Exile

by Colleen Vanderlinden

  Two libraries. When there was not a single official one left among human civilization. That alone raised the esteem of the Maarlai in her eyes. Despite the issues she’d had with a few of them, and the whispers others did not bother to hide, Baerne had been correct in the fact that she had no hatred in her heart toward the Maarlai. If they hated her, that was their issue. It only became hers if any of them decided to press the matter. She had noticed more coldness since the new arrivals had settled in, as if what had happened to them had reopened a wound for the Maarlai as a whole. And it had. She understood that much. Hopefully, it was a wound that would soon heal again.

  She walked through the dusty roads of the Maarlai village, past the guards, past the merchants hawking their wares just beyond the palace walls. It took mere moments before the first grumbled “Earth trash,” met her ears, followed by a few less than-flattering words about her appearance. And, as she knew it would, “human whore.”

  As if that should have shamed her. It had not held much sway among her own people, and it held just as little now.

  “Excuse me, your Highness,” a female voice said behind her, and she turned to see a tall, lithe Maarlai standing there, dressed in the usual leathers, a sharp knife strapped to her hip. “Seen your husband lately?”

  “My husband fights alongside his men hunting down those who attacked Alamar. Any other questions?”

  The Maarlai smirked. “He came to see me a few nights back. Looking for a romp for old times’ sake. Perhaps you are incapable of keeping him happy.”

  Shannen smiled behind her veil. “Oh, undoubtedly. I can barely keep myself happy, let alone anyone else. Have a nice day.” With that, she turned back in the direction she was heading.

  She heard it. Expected it. The slide of steel on leather, then a strong hand on her shoulder, wrenching her around.

  “Do not turn your back on me, Princess,” the Maarlai woman hissed.

  Shannen moved in one fluid movement, as if it was second nature to her, muscle memory, hours spent with the same arms master who trained all of the daughters of House Lyon. A quick wrenching of the Maarlai’s arm, a kick to the back of the leg, the small dagger from her thigh in her hand and poised above the Maarlai’s throat as she tried to regain her breath.

  The crowds of Maarlai who had been strolling around them went still and silent.

  “Do not begin to think that I will be bullied or intimidated by you. Next time, my dagger will bathe in your blood,” Shannen said quietly, so quietly that only the Maarlai woman beneath her could hear. Then she stood up, replaced her dagger, and picked up the book she’d dropped. The Maarlai all watched her wordlessly as she walked toward the library without a second look back.

  Janara was standing just outside of the library.

  “I did not realize you had it in you, Shannen,” she said.

  “What? No lectures about how I should have handled it better?”

  Janara laughed. “In all seriousness? That was the best way you could have handled it. Iriel would have tried to make a fool of you, belittling you, hoping for an outburst of some kind. Although, now she will feel the need to regain ground on you.”

  Shannen shrugged. “If she feels the need to end up on the ground again, then I’m happy to oblige her. I have the book I borrowed from you.” She held the book out to Janara, who just shook her head and laughed. They walked into the library together and Janara gestured to a small stack of books on a nearby table.

  “I knew you would be coming today, so I pulled a few you might be interested in. You’ve progressed past the simplest books. It may be time to tackle something without pictures.”

  “So much confidence in me, Janara,” Shannen murmured as she looked through the books. Then she had a thought. “Are Baerne and Daarik related?”

  Janara watched her for a moment. “They are,” she said with a nod. “Baerne is Daarik’s half brother.”

  “Half?”

  “Different mothers,” Janara said. “Why do you ask?”

  Shannen shrugged. “Baerne is around babysitting me quite a bit and I realized that there is a resemblance there. It made me wonder.”

  “Once upon a time, it was a touchy subject. Baerne and Daarik did not get along. There have been… rumors, I suppose, that Elrek intended to marry Baerne’s mother, Liara. But she fell ill during her pregnancy with Baerne and died in childbirth. A year later, Elrek married Daarik’s mother, Alira. They were sisters,” she added.

  Shannen nodded, and glanced up to see Janara watching her closely.

  “What?” she asked impatiently.

  “I heard what she said. You know that Daarik did not go to her that night. He spoke to me, and then he was heading to the palace to see you again. I assume the call to arms hit before he made it back there.”

  “I know,” Shannen said.

  Janara smiled. “I’m glad. Which of these do you want?”

  Shannen selected a few books and made her way back to the palace. Word had clearly spread about her confrontation with Iriel. Uneasy glances were thrown her way but, at the same time, a few more smiles than she was accustomed to. She did not know if that was necessarily a good sign or not, but it was something.

  When she arrived in the palace, she went to the kitchen and helped herself to some bread and fruit, and carried the food and her books up to the suite she shared with Daarik. She let herself in, noting with some disappointment that the suite was still empty, everything the way she had left it that morning. She set her books and snack on the table, pulled her veil off, and tossed it onto the dressing table near the bed. Then she settled in, slowly eating the warm brown bread as she fumbled her way through the books Janara had suggested. She heard a clanking sound outside the door and she looked up to see Daarik storm into the room, dressed in his usual black armor, a large ax strapped to his back. The dark stains on the armor and the bruising on his face told the tale of the kind of day he’d had.

  She was about to ask how it went when he hurried to her.

  “Are you all right?” he asked her.

  “Yes, fine. I was about to ask the same of you,” Shannen said. He pulled her up gently and looked at her closely, intensely.

  “I heard that Iriel attacked you.”

  “Did you also hear that Iriel ended up on her back with my knife at her throat?”

  A small grin spread across his face. “So it’s true, then?”

  “You did not believe it?” Shannen asked him. He pulled her close, resting his hands at her hips. Her first instinct was to argue with him, to pull away. She did not want to. And, for once, she let herself relish the feel of his hands on her body.

  “I could imagine you doing it, but I feared it was more of the endless complaining a few people seem to do about you. Well done, wife,” he said, dark eyes glinting with humor. “I knew you weren’t one to be trifled with.”

  “I likely just made an enemy,” she said with a shrug. “It looks like you had a busy time of it,” she said.

  He pulled away. “I’m getting you filthy,” he said.

  “Clothing can be washed,” she said, and he stopped moving away and pulled her close again, his hands firm on her hips, his eyes searching hers.

  “I’ve been a fool,” he said. “The arguments, the issue with my father… I should not have brushed your concerns away. That was the act of a child, and you deserve a husband who will be by your side no matter what. I was naive. It angered me to hear you say it, but you were right. I have been thinking about it since that night, and then the mess at Alamar happened and I wasn’t able to discuss it with you, not really. And then you were honest with me about your uncle, and I pushed you away again, at least, at first. You deserve so much better from me.”

  The way he was holding her, that look in his eyes… “And which Daarik am I speaking to now? The one who means what he says or the one who is full of battle lust and wants to get between his wife’s thighs?” Shannen asked him, and he laughed.

  “Both, wife of mine. B
oth.” He lowered his face to the side of her neck, nuzzling her gently, and it sent a shiver through her body. “The scent of you. It’s everywhere except where I want it most.”

  “Which is?” Shannen asked, her voice barely a whisper.

  He pressed his lips to the place where her pulse thundered at the base of her throat. “All over me,” he murmured. “The morning after we married, I could still smell the scent of your skin clinging to me. Do you know what that’s like? How primal and maddening it is?”

  “Yes,” she said, meeting his eyes. “I—”

  There was a knock on their chamber door, and Daarik released a low growl.

  “Unless it’s important, I am going to remove your head from your shoulders,” he called to whoever stood there.

  There was a pause. “The King wants your presence,” Baerne’s voice called from the other side of the door.

  Daarik cursed and stepped back. “It’s always something,” he muttered.

  Shannen watched him as he tried to get himself under control. “Do you think you will be long?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  He bent down and quickly claimed her lips, all the hunger she’d seen in his eyes evident in his kiss. His hands gripped her hips tightly, pulling her body to his as he crushed her mouth with his, sucking and biting her lips, not at all gently. He groaned her name and forced himself to pull away. And all she wanted to do was pull him back, she realized with a start. For the first time in her life, she fully understood what lust was, how heady and exhausting it was, how on edge it made her. How reckless, because she knew, in that moment, that she would do just about anything he asked of her.

  “You should eat something before I return,” he said hoarsely. “It may be a long night.” He gave her another short, searing kiss, met her eyes, and then walked out, leaving her breathless in his wake.

  There was no denying what that look meant. And she wanted it. All of it.

  After Daarik left their room, Shannen wandered over to the window and looked across the barren landscape without really seeing it. Her stomach twisted, her heart pounded, and she was shocked by just how much that one burning, unbridled kiss had affected her. She squeezed her thighs together against the tension between her legs.

  She could back out. She could tell him she’d changed her mind. He had abided her wishes about their physical relationship so far, even though she knew, from the very beginning, that he was not happy about it. He’d respected her enough to not even bother trying to press the issue, all while still making it clear, in every glance, in every light touch, that he wanted more.

  And why not? Their quick, “official,” coupling had been so much more than she had ever imagined it could be. She still dreamed about the feelings he had aroused in her, the feel of his enormous, muscular body over hers, the sense of him filling her, owning her absolutely. And they had been strangers then. The weeks since had proven, much to her surprise, that her husband was the kind of male who could be charming, possessive, protective, flirtatious, intense… maddening.

  It did not blind her to his faults. Despite what he had said as far as his change of heart over the things she had said about his father and her reason for being there, she would believe it when she saw it. It was very easy, under the influence of battle lust and too long sleeping side-by-side without giving into what they wanted, to say whatever might move the situation along. She was not a fool.

  Yet she wanted to believe him so badly. So maybe she was.

  Would she hate herself afterward? Would she feel weak? Would she be haunted by the fact that she’d given into something as simple and stupid as lust? Would it all blind her, so that she would fail to see the knife coming until it had already pierced her heart? It should have all been so simple. She had had more partners, more experiences than most women she knew. Certainly more than any of the royal women had. What difference did one more make?

  But she knew better. She knew that for whatever reason, Daarik made her feel things she thought were beneath her. Lust. Jealousy. Yearning.

  “Stars above, he is making me crazy,” she muttered to the empty room. She turned from the window and her eyes landed on the bed. If they hadn’t been interrupted, she would likely be there, right now, with Daarik. She was not sure at the moment whether that was a relief or not.

  Chapter Eleven

  Daarik and Baerne walked through the corridors side by side, their armor clanking with every step.

  “You did a good job rooting out those responsible,” Baerne said gruffly.

  “I did not want it to spread. We managed it with only a handful of deaths on their side. None on ours.” He glanced sideways at his half brother. “Any idea what this is about?”

  Baerne shook his head. “All I know was that Father seemed angry about something and told me to fetch you. He didn’t tell me why.”

  Daarik nodded. His mind was still mostly on his wife. He had the sneaking suspicion that she was likely sitting up in their suite talking herself out of what they’d been about to do before getting interrupted. He released a frustrated growl.

  “Remember the human saying: don’t kill the messenger,” Baerne said. “It certainly wasn’t my idea to interrupt you and Shannen.”

  “I know.”

  “Is that working out any better?” Baerne asked.

  Daarik shrugged. He’d confided in his brother about his difficulties in dealing with his wife. To be honest, his brother seemed a little too interested in Shannen for Daarik’s liking, but at the same time, there were very few he felt close enough to to confide in. Janara was one, but she was becoming closer to Shannen in the weeks since the wedding and he hardly wanted to discuss his constant need for ice cold showers with his cousin. Baerne, unlikely as it would have been once upon a time, was actually decent to talk to, as long as he hadn’t been hitting the bloodwine too hard.

  They walked into their father’s audience chamber. Jarvik, as always, was there already, seated at Elrek’s right side. Both Baerne and Daarik bowed to their leader, and he hastily gestured for them to rise.

  “This is the letter your wife wrote to the human king, about the insurrections,” Elrek said, getting right to the point.

  “And? Is there anything wrong with the letter?”

  “Did you read it?”

  Daarik shrugged. “I glanced at it.” He had. Well, really, he’d been staring at his wife, but the letter had been in her hand at the time. “Do you want her to make some changes?”

  Elrek studied him. “You trust her too much, son.”

  Daarik glanced at Jarvik, who seemed almost smug beside his father. The grotesque old Maarlai had been against his marriage to Shannen from the beginning.

  “Is there an actual problem or is this more of Jarvik’s gossiping?” Daarik asked as politely as he could.

  Elrek was about to answer when the door opened and Daarik’s grandmother walked in. Daarik went to her, took her hand, and helped her into her seat at Elrek’s other side.

  “A council meeting taking place without me? Lucky thing I decided to check in on you, forgetting your old mother like that, Elrek,” she said, giving the king a stern look. “You wouldn’t be trying to keep me uninformed on purpose, would you son?”

  Elrek looked down, and Daarik hid a smile. His grandmother was the only one who could give the king a dressing down, and Daarik loved her for it.

  “I apologize, Mother,” Elrek said. “It was an oversight, nothing more.”

  “Hm. We will have to be more careful about that in the future. Though I did note that Jarvik scurried past my hut on his way here earlier, without bothering to tell me this little meeting was taking place. We will have to work on our communication, eh?” she asked. Then she clapped her hands. “So what did I miss?”

  “Father was just about to tell me what issue was so important about the letter he requested my wife write to her uncle that it required my attention at this very moment.”

  “And I was starting to tell you, boy,
that you trust your wife too much. She is a traitor.”

  “And I suppose you have proof of this?” Daarik asked, even as any icy tendril of apprehension seemed to wind its way through his body.

  “Take a look,” Elrek said, holding the parchment out to Daarik. Daarik recognized the two wax seals his wife had carefully affixed the night before, both broken now. He took the letter and unfolded it. The first thing he saw was Shannen’s neat, precise handwriting, a greeting to her uncle, the request for him to appeal to his people to calm down. A few fairly restrained jabs, true to her less than affable relationship with the human king.

  “All right. And?” Daarik said. “Surely you did not expect her to be polite to him.”

  “Turn it over. Upside down,” Jarvik grunted.

  Daarik rotated the paper. It was faint, barely there, but he noticed letters in ink just barely darker than the paper itself.

  “Heat action ink,” Jarvik said. “We held it over a candle and the words appeared.”

  Daarik started reading. The secret message outlined their defenses, and asserted that their southern border was a weak point and the most difficult to defend. It was not inaccurate.

  “This isn’t Shannen’s writing,” Daarik said.

  “Simple enough to fake that. A few moments of careful lettering,” Elrek shrugged. “This woman is becoming an issue.”

  “Well with all due respect, you were the one who wanted me to marry her,” Daarik said. “And this doesn’t prove a thing,” he said, tossing the parchment back onto the table in front of his father. Before Elrek could pick it back up, Daarik’s grandmother snatched it and held it up for inspection.

  “There’s more,” Elrek said, and Daarik withheld a sigh.

  “What now?” he asked.

  “We wondered which of the Lyon brothers fathered her, that she was housed in such a comfortable fashion,” Elrek said. Daarik would argue the “comfortable” part, but he supposed this was not the time.