing, she let him draw her into his lap.
Brin stroked her cheek. “You can perform the Rite with love in your heart or with hate. Guess which gives us the better chance, scout.”
Anje sat frozen. There was no doubt at all that she’d lost her reason. She knew what she was going to do.
What she always did.
Fight.
Fight for those she loved.
The shaman glanced at the other man, standing frowning by the dresser. “Trey?”
“Yes?”
“Will you come with us to Quaremel tomorrow?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Trey sank his teeth into his lower lip. “I’m taking every minute I can get.” He sighed and desolation swam in his hazel eyes. “Pathetic, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not.” Anje leaned forward to touch his hand. Their last night. The words hung heavily. Unspoken.
She glanced from one masculine face to the other, both equally tormented. For her.
Anje’s spine stiffened and a growl rumbled deep in her throat. What sort of warrior was she? Holy Mother, she loved them! They were hers and no slut goddess was going to hurt them!
Trey caught her fingers in his. “We haven’t…not since The Hollows…please, Anje.”
The Bond link throbbed with the shaman’s desire, bittersweet and poignant. Brin nibbled at the soft skin below her ear and goose bumps raced over her throat and down to her breasts. Her nipples stiffened, tingling in a maddening way. He murmured, “Tomorrow will take care of itself. Let’s not waste tonight.”
Anje shivered. “I don’t think I…”
“For Trey, scout. Do it for Trey.”
She cast him a scathing look. Love was one thing, forgiveness another. “And nothing for you?”
A grin tugged at his mouth and the dimple flashed. “I won’t say it wouldn’t please me. Very much.” He grew serious again. “Anje,” he said softly. “I’m begging you. One last time. Make your choice now. For love.”
She stared at him in silence, remembering the powerful, enigmatic man who’d captured her in the Empty Lands and possessed her utterly. Now his soul was plain for her to read in his face, in the Bond link. Suddenly, and with absolute clarity, she saw the face of Zulie’s youngest, slack and rosy with sleep against her mother’s breast.
And her decision was made. Irrevocably.
“Yes,”
she whispered, “but I’m…” She hesitated and tried to smile. “A little tense.”
Brin dragged in a breath so deep it expanded his massive chest to an alarming degree. Then he released it in a gusty sigh. “I can take care of that. Come here, Trey, and hold her hands.” The other man did as he was bid and the shaman slid his arms around her from behind and cupped her breasts in his warm palms.
He began a slow humming, deep in his throat, so low it was almost inaudible. It vibrated through his chest and set up a reverberation deep in her bones. The warmth of the Bond link washed over her, soothing, stroking, and her lashes fluttered down. The breath whispered out of her lungs. “That’s right,” the deep voice murmured, seemingly inside her skull. “Breathe, Anje. Breathe down to your soul.”
He held her there like that for what seemed like hours, or minutes, a time out of time, suspended in a crystal bubble. As the wordless chant deepened, he began to feather his thumbs over her nipples, working with the fabric of the sarong, forcing her to breathe to his slow, even rhythm. Trey bent to run his tongue over the delicate veins in her wrists. The sensation was not unlike floating in a warm bath, relaxed and unstrung.
When the first whimper forced its way out of her throat, he whispered, “Now is all there is, Anje. Say it.”
Slowly, a tingle began in her loins, the intimate folds swelling and pouting, ready for impalement, longing for it. She moistened her lips. “Are you a magician?” she husked.
A laugh rumbled in his chest. “No.” He tugged at her nipples, sending a delicious arrow of sensation directly to her clit. “I’m a shaman. Say the words, scout.”
“You’re right.” Anje twisted in his lap. The anger and the pain were still there, but now they were walled off in a part of her mind she was able to ignore. “Now is all we have. And it’s what I want.” She sank her fingers into the black silk of his hair and drew his head down for a long, incendiary kiss. Trey ran his hands up her calves with a murmur of pleasure.
Gently, Brin drew away. “Are we agreed then? Tonight is ours?” When the other two nodded, he leaned forward to rub his palm over the short, red-gold pelt on Trey’s head. “In that case, I say we give Trey the ride of his life.” He arched a brow in the other man’s direction.
Gift of the Goddess Page 24
