The Omaja Stone

by Jayla Jasso

  “Rest well, Mahitha.”

  “Yes…thank you.” She forced herself to let go of his hand, and crawled into her tent to get some sleep.

  After nightfall, they roused themselves and packed up the horses. They set out on the final leg of their ride toward Kingston, and rode for hours by the cover of night, saying nothing. Clouds shrouded the moon, adding to the foreboding sense of ruin and sadness.

  Yavi’s jaw was clenched and he stared only straight ahead as they traveled. She knew he wanted his brother to turn back, to flee Villeleia. The truth was, something in her was resisting turning Yajna in as well. And as for Yajna, she had no idea what he was thinking or feeling as every hoofbeat brought him closer to his execution. His face was impassive, his expression unreadable.

  They reached County Kingston a few hours before dawn and stopped in the woods north of the city, at a fork of the Silverthorne River, to water and feed the horses. Numb, Jiandra dismounted and turned to rummage through her saddlebags for her cup.

  Yajna appeared at her right, lifting the cup from her hand. “I’ll fill that for you.”

  Jiandra pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and waited. When he returned with some water, she drank it down and replaced the cup in the saddlebag. Without a word, he untied a blanket from his saddle, grasped her hand, and pulled her with him through the trees to a rocky outcropping overlooking the valley where Kingston was situated.

  From this height they had a clear view of the velvety-black sky scattered with brilliant stars and the moon peeking out from behind clusters of clouds. He spread the blanket out on the grass, helped her seat herself, and then settled his long frame next to hers.

  She glanced sideways at his face.

  He was looking up at the night sky. “This is it, Mahitha. We say our farewells. Tomorrow my fate is in Tejeshwar’s hands.”

  She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged her cloak around her. “I’m not sure I want to go through with this, Yajna.”

  “If you do not turn me in, I will do it myself. My people are suffering because of me.”

  She sighed and rested her chin on her arms.

  “I came here to murder your queen because I thought it would help my people and my homeland, but it was a mistake.”

  “You’re not a murderer, Yajna.”

  “Is that what you really believe about me?”

  “Yes.” Gods help me.

  “Why did you change your mind?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just…how you are. How you treat me, I guess. And the fact that you saved my life back there in the crystalline caves. And now here you are, ready to turn yourself in to the Villeleian authorities, when you could have run away, back to Nandala. You don’t even appear reluctant to go through what the Royal Council will do to you.”

  He made no response.

  “I’ve never met anyone like you,” she said. “You’re so confident and controlled. You don’t seem to be afraid of anything. I am afraid of everything.”

  “What are you afraid of right now?” he asked softly.

  “Losing you. Losing myself.”

  “I have met someone like you, I think,” he said after a moment. “Our mother used to read us a book when we were young, an old Nandalan tale called Princess Quvira. My mother loved that story and so did I. Princess Quvira rode horses, fought valiantly with her swords, and defended her people from invaders. She was beautiful, brave, and wise. Like you.”

  Jiandra swallowed, unable to tear her gaze from his mesmerizingly handsome eyes.

  He turned to face her, leaning in closer. “Mahitha, if I die tomorrow, promise me you will do as your god said: use the stone to become a mighty warrior, giving hope to those who have none.”

  She took a deep breath and placed a hand on his forearm. “Yajna, I can’t take you to the castle. Let me take you to my farm instead and hide you and Yavi there until we figure out another way to convince Solange to release your countrymen.”

  “Don’t ask me to hide. Nandals are in stockades tonight, imprisoned and taunted, spit on, because the Villeleian soldiers are hunting for me.”

  Tears stung her eyes.

  Yajna cupped her cheek, tilting her face up to look at him. “You believe in me. That is an incredible thing. It’s more than I could ask for tonight. If I flee my trial and punishment, I will cease to be the man you want to save right now. I wouldn’t deserve your trust and respect.”

  She shook her head in frustration. “Is my trust and respect so important to you?”

  “It’s everything to me right now, Jiandra.” His gaze dropped to her lips, and she caught her breath, because he looked as if he were about to kiss her.

  NINETEEN

  Jiandra waited breathlessly for him to do something, anything, to satiate her need to feel him, touch him.

  He leaned in and kissed her lower lip in the softest, most sensual of kisses, with a feather-light brush of his tongue. “Your mouth is so beautiful.”

  “Is it?” She wound her arms around his neck and pressed closer to him.

  “Especially here,” he said softly, touching her full bottom lip with the tip of his finger and then kissing it again, sucking it ever so slightly between his lips. Every nerve ending in that lip was standing attention, aware of him in a way she’d never been aware of anyone. “I’ve been wanting to taste it for two days now,” he confessed.

  “Oh really?” Her throat felt thick, clogged with desire. She traced the edge of his lower lip with her fingertips. “I like your lips too. Both of them.”

  His mouth hovered just above hers. “Do you now?”

  “I’ve never seen sexier lips on a man, in truth.”

  “Do you examine men’s lips often?”

  “From a distance only. So far.”

  “Meaning, you’ve never kissed anyone?”

  “Exactly.” She held her breath, staring at his mouth. “Unless you kissing my lower lip just now counts.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” He slid his hands around her waist under her cloak and pulled her closer. Still his mouth hovered just above hers, just out of reach. “Jiandra,” he breathed, “I shouldn’t be doing this. Not now.”

  “You can’t…you can’t leave me without…at least kissing me once.” She was begging, sounding desperate. He probably thought she was the most awkward, uncouth, forward little trollop that ever—

  His lips claimed hers, their touch sensual and feather-light, so that she was acutely aware of their texture and warmth as he kissed her. She marveled at how excruciatingly slow and gentle he kissed. It seemed so at odds with his being a professional assassin. She tightened her arms around his corded neck, and he kissed her more urgently, stroking her lips apart with the tip of his tongue. She mimicked his tongue’s movements with hers, eager to taste him as well. He caressed her back, pressing her even closer, and pushed past her lips to taste inside her mouth with his tongue. It was an unexpectedly intimate invasion, and she lost herself in the sheer delight of it, her sense of equilibrium tilting and spinning.

  He supported her upper body in his arms as he laid her back against the blanket without breaking off the kiss. She clung to his neck and drank in every scandalous sensation of his ravenous kissing like a starved woman, hoping he would never stop.

  He trailed kisses along her jawline, and down into the curve of her neck. He stroked her waist and hips through her clothes and followed the chain of the Omaja with his lips and tongue, down over her collarbone, over her breastbone, and lower, to where the pendant dipped into the neckline of her blouse. He reached up and loosened the drawstring at her neckline. The purplish-blue light of the Omaja glowed, illuminating his handsome face, and Jiandra swallowed as she watched him pull the fabric down a little, baring the Omaja and most of her left breast to his view.

  “May I touch it?” he whispered, glancing up at her face.

  “The Omaja? Yes, I think so.”

  He traced over the swell of her breast with his fingers, then lightly touched the
glowing stone. The glow pulsed warmly in response, like a heartbeat.

  He smiled. “No lightning strike.”

  “Yes. I don’t know what that means.”

  “It means that I’m touching you with love, not with malevolent intentions.” He bent his head to nuzzle the exposed swell of her breast with his lips.

  Jiandra closed her eyes and held her breath, amazed at how wonderful that contact felt. Her nipple puckered under the fabric, aching for him to claim it with his mouth.

  He raised his head. “You’re holding your breath.”

  “Sorry, I—just…you’re a lot to deal with, all at once.”

  Remorse flickered across his face. “Yes, and I shouldn’t be doing this, Jiandra.” He pulled the neckline of her blouse together and re-tied the string. He helped her sit up and adjust her cloak, then wrapped his arms around her over it, holding her close to his chest.

  “Yajna—”

  “Just let me hold you until it’s time to go. I want you near, but I need to have a clear conscience when I…when your council decides my fate.”

  #

  Soon, very faint light began to peep up over the eastern horizon. Jiandra’s cheek was still pressed against Yajna’s firm chest, his arms encircling her, keeping her warm.

  “It’s almost time, Jiandra.”

  She closed her eyes and shivered.

  He caressed her back. “Cold?”

  “No, I just dread what we are about to do.”

  He was silent.

  “Yajna, if this ends badly, I’ll wish I had…”

  “Had what?”

  She swallowed. “Made love with you tonight. To be honest.”

  He stroked her hair. “No, it’s better that you didn’t. Someday you might have regretted allowing me to take your virginity. I would rather you remember me well.”

  Her heart twisted, and she nodded, feeling like a lovesick schoolgirl. I won’t let you go, she wanted to scream. Perhaps she could convince Solange not to execute him. Lift the Nandal Detainment order and spare Yajna’s life. Zehu, I’ve no right to ask you this…but help us. Help me save him.

  He lifted her chin to kiss her, and she squeezed her eyes shut tight against the tears filling them. “I don’t want to turn you in,” she whispered against his mouth.

  He pulled her into his embrace and pressed her head against his chest. His heartbeat thudded against her ear; the sound and feel of it made her all the more sorrowful. She couldn’t stem the flow of tears. He caressed her hair and her back while she cried softly.

  After a long moment, he spoke against her hair. “It’s time to go. Dawn is breaking.”

  She forced herself to sit up, and allowed him to help her to her feet, relying on his strength and determination to face the task ahead, because she had none. He shook out and rolled up the blanket, took her hand, and walked with her back to Yavi and the horses.

  Yavi rose from his seat on the ground when he saw them coming.

  They packed up the horses in silence. While Yajna stripped off his leather armor to dress in his peasant clothes, Jiandra pulled Yavi aside.

  “Yavi, help me stop him. I don’t want to do this. There must be another way.”

  Yavi’s jaw was tight. “My brother has always been stubborn as a mule. He has made up his mind, and no one will persuade him now. Not even me.”

  Yajna came from around the other side of the horses. “Yavi, you stay out of this,” he warned. “Don’t try to rescue me. You have to survive and protect Jiandra.”

  “Don’t give me orders, you bastard!” Yavi shoved him, then swiped at angry tears with the back of his sleeve.

  “You stay alive, and you take care of Jiandra!” Yajna shouted at his brother, pointing a finger in his face. “Swear to me you will stay out of Kingston today!”

  From behind Yajna, Jiandra shook her head at Yavi and mouthed no.

  Yavi maintained eye contact with her. “I swear,” he muttered.

  Satisfied, Yajna stashed his armor and weapons on Yavi’s horse.

  They rode in silence along the final short stretch of Caladian Road to Kingston. Once the city walls were in sight, they stopped so that Yavi could lash Yajna’s hands together with rope and tie them to his saddle horn. Jiandra took Sunil’s reins, her heart pounding with fear.

  Yavi couldn’t look his brother in the eye. Tears streaming down his face, he quickly mounted his horse and turned to flee into the woods nearby.

  Yajna watched him go, then nodded grimly to her. “Let’s go.”

  She rode toward the city, leading Yajna’s horse by its reins. They rounded a bend and descended a gentle hill to arrive at the massive gate.

  “Ho, there!” one of the guards stepped forward, eyeing Yajna suspiciously. “What is your business, milady?”

  “Good morning, sir. I am Jiandra Stovy. I bring a Nandal captive to the castle. I have business with the queen.”

  “You can turn the Nandal over to us, milady.” The guard reached for Yajna’s reins. “We’ll take over from here.”

  She jerked the reins out of his reach. “No, sir. I must respectfully decline. He is my captive, and I was personally sent by Queen Solange to capture him. My business is with her. I am collecting a special reward. As you can see, I have him completely under control. I captured him with this powerful magical stone; he cannot resist.” She held up the Omaja for their inspection.

  Another guard spoke up. “He doesn’t look like no regular Nandal. Who is he?”

  “Just another captive,” she lied.

  “He’s the assassin, I’ll bet!” a third guard chimed in. “I heard the Stovy girl had gone missing while looking for the assassin!”

  The first guard frowned. “Miss Stovy, we cannot allow him entrance until you tell us who he is. Is this big brute the assassin?”

  Jiandra felt panic begin to take hold in her chest. She closed her fist around the Omaja stone. “What if he is? He is my captive and I shall take him to the castle. You may escort us if you wish, but he remains under my supervision and control. I intend to turn the beast in myself and collect my reward. Do not rob me of my moment of triumph and glory.”

  The guard sighed. “All right. Owsley, get on your horse and follow them in. Make sure the Nandal doesn’t try anything.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The guards moved aside, and Owsley fell in behind them as they passed through the gate.

  Just inside the city walls, another patrol was leading a group of twenty or so Nandals on foot toward the prison stockade in the poor district. The ragged, exhausted-looking group stumbled along, mostly barefoot, a couple of them carrying babies and small children. A woman toward the rear wailed aloud in Nandalan, carrying a limp, dead child in her arms. An older fellow stumbled to the ground, and one of the soldiers jumped down from his horse.

  “Get up, you rubbish!” he snarled at the Nandal captive, kicking him in the ribs. “We haven’t got all day!”

  Just then, Yajna started to draw some attention from the passerby. “Who’s he?” they whispered among themselves, eyeing the tall, muscular Nandal being led in on a horse with his hands tied.

  “It’s the assassin!” Owsley announced loudly. “We’ve got him!”

  Jiandra glared at him. How dare he claim credit, the presumptuous jerk! Before she could protest, however, a woman in the crowd rushed forward to spit at Yajna’s leg.

  “It’s the assassin!” she screeched. “Savage beast tried to kill our queen!”

  Within seconds, a small riot began to materialize. The little crowd pelted Yajna with small rocks and pebbles, jeering hatefully. He ducked his head, flinching as some of the rocks made contact with his chest and face.

  Jiandra turned on Owsley. “Get them back or I will!”

  “Back, back with you!” Owsley rode forward and raised his shield up between the growing street mob and Yajna. “He’s got to face the queen.”

  “The queen will have your head, you scum!” someone shouted, and several others took up the
cry, hissing and booing. Another rock soared through the air and struck Yajna hard on the jaw. The laceration bled.

  Horrified, Jiandra resisted the urge to move closer to him and heal it. She brushed away a tear before anyone could see it. This was not the Villeleia she knew and loved, this hate-filled, stone-throwing mob that was spewing insults at a tied-up prisoner.

  As they made their way through the streets, the news that the assassin had been captured spread like wildfire, and the street hordes swelled to massive numbers as people crowded forward to gawk. They raged at Yajna, shaking their fists and chanting, “Long live Queen Solange! Death to Nandal scum!”

  Thankfully, more soldiers pushed through the crowd to join Owsley in escorting them, forming a barrier of shields around Jiandra and her captive as the noise grew deafening.

  “Make way! Make way!” the guards in front shouted, but they were mostly drowned out by the crowd’s obscenities and cursing.

  What have I done? Jiandra swiped away tears as fast as she could lest anyone grow suspicious. But the city’s focus was on punishing Yajna. She glanced back at him. He was bleeding from a cut above his right eye and other places on his forehead and cheeks where sharp rocks had struck him, his expression one of steely resolve.

  Jiandra scanned the rooftops, searching for Yavi. She saw the silhouette of a cloaked figure duck around the corner of a rooftop and quickly averted her gaze, not wishing to call attention to him.

  Their guard escort forced its way forward to the castle gates, where the castle guards ordered the throngs to stand back while they opened the doors to let Jiandra and her captive through. She was relieved to get inside and see the castle gates closing behind them, shutting out the vicious crowd. Soon she would see Solange, explain the situation, and persuade her to pardon him.

  They arrived at the castle steps, and Jiandra dismounted while Yajna was yanked off his horse by two armed guards. He was taller and broader-shouldered than either of them, but they quickly fastened cuffs on his wrists and stationed themselves one on each side of him to keep him under control.