Alliance Forged

by Kylie Griffin

  The animosity in his opening greeting had been as fiery as the sun beating down on them. Zaune’s faltering stride and squeeze of warning on her forearm made her question her judgment. Had she not sensed the raw pain behind the anger in Varian’s voice, she’d have been forced to concede that Arek was correct in his assumption.

  During the challenge, she hadn’t been able to distinguish between either Rystin or Varian’s auras, the intensity of their emotions so strong it’d been like staring into the sun. The aftermath had left her frightened and shaken, and battered by the fear of what they’d witnessed coming from the other humans around her.

  Combined, the grief and guilt marking Varian’s soul felt like a livid bruise scoring her senses. Now with barely an arm’s length between them, his aura pulsed with a heaviness that concerned her. It was shockingly raw, like an open wound that wouldn’t heal, almost tangible in its intensity.

  Mother of Mercy, how long had he carried this around with him? Blinking fast, Kymora fought the sting of tears behind her eyes. Varian would mistake them for pity, shut down, and her chance to help him would be lost.

  Resting back on her heels, she folded her hands in her lap. “I’ll include them in my prayers tonight.” She hoped the tremor in her voice would be mistaken for sorrow for the dead rather than her reaction to his pain. A small smile curved her lips as a recent memory surfaced. “I’m going to miss Eyan’s mischievous pranks. Geanna was usually mixed up in them with him. I don’t think I can remember a day going by when they didn’t play one on someone.”

  Varian’s grunt was noncommittal. Even as focused on him as she was, all she could detect was his incredible pain. Did he want to talk?

  “Many of the crafters spoke highly of Rystin, particularly Chelle.”

  Her voice trailed off as Varian’s aura flared, slashed at her like the claws of a lira, as if the scout’s name were a catalyst. It took everything she possessed not to flinch and betray her reaction. Then she sensed nothing. The void that remained was cold, empty, and rock hard, like a barrier slammed down between them.

  Mouth dry, she licked her lips. “Arek says Rystin was a skilled scout and Lisella told me he liked teaching the young scouts in training to track.” She held her breath, waiting for some response. Would he open up about Rystin? “I wish I’d known him as well as they had.”

  Chapter 11

  AS the silence between them grew longer, all Kymora could hear was the rush of blood in her ears and the hum of insects enjoying the midday heat.

  “Varian?” She clenched her fingers together, hoping to hide how much they shook.

  “I’m sorry I robbed you of the chance to know Rystin.” Varian’s hollow-voiced statement raised goose bumps over her entire body. “But I won’t apologize for what needed to be done.”

  The declaration held a hint of ice-cold fury. Kymora winced. Surely he didn’t believe she blamed him for what had happened? Lady’s Breath, she’d only wanted to give him an opening into the conversation.

  Turning, she reached out toward him. Her hand was knocked away.

  “Don’t touch me!” he snarled.

  Air swirled against the skin of her arm as he rose to his feet. Dirt crunched under boots, and he sounded farther away from her when he spoke again.

  “Rystin challenged me. I killed him. I did what I had to, to ensure my people’s survival. If that makes me a monster in your eyes, then so be it. I am what I am and what I’m needed to be.”

  Blood rushed from Kymora’s face. Mother of Mercy, his voice sounded so desolate, so lifeless.

  So alone.

  Did he truly think she saw him like that?

  Gathering her staff and the bag Lisella had given her, she rose. Touch was the fastest way to connect, and it would help her read him, but she had little doubt he’d pull away again if she tried.

  “Varian, I didn’t mean to sound like I was judging you.” She swallowed, wishing she knew what words to say to convince him. “I thought… if you wanted to talk about Rystin, I could listen….”

  Inwardly she cringed. Her explanation sounded lame even to her.

  “Ever the good priestess…” He snorted. “Hesia always said confession was good for the soul.” He issued a sour laugh. “Conserve your effort; mine isn’t worth saving, Temple Elect.”

  His bitter anger and dark sincerity buffeted her. The barrier around his aura burst and anguish bled out like a heart’s vessel sliced open.

  Kymora took a step back, overwhelmed. Did he truly think he wasn’t worthy of forgiveness? From the Lady or anyone else? Or was it that he couldn’t accept redemption, no matter who offered it? She suspected the latter.

  As if he could no longer stand being in her company, Varian walked off, his boot steps hard and rapid as he left her standing alone by the burial mounds. His departure made it clear her presence was no longer welcome.

  Kymora twisted the strap of the bag hanging over her shoulder. Merciful Mother, what had given him the notion she’d been there in her capacity as the Lady’s Handmaiden instead of as a friend? The prayer and discussion about the Lady had just been talk guided by what she’d sensed in his aura. Hadn’t he ever had anyone to open up to when faced with times of hardship, like now?

  Her thoughts stalled as something Zaune said in an earlier conversation surfaced and coupled with her past memories of Varian’s behavior. Her lips parted on a shocked breath.

  Varian had never had a friend.

  No, that wasn’t quite right. Zaune and Lisella would claim to be his friends without hesitation.

  Varian didn’t believe anyone saw him as anything other than their leader.

  From previous conversations with Lisella, Varian had just turned fifteen when he’d taken on the role. Given their precarious circumstances and what she now knew about the Na’Chi, the obligation he had to have felt to go it alone so as not to seem incompetent or weak must have been strong.

  A self-destructive assumption, one she knew well. Kymora’s heart picked up speed as she smoothed her fingertips over the leather stitches along the edge of the bag. Leadership came with certain expectations, ones that set you apart from everyone else, and it made forming true friendships hard.

  Never had she and Varian been more alike or so different in their personal experiences.

  Kymora held her amulet to her lips a moment. “Lady of Mercy, how do I aid a man who doesn’t want my help?”

  Leaving him to go through this alone went against every instinct. Giving up on him would accomplish nothing. While she didn’t fault them, that’s exactly what Lisella and Zaune had done earlier. She drew in a deep breath.

  The first time they’d met, Varian had reached out to her, established a connection, and from it their tentative friendship had been born.

  “It’s not easy letting others in, Kymora. I’m not a people person. Circumstances have never fostered the level of trust needed to form that sort of bond. I let very few people close to me, but with you, I’m willing to try.”

  He’d said those words to her just before joining a roomful of Councilors and their families for the midday meal. She’d asked him to accompany her and he’d made the effort, a difficult step for him. Just how difficult, she was only now beginning to appreciate.

  She pursed her lips. Letting a misunderstanding ruin their friendship wasn’t something she was willing to accept. Even though her insides quivered at the thought of facing his anger, she braced herself to follow him and correct the error. A lot of it was self-directed; she recognized that now. Getting him to see past that was going to be the challenge.

  Flexing her fingers around her staff, she recalled the direction his footsteps had gone and went after him.

  THE trees in the forest provided instant relief from the sun. Varian slowed his pace as a faint breeze rustled through the leaves. It cooled the sweat on his body.

  Halting in a small clearing, he tilted his head back and allowed the sounds of the forest to fill him, desperate for a modicum of peace from the f
ury burning inside him.

  Who had decided he needed the Temple Elect’s intervention? Lisella? Arek? Perhaps one of the other Na’Chi unhappy with his leadership? Maybe Fannis. Had they played on Kymora’s sense of responsibility, knowing she’d put aside her personal feelings to help him as the Lady’s Handmaiden? Was that why she’d approached him?

  A frustrated growl erupted from deep in his chest. Half a dozen strides later, he reached the edge of the clearing. Spinning on his heel, he paced back. His Na’Reish half was so close to rising again he could feel that part of him straining, pushing against his control, like an animal clawing at his innards, ripping and tearing, seeking a way out.

  His hand closed around a branch on a nearby tree. With a flick of his wrist, he snapped it free and hurled it as hard as he could over a clump of bushes. The urge to destroy every tree and plant within arm’s reach itched beneath his skin.

  “Varian?”

  He froze as Kymora’s call came from behind him from the very edge of the forest. Her familiar scent wafted on the breeze, filled his nostrils, and wound its way inside him, kick-starting an adrenaline rush that left him shaking.

  Don’t answer.

  He didn’t but he looked. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw her making her way through the trees, sweeping her staff in front of her, her stride strong and determined.

  “Varian?” The bag over her shoulder snagged on a low bush and jerked her off balance. She stumbled before regaining her footing and freeing herself of the entanglement.

  His brows lowered. What was she doing here? Didn’t she have any sense of self-preservation at all? She should have stayed by the gravesides where she was safe.

  Free of the bush, her head cocked to one side, the concentration on her face absolute as she listened, trying to pinpoint his location. So he remained motionless, even resorting to holding his breath to avoid discovery.

  Biting her lip, Kymora started forward again, her pace slower, more cautious, as she moved deeper into the forest, only this time away from where he was standing.

  Let her go.

  If she gets lost it’s her own fault. She should have known better.

  A vision of her tripping and hurting herself played out in his mind. It was swiftly followed by the knowledge that two renegade Light Blades were still unaccounted for. Alone she was helpless.

  He clenched his fists. Allowing her to walk into danger or come to harm would be wrong. Not only that, but he’d given his word to her brother to protect her all those months ago.

  Cursing under his breath Varian went after her. She yelped in surprise as he seized her arm and jerked her around to face him.

  “You lack the sense of any sane person, you know that?” he snarled.

  Wide-eyed and pale cheeked, but with relief visible on her face, she squared her shoulders.

  “I thought I’d lost you.” Her hand lifted toward him and he tensed, but at the last moment she dropped it to her side. “I didn’t want you being out here alone.”

  “Did you even consider the risks of following me?” He kept his tone scathing. “There are still two rebel Light Blades roaming the countryside. Given the chance, I’m sure they’d attempt to kill you again.”

  Her cheeks lost more of their color but her jaw remained tilted at a defiant angle. “Don’t you care that the same applies to you?”

  “Actually, I don’t.” And that was the truth, plain and simple. Red leeched into the edges of his sight. Should their paths cross, nothing would stop him from killing them. The Na’Chi inside of him looked forward to the encounter.

  “Well, I do.”

  Her declaration shocked him into silence for a full dozen heartbeats. He’d anticipated some sort of angry retort, not such impassioned honesty. There was no mistaking the heavy incenselike scent saturating the air around her. It was enough to make the red edging his vision fade.

  “It’s your job to care.” He let her go.

  Her hand shot out and grabbed his arm. “Yes, it is, but I’m not here as the Temple Elect. I didn’t ask Zaune to bring me out to the burial site so I could comfort you as the Lady’s Handmaiden. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. My faith is so much a part of who I am, I can see how you’d think otherwise, but I came as me—Kymora—because I knew you needed a friend.” Her voice softened. “I care about you!”

  Varian stood there feeling peculiar, an uncertain warmth curling in his gut even as he shook his head. A part of him wanted to laugh in disdain at the idea, but another, more selfish part coveted every word.

  The yearning made him ache. Made him crave with a hunger so powerful it terrified him. He wanted to pull away, break the physical connection so he could unravel the thread tying her words to his soul.

  He couldn’t. He ground his teeth together, hating that he could be so weak.

  “Well, there’s a first.” Varian issued a harsh laugh and jerked out of her hold. “Who’d have thought a priestess could lie so convincingly?”

  Chapter 12

  KYMORA sucked in a shocked breath at the deliberate insult. Derision saturated every word. Her throat tightened at the emotions pouring from his aura. They were all twisted and tangled: fear, disbelief, hope, confusion, anger. All wrestled for dominance.

  “I know you don’t mean that.” Half expecting him to block her, she dropped her staff and reached up with both hands to touch the sides of his face, surprised when he let her. Her palms brushed several thin, tight braids of hair on either side of his head.

  Among the Na’Chi, they were the symbols of his scout status. The small, hard, handmade beads tied at the ends were warm to the touch. Her fingers grazed his ears, moved lower to his jaw. Stubble prickled her skin. Beneath her fingers, the muscles in his jaw flexed, hard with contained anger.

  The raised Na’Chi markings at his temples were smooth but irregular in size and shape. She traced one hiding in his hairline. They were so much a part of who and what he was.

  Unique. Fascinating.

  He caught her wrists and just held them still, his grip firm, a good reminder not to test his patience.

  “Have I ever told you how I was appointed the Temple Elect?” she asked.

  This close, she felt his surprise at her change of topic.

  “No.” Varian’s reply was barely a hoarse rumble.

  “I discovered my Gift when I was six years old.” A small smile hitched the corners of her mouth upward. “My father was finalizing travel arrangements of a shipment of woven rugs for a client. The crafter delivered them on a hand-pushed cart, all rolled up and carefully covered with waterproof hides. He unwrapped one to show my father. The bleater fur was incredibly soft, like the pelt of a newborn lira cub. There were so many beautiful colors woven into the patterns….”

  Beneath her fingers, Varian’s jaw twitched. “You were able to see?”

  “For the first six years of my life.”

  “How did you lose your sight?”

  “I’m getting to that. As traders, my parents would deliver goods all over the provinces. Mother returned from the Eastern Crags Province a few days before she fell ill. What we didn’t know then was that animals in a village she’d visited were infected with Claret-rash, a sickness that can transfer to humans.”

  “I remember Hesia telling me once how Na’Rei Savyr ordered the slaughter of a caravan of new slaves infected with Claret-rash so they wouldn’t pass it on to those in his fortress.” Varian’s quiet recount was somber. “Despite her pleas to isolate and treat them, he deemed the effort a waste of resources. He wanted her remedies and supplies used on the Na’Hord, his army. Slaves were easily replaced; his soldiers were not.”

  Untreated, Claret-rash was a painful way to die. Kymora closed her eyes, her heart aching for the pain the healer must have felt being unable to even try and help those who’d suffered.

  She cleared her throat. “By the time the healers in the Eastern Crags realized what was happening and reported it to the Master Healer at Sacred Lake, half th
e province had become infected.”

  “What about your mother?”

  She acknowledged his question with a nod. All she sensed from him was curiosity, as if his anger had been put on hold, for the moment.

  “Kalan and I were playing in the yard next to my father’s workshop. He was still negotiating with the crafter when I felt a strange explosion of sadness. It was so strong I burst into tears. My father came over and all I could tell him was that mother was hurting.” Kymora took a deep breath. “She’d just discovered the rash covering her body. Her emotional reaction triggered my Gift.”

  “Did she have Claret-rash?”

  “Oh, yes. Our whole family ended up in isolation. Kalan and father escaped infection—” She cleared her throat to ease the huskiness from her voice. “Mother died from it a week later but not before passing it on to me.

  “I don’t remember much of that time. Just snatches of memories, of the hospice, of a healer talking to my father, then nothing. I’d succumbed to the fever. When I woke up, I asked why it was so dark.”

  The heavy mint scent of Vaa’jahn permeated her memories of that time. The strong herb had been used to wash all the hospice linens and her clothes, the medicinal brews tasted of it, they’d even rubbed the thick unguent over her body, all in an effort to combat the infection. She couldn’t smell it now without remembering that time.

  “Very few survived, and those who did woke up blind,” she said, quietly. “One of the less severe consequences of the fever.”

  “Less severe?” Varian sounded aghast.

  “There were… additional problems. Some people woke but weren’t there in mind or spirit, others were afflicted with paralysis or speech problems, a few had poor or no memory of their lives before getting Claret-rash. Several even had a combination of these maladies.” She gave a half shrug. “The loss of my sight seemed merciful compared to what happened to others. While I didn’t appreciate it as a child, I grew to understand just how blessed I’d been.”