The Best Deceptions: A Lesbian Medieval Fantasy (Deception Series Book 1)

by Victoria Pink

  Nadira then stands to go, but Fiona quickly grabs a tan, rough hand in slight panic. "You're not staying?"

  "I have two of my best guards outside," Nadira replies, squeezing her hand as she looks down at her. "You'll be safe."

  She looks around the dim room; the foreignness. She swallows thickly before looking up at her new wife. "You're sure?"

  Nadira immediately looks taken aback by someone not trusting her word—probably the first person who never has and lived to tell about it—before covering it with a gentle smile. "Yes, you'll be safe." Nadira bends down, lightly kissing her forehead before pulling back. "Sleep well, nohealani."

  Chapter 3

  A loud clanking startles her awake and she sits straight up on the bed—holding the blanket to her chest. A girl, the same translator she had met yesterday, looks up with a grimace as she sets the metal tray down on the table and hurries to pick up the fallen candle holder. "I'm sorry, Enzana. Normally I—"

  "It's alright," she interrupts, taking even breaths to calm herself. "I just wasn't expecting someone to come so early."

  "Amadi said to bring you food for strength and tend to your burns as soon as possible," the girl says, carrying over a rose colored, thin and flowy dress like the blue one Fiona had been wearing the day before. "Would you like to wear this or something from our garment makers?"

  She looks at the silken dress and bites her lip. Be like the people.

  But this was made from the finest silk from Gargantu, and covered more of her skin than anything the Kaelans had been wearing. Her milky skin surely wouldn't like that much exposure to the desert sun.

  "What do you think she would rather me wear..."

  "Akina." The girl grins. "And I think Amadi would like you in whatever you choose."

  She lightly blushes and takes the dress from the girl's fingers. "I'll wear this for today then."

  "Good choice," Akina says, turning to give her privacy. "She also requested that I help you with the language?"

  She climbs from the bed, and starts to pull the soft garment over her sensitive reddened skin. "I tried to learn it from my father's books, but it was very…vague."

  "Faraha is a very secretive place."

  "Why?"

  "If everyone knew everything about us," the girl starts, turning back around with a small, golden container in her hands, "do you think we would win as many battles?"

  She shakes her head. "No, I'd say not. It would be detrimental for others to know your defenses."

  "Exactly. And," the girl continues, following closely behind her as she walks to the chair in the middle of the room, "if people knew where it was like where we are from, they would try to seize it from us much more frequently."

  Fiona tilts her head as she sits. "Why would they do that?"

  "You may think of us as savage, but where we are from is not. Dare I say Faraha is even nicer than Vatra."

  "It lies on the edge of the Fire Land, but it's nicer than Vatra?"Against her nature as it is, she nearly scoffs. Vatra is one of the nicest of the Greater Kingdoms, and where they were going wasn't even considered as one of the Greater Kingdoms at all.

  "Don't be so quick to judge things you know nothing about," the girl sharply says, before going completely still and bowing her head. "Forgive me, Enzana. I shouldn't have said that."

  "Don't apologize, Akina, I shouldn't have offended you. I'm simply curious," she replies in an attempt to keep the conversation going. "No one knows much about Faraha."

  "Like I said, we are very secretive." The young girl softly smiles and walks around behind her; gently rubbing a cooling cream on her reddened shoulders. "But when you are sitting upon a throne of gold with diamonds woven in your hair and people bowing at your feet, you won't be so skeptical."

  She closes her eyes to try to picture it—make a new dream to replace the old—she really does…but all she can think of is being at home on the silver throne in The Great Room of Vatra. And although she expects the thought to invoke a pang of homesickness, it surprisingly never comes.

  The tray of food in front of her holds more meats and breads than she could possibly eat, and though it would make a great dinner, it's much too early for such a heavy meal. Yet another thing about this culture she will have to adapt to.

  Instead, she pours herself a small goblet of the rich wine and leans slightly forward as the girl rubs more ointment upon her back. "Can you tell me why Nadira is The Amadi?"

  "What do you mean?"

  She takes a sip of the wine. It’s sweet and refreshing against her palate. "She's a woman. Amadi means king, correct?"

  "It is not based on what's between the legs but strength, Enzana." The girl walks in front of her to rub the lotion on her chest. "Amadi can beat any of these men if she tried, and they all know it. There has never been any dispute that she deserves it."

  She idly starts to pick apart a roll. "Is she the first woman to become the Amadi?"

  "No, Enzana. But she was the youngest to be granted the title."

  "How old was she?"

  "Fifteen."

  "Hmm," she hums. She had been under the impression that Nadira had not been the leader long since she had just now acquired a spouse. And though she's known younger to claim the throne—none were by earning it through strength like Nadira has. "How old is she now?"

  The girl stands and walks behind her to comb out the tangles the wind and sleep had caused her light hair. "Twenty-seven."

  Her eyebrows both rise. Nadira certainly doesn't look as old as twenty-seven. "And she's never lost?"

  "Never, Enzana," Akina answers. "And I dare say she'll never lose until the great death comes."

  "Nadira does seem to be very determined," she says, taking another sip of the wine. Licking her lips at the taste, she realizes this spirit rivals the quality of the kind from the cellars of her home. Oddly enough…it may even be better. "Where's this from? Bemuth?"

  "The wine is from Faraha," Akina replies. "My husband works in the vineyard."

  She turns to slightly look over her shoulder with a furrowed brow. "I thought your women married women?"

  "Not all," Akina sets the brush down. "But The Amadi must marry their own kind."

  "Why?"

  "So many questions, Enzana!" Akina laughs. Her fingers nimbly start to twist Fiona's hair into gentle, soft curls. "It's said that being married to your own kind is like finding your twin spirit. The strongest bond of all bonds. And since we've never lost, I say it must be true."

  Fiona turns back around to face forward, the sight of the meat mixed with the already-sweltering heat suddenly making her scrunch her nose. She really wishes she had been able to learn about the culture and traditions before being thrown right in the middle of it. She does have so many questions and curiosities—a deep need for her thirst for knowledge to be quenched.

  "What happens if she does lose?" She asks after a while, hoping that enough time had passed that Akina would not tire of talking to her.

  Akina laughs good-naturedly. She knew this one was not going to be quiet long. "I told you she wouldn't without giving her life."

  "No," Fiona reiterates. "What happens to me?"

  "All done," is the quick reply as Akina gives her hair a pat and backs away from the room.

  "But what …" She turns, only to see a mischievous smile on the girls face as ducks under the flap of the tent door—leaving her question unanswered and feeling quite alarmed.

  Chapter 4

  Less than an hour later, she's summoned to Nadira's tent. It's not nearly as large as hers and definitely not as ornately decorated inside or out, but in the middle lies a table covered with fruits and cheeses—and Nadira sitting at one of the chairs with a grin on her face.

  "They said you didn't eat," Nadira starts, standing to pull out the chair beside her own. "They should've known the Northerners don't eat meats in the morning."

  She smiles and takes the offered seat. "It's quite alright."

  "Don't let it happen
again. You tell them what you want or they won't respect you," Nadira says, reaching out and taking an apple to toss up and down.

  "Of course," Fiona nods. She reaches out and takes a blackberry; idly rolling it between her fingers as silence looms between them. Looking up, she studies Nadira's profile. The strong lines of her jaw, her cheek bone, her nose. Even in Vatra where such features would be considered brusque and manly, Nadira would be considered stunning.

  The arrangement, she realizes, could've been far worse. Nadira is beautiful and—based off the events of last night—can be gentle and kind when she wants to be. Comforting, even. And that's a rarity for any ruler, especially one known for ferocity.

  Her childhood dreams may not have come true, but maybe, just maybe her reality is going to shape up to be much better than anything she could've imagined.

  She wipes the purple stains on her finger pads off with a napkin, and asks the only thing she can think of to break the silence. "What happens to me if you should ever lose a battle?"

  Nadira slowly looks up with a solemn, stoic face. "They'll send your head back to Vatra in a box."

  Her eyes grow wide. “You mean…they’ll kill me?”

  Nadira immediately bursts into a wholehearted, all-consuming laughter at Fiona's expression. "Haven't you heard of a joke?"

  "Y-yes," she stutters as she tries to regain composure. "I'm just not very good at detecting them."

  "Oh," Nadira says, her laughter dying down as to not offend Fiona further. "Well if I die, you're free to do what you want. Go home. Stay. Marry someone else. Whatever you want to do." Then she slightly narrows her eyes. "Why? Plan on killing me?"

  Wide-eyed, she shakes her head. "No! Akina—"

  "Made it sound like you were to die as well, didn't she? What a little pigshit." Nadira smirks, biting into the apple. "She likes you then. She jokes with the people she likes."

  Fiona involuntarily smiles brighter than she has in a long time. Not many people had ever genuinely liked her—almost none, actually, besides the servants and handmaidens that had been paid to like her. She had always been an outsider, even born in nobility where people should have at least pretended to be her friend.

  Trying to hide her smile, she looks down at her plate. "She does?"

  "Yep," Nadira replies, smiling at the damn near adorable grin on her wife's face. She reaches out and toys with the end of Fiona's honey-gold curls. "She did your hair?"

  She nods, trying to ignore the way her face heats up at the light graze of Nadira's fingertips against her shoulder.

  "Looks good on you," Nadira says, honestly. "They'll like it."

  "Do you like it?" Fiona timidly asks, tilting her head only slightly to look out the corner of her eye.

  Nadira grins, "I do. And if you keep wearing that," she sweeps her hand towards Fiona's dress, "all the ladies will want something like it. Gargantu silk is very in demand these days."

  Her eyebrow rises and her lips curl up into a grin, pleasantly surprised. "How did you know?"

  "I'm not as uncultured as you think," Nadira teases, reaching out to nudge her shoulder. "Want to know a secret?"

  "Only if it's a good one," she replies, smiling. "Your last one lacked intrigue."

  Laughing, Nadira leans in, her hot breath tickling Fiona's ear. "The Gargantu buy their silk from my city."

  "Oh," she shivers, trying to keep her facilities in check as Nadira pulls away.

  Nadira smirks, tucking a strand of hair behind Fiona's ear. "Don't believe me, nohealani?"

  She smiles at the nickname, and gently shakes her head. "I've been to Gargantu and have seen them make the silk with my own eyes."

  Nadira cocks an eyebrow. "But did you see where it went?"

  "I…no."

  "They silk they weave goes to the commoners." She reaches out and touches the side of Fiona's dress; the fabric slipping easily from her fingers. "But this? Straight from Faraha. You can have as many made in every color you can possibly imagine when we arrive."

  She tilts her head, grinning in an attempt to beat Nadira in her own game. "Why does no one here wear silk then?"

  "We are in the middle of the desert!" Nadira exclaims. "Can't very well fight in that, can we?"

  "I suppose not..."

  They sit in silence for long moments as they pick at the food. Fiona's head snaps up when Nadira abruptly stands and walks across the room, only to come back with a flattened box that she sets in Fiona's lap. "I've, uh, been meaning to give this to you."

  With inquiring eyes, she slowly lifts the lid to see a golden necklace with the largest sapphire stone set in gold that she has ever seen. She gently picks up to inspect it. It's shiny and clear, true to being real, with an animal etched on the golden plate.

  "A lion?"

  "It's the Kaelan symbol," Nadira replies. Her fingers brush Fiona's neck and seemingly set it ablaze as she sweeps her golden hair to the side. Then she takes the necklace, and fastens it around Fiona's neck. "And don't ask why. You'll know when we get there."

  Nadira sits, and Fiona turns slightly to face her—her fingers coming up to toy with the stone around her neck. "How does it look?"

  Nadira gives a lopsided grin, making her look much younger and much less fierce than she like to portray herself. "Like it was made for you."

  "Thank you," Fiona beams, a slight flush spreading across her face. For some reason unexplainable, she can't help the way compliments from Nadira bring forth such a visceral reaction.

  Nadira's fingers graze the fabric over her knee. "Can you promise me something?"

  She takes a deep breath at the somber expression on Nadira's face. "I can try."

  Nadira reaches out and rolls the sapphire stone between her fingers, still holding onto it as she looks up to Fiona's face. "Don't ever take this off. For anyone."

  Her brow furrows. "But there are sapphire mines in nearly every kingdom. Surely it can be replaced."

  "But this," Nadira starts, letting it lightly fall back against Fiona's chest. "Is worth more than you think. It's no ordinary necklace."

  She looks down to it. Granted, it's large, but looks like any other sapphire she had come across before. But if Nadira said it was unique…she won't argue it at this juncture.

  "I'll be sure to keep it on then," she finally replies, glad that Nadira's eyes soften at the promise. "Do you know how long until we arrive at Faraha?"

  "Three weeks. More if we run into trouble." Nadira smirks, and kicks her feet up on the table. "And I always run into trouble."

  Chapter 5

  After finishing her meal with Nadira, who really likes to joke and tease more than Fiona expected, she went back to her tent to learn their dialect from Akina. She picked it up quicker than she had hoped—which was fortunate since the girl had laughed at every mispronunciation in good jest—and by the time the sun had started to set, she could easily make out most of what Akina was saying.

  "How do you sa—"

  She's interrupted by the loud snap of the tent door opening as Nadira walks in—sweaty and wild hair everywhere—and her eyes involuntarily and slowly roam up and down Nadira's body. Somehow in the dim firelight, her tanned body looks more muscular…stronger even.

  She licks her lips, very indiscreetly, and Nadira smirks before holding up a hand to bowing Akina. "Pack her things as quick as you can," Nadira says, her face a mask and not at all as gentle as when she looks at Fiona. "Almost all of the tents are already down. We're leaving."

  "Leaving? The sun has just set," Fiona says, standing from her spot on the bed.

  "The water we got in Vatra won't last if we travel during the day. It's too hot," Nadira quietly remarks so the girl doesn't hear them. No need to cause unnecessary panic.

  She follows Nadira to the tent door. "Did you travel at night on your way to receive me?"

  "No," Nadira says. "But we rode faster so it didn't take as long to get there."

  Fiona takes a moment to stand in the cool night wind as it hits her cheeks and
lightly blows a few strands of her hair. It's definitely not as hot as the day…but within hours it will almost be unbearably cold for their thin clothes.

  "We can't simply ride faster during the day instead?"

  "We have more cargo now," Nadira replies, winking as she gently grasps Fiona's hand in her own. Fiona squeezes it, and Nadira, smiling, starts to walk them both towards the outskirts of where the camp was and where now all the people and their packed things are lined. "You'll ride with me so you can sleep. "

  Raising an eyebrow, she looks up to the behemoth black horse before looking back towards Nadira.

  Nadira grins. "You're not going to fall."

  "I'd still prefer a bed," she mutters, but Nadira hears and tries not to chuckle.

  The saddle is fastened and Nadira turns to pick her up, but she smacks her hands from her waist. "I'm no invalid, you know. I can get on a horse by myself."

  Nadira laughs at the seriousness on her face and throws hands up in defense. "You sure are a snappy little thing."

  "I'm not snappy," Fiona snaps, struggling to climb up. But she finally does and settles in, looking down at Nadira with a triumphant grin. "Or little."

  "Look awfully little to me sitting up there all by yourself," Nadira teases. "What do you weigh? A whole 115 stones?"

  Fiona narrows her eyes. "119, thank you."

  "Cheeky woman," is all Nadira replies with, shaking her head as she walks back to the end of the caravan.

  What seems like endless minutes later, Nadira comes back with a thick blanket and tosses it up to Fiona before climbing in the front of the saddle. "You ready?"

  Fiona drapes the blanket around her shoulders, and tries to scoot back so that she's not pressing so tightly against the warmth of Nadira's back. She nods and clasps her fists on the blankets edge in an attempt to balance and hold on. "Yes, I believe so."

  Nadira sighs. "Do you actually want to fall?"

  "Well of course not."

  Nadira then reaches behind her, patting and tugging until her hands find Fiona's own and then pull them around her slender waist. Her fingers land on the warm, bare skin of Nadira's stomach—Nadira's abs hard and defined underneath her touch. She has to put conscious effort into keeping her hands exactly where they were put instead of roaming somewhere they were definitely not.