by Brenna Lyons
Fion’s Daughter
Book 4 in the Kegin series
By
Brenna Lyons
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Rites of Mating
Book 4 in the Kegin Series
Copyright ã 2003 Brenna Lyons
ISBN: 1-894942-95-7
Cover art and design by Martine Jardin
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by eXtasy Books, a division of Zumaya Publications, 2003
Look for us online at:
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Dedicated to…
Fae and Beth, who gave me the idea of a garden witch.
Bridgette, who demanded to get to know Ro Ti better.
Lisa, who is always “willing” to test drive my ideas.
Fion, for introducing me to her special children.
Note: There is a glossary of Keen terms used in this book at the end of this book.
Happy reading!
Brenna
PROLOGUE
Wos 10th, Ti 10-449
“You have my instructions,” Mother Leiana said formally, stoically controlling her emotions.
Loric bowed deeply. “With my life, Mother Leiana,” he promised.
At sixteen, Loric had enjoyed the pleasures of training under the young priestesses for more than a year. Syron had delivered a son of him only a week earlier, and Jolia carried a child of his loins, conceived on her challenge night. He had also managed to fail Juvia at challenge, the first to fail in more than a decade. Loric was the perfect choice to send along.
An older man would not be a good match, but Loric was close to Deliya’s age. He was not a relation of either herself or Deliya’s father, Celdin, for at least four generations back. Loric would be able to train Deliya well and challenge her, if things went poorly in the villages.
Leiana suppressed a shiver. Things would go badly. Lengar troops under the command of Jurin and his son, Jurel, prepared to attack even now. Leiana fisted the missive in her hand distractedly.
She’d begged Sol Ti for help and had been refused. Kor Hi, the heir apparent of the Magden, and his son Ro Hi had delivered the aging leader’s answer personally. Kor, in confidence, had expressed his regrets and shame at his father’s stubborn refusal to ally with Leiana to crush the Lengar threat. Kor promised his aid when he ascended to his rightful place — the only vow he could make for the Magden.
Sol was dying, but he would not die in time to save the village of Rintal. He might not die in time to save Fion’s Children, and so Leiana was forced to this mad scheme. She would send her true heir, her precious daughter Deliya, into hiding, in hopes for her people.
“Mother Leiana?” Loric called uncertainly.
She nodded. “Prepare, Loric. You leave within the hour.”
He looked up at her, his eyes wild, and bolted from the tower.
Yes. Loric was perfect, and he was very fertile. Still, Leiana realized the danger in this. There was the slim possibility that Loric would die without producing heirs by Deliya. Leiana could not send two men with Deliya. If she were correct in her assumptions and both men survived to Deliya’s eighteenth year, those two men would likely kill each other or Deliya in pursuit of the last remaining priestess, as men often will. No. It was safer to send only one.
If the Mother was kind, Loric and Deliya would be the last hope for their race. If She showed not that tender mercy, Deliya had a much different road to travel, a road that Vela would fight with the last breath in her body.
As if her thoughts summoned the old woman, Vela cleared her throat, reminding Leiana that she was wasting valuable time with which Deliya should be away.
“I know, Grandmother. It is hard to send your heir away, the daughter you carried and suckled, taught and protected.”
“She will be safe with us and far from harm. I have chosen a place deep in Magden lands, the range of the Garesh Mountains, where they dare not live. You know the valley I mean.”
Leiana nodded. The place would never be spoken aloud. “I do. Continue her training. If that Len-be-damned Magden king dies soon, Deliya may yet lead our people.”
“You do not hold out hope of that,” Vela breathed.
Leiana pulled back the drape and watched her daughter don her armor. At nearly thirteen years, Deliya matched Leiana in height, and she would grow more. Deliya strapped on her armor, serious and focused.
“No. I do not believe Deliya will have a people to lead when she reaches the spring celebration of her eighteenth year,” Leiana admitted.
“We should take more,” Vela suggested, careful not to instruct Fion’s Source openly.
Leiana smiled a wry smile and moved her eyes to Jolia and the two dozen who traveled with her. “Who, Vela? No priestess will accept the dishonor of fleeing the battle. No priestess will send her heirs off without her. Deliya only goes, because she has not reached her challenge and is mine to order away. It is all I can do to send Jolia and the others who carry or have nursing young to Gidlore. I may demand that much of them but no more.”
Vela bowed her head in acceptance of the truth.
“Deliya will be tall like her father — and you. Will you give her your armor, when she is a woman?” Leiana requested.
“You know I will. I am old, Leiana. I was old when I passed the honor to your mother. You know that I did not produce my true heir until near thirty. I feared I would have only sons.” Vela brushed her hand through Leiana’s hair. “I was overjoyed that your mother conceived you less than a year after her challenge.”
“And died less than a year after mine,” Leiana noted sadly.
“Long enough to pass the leadership in an appropriate manner. She died in the knowledge that you had conceived an heir and committed to share your life with Celdin.”
“I will not live to see Deliya meet her challenge. I will not pass my blade into her hand, but she will be Fion’s Source.” Leiana pulled the abinatine from her belt, willing her hand not to shake. “When the time is right, give Deliya my blade.”
Vela gasped. “You cannot lead the battle without this.”
“They are Lengar soldiers, Grandmother. There is not a soul among them worth the honor of dying by my abinatine.”
“Jurel—”
“Is a beast,” she spat. “No better than the foulest geela. Take this before that beast takes it as spoils and wears it on his filthy Lengar belt. I will make it as hard for him as I can, but unless Sol dies—”
Vela nodded and took the blade of their line of most chosen.
“Go now. Leave me. I need to center myself before I take leave from my child.”
Leiana watched Deliya for a long moment after Vela left her, releasing the drape at last with a sigh. It was a foolhardy move, sending her daughter away with this assorted trio, but what other choice had she?
She went to her worktable and opened the great book at the marker. Her tears fell on the page. “Lead my daughter well, Mother Fion,” Le
iana pleaded. She read the passage again, hopelessness making her nearly ill. “Vela will never see this possibility for Deliya. She will train my daughter in the old traditions, not prepare her for the world that waits to devour her.”
Leiana ripped the page from the book and penned a missive to Deliya on it. She folded it carefully into a wide-mouthed flask and sealed it with wax of a deep green.
She wiped her tears and held her head high, walking into the torch-lit darkness. Leiana passed the great book to Jolia with a nod that sent the young priestess on her way with the others she would lead.
Deliya nodded to her, as Leiana approached. “All is ready, Mother.” She would make a fine leader, if Fion were gracious enough to grant Deliya a people to lead.
Leiana forced a smile on her face, feeling as if the strain of it would make her composure crack. “I would expect no less from my true heir,” she said proudly.
Deliya blushed at the praise. It was not their way to show idle praise. “Only because I was trained so well.”
Leiana placed the flask in Deliya’s hand. “There are hard days ahead, Deliya. There will be times you feel you cannot go on. When you feel you cannot live another day without my guidance, you must open this flask. You should not open it until you feel you have nothing left for you — until you have no hope.”
Deliya swallowed hard. “Will it come to that?”
“It will.”
Her daughter raised her chin and held the flask to her heart. “When there is no hope,” she promised.
Leiana kissed her cheek, holding back sobs. “Then put on your helm, young warrior. Your battle will come in time.”
Deliya stored the flask in her pack and swung onto her war-buck, pulling her helm over her bound hair.
Celdin’s arms wrapped around Leiana, and the scent of their farewell teased her senses. “I could not leave without touching you again,” he breathed into her ear.
Leiana swallowed another sob. She would lose her daughter and her mate this night. “My heart cannot take the grief,” she apologized.
“One kiss and I take my leave,” he begged. “Do not make me leave you without that much.”
She resisted the urge to point out that she’d sent him away with much more than a simple kiss. Leiana wanted that kiss too much, and sending away her mate was nearly as difficult as sending away her daughter.
Leiana turned into his arms, kissing Celdin passionately. She wound her hands in his tunic as if she could hold him forever, but her daughter needed him more. And, he will be safe with Deliya. How would you go on, if you saw him fall beside you in battle? A priestess will give her life for her family.
Leiana eased her grip and backed away, touching his face, probably for the last time. She moved her eyes from Celdin to Vela and finally to Deliya. This is my family, and I die that they might live to die a natural death.
She looked back to Celdin again, smiling weakly. “I entrust my daughter into your care,” she informed him. It was an odd thing to do, unnatural. Children were of their mothers, but Leiana had to put her duty first.
Celdin kissed her forehead. “I have always loved her, Leiana. I will protect Deliya until she takes her place.”
“I know you will. Go, before I disgrace myself with tears.”
He mounted his mare without a backward glance. Leiana wished she could spare a buck for him, but the priestesses would need them in battle. If Celdin stayed to fight, he’d ride a buck in battle as her mate. Leiana winced that she had to send him off on a mare.
“Go now,” she ordered hoarsely. “Be far from here before the sun begins its journey.”
Deliya bowed her head and urged her war-buck to a run with the three mares riding point.
“Guard them well,” Leiana prayed. She blinked back tears, stiffening her spine before she turned back to the older priestesses who would command groups in battle. “They will attack with the dawn to use the sun against us. We have three hours to plan.”
Leiana resisted the urge to take one last look into the darkness closing behind her family. Losing my mate is just as hard as losing my child, she admitted. Then she laid out their plan of defense.
CHAPTER ONE
Jad 37th, Ti 10-459
“I did not realize anyone lived in this region,” Donic commented in confusion. “Could it be one of the Lengar?”
Ro Ti shook his head. “Unlikely.” He scanned the oculars over the farm nestled deep in the valley. “This land is settled. It has been farmed for at least a decade, by my guess. The Lengar were nowhere near here then.”
Donic nodded. He didn’t need to ask where the Lengar were a decade ago. They were still busy fighting Fion’s priestesses and their mates. Ro needed no reminder of that, the hopeless feeling of being unable to hold to his vow to protect those who needed him.
“What do you wish to do?” Donic interrupted his dark thoughts.
Ro stored the oculars in the pouch at his hip. “Lengar troops will descend on this valley in force within the next few hours. We must get the inhabitants to safety.”
“These people likely have no love for you, Majesty. Worse, the Lengar will not hesitate to attack if they spy you in the open.”
“I swore a vow. The same vow my father swore and his father before him.” Unlike Sol Ti, I keep my vows. “Those people are innocents. Love for me or no, they need my help and protection. Lengar troops will slaughter them for residing within my borders. I cannot allow that.”
“Let someone else go. Let me,” Donic requested, nearly pleaded of him. “Without you—”
Ro silenced his most trusted general with a severe look. “I will go myself. My people will know my dedication to them.”
Donic bowed. “As you wish, my King.”
Ro settled his helm on his head and slapped the visor down. Donic was right in many ways. These farmers would likely not thank him for his help. Still, Ro Ti would not cower in the wood while others chanced a battle. He could not appear weak.
He set out, smiling behind the visor as Donic waved up a squad of men to protect him and took his usual position at Ro’s back. Donic lived to see unification, and Ro would be the first to admit that his sister’s husband was not a strong enough tactician and soldier to take Ro’s place in this war.
Donic also lived to see Ro produce heirs to lead the fight after Ro went to the soul’s reward. Ro sobered at that. His life was not for a woman. It would be cruel to subject a woman to his constant absences to fight back Lengar’s insurgencies into Magden lands. Still, whether he wanted to commit to such a thing or not, Ro had a duty to produce heirs — if he ever found the time to court a woman.
Ro pulled his war-buck to a stop, looking around the deserted space warily. There was no sign of people, no smoke or movement, though a tunic and trousers hung on a drying peg, waving lightly in the breeze.
Donic drew up beside him, his buck’s prancing announcing the general’s tension. “It is a trap,” he decided. “We should withdraw.” Donic saw traps in every encounter, Ro decided.
A shiver of awareness raced up Ro’s spine. “No. They are in hiding. They watch us even now.”
“To attack.”
“I do not believe so. They wish us to leave them in peace. It is a shame that I cannot oblige that wish.”
Ro dismounted and strode toward the house, waving Donic back and tucking his helm under his arm. If these people feared him, approaching in numbers would only make them more fearful. “We wish you no harm,” he called out. “You are in danger here.”
There was no answer.
He pushed the door to the house open, sure that he would find the inhabitants within and not hiding in one of the outbuildings on the property. It was small — little more than a shack but solidly built. It appeared deserted, but Ro’s battle logic belied that. They were here. He stepped inside and searched for any possible hiding place with his typical scrutiny.
The blade cut into his throat silently and without warning, stopping, announcing the willingness o
f the owner to kill Ro if he posed a threat. Donic didn’t react. The warrior had planned his move perfectly. The soldiers outside knew nothing of the threat to their king, and to protect this unknown adversary, Ro would keep it that way as long as the threat remained simply a threat.
Ro smiled at the gall of his adversary. “I mean you no harm,” he repeated.
“Then leave in peace.”
The voice that whispered to him was strong and determined but young, lacking a mature man’s deep rumbling. Ro sobered. Was a boy the most able warrior these people had? It was likely. The house could not be home to more than three, and that would be crowded.
“I cannot. Warriors descend on this valley. There will be a battle before nightfall. You cannot stay here.”
“Why should I believe you? Perhaps I should send you to your lying Lord in his Underworld.”
Ro furrowed his brow, his confusion overriding his fury at being assumed one of those Len-be-damned— “You do not recognize my armor or weapons?” he asked. How isolated were these children that they did not recognize the trappings of their king? The crimson armor and seal in his dagger and sword clearly announced who Ro was. Had they no elders to instruct them? “You fear me, because you believe I am one of Jurel’s troops?”
“I fear no one,” he growled. “Who—” The blade shifted against Ro’s throat, and there was a slight rustling of movement behind him. “If you are not, who are you to invade my home this way?”
Ro started to turn, and the blade pressed deeper in response. He stilled, cursing under his breath. “You do not know the Magden?”
“I know them,” he spat. “Spineless coward. Leave this place. Your kind is not welcome here.”
“Spineless?” Ro ground out fiercely, ignoring the bite of the blade. “What madness have you been taught?”
“Perhaps the Magden soldiers prefer to forget the less admirable and glorious tomes in their history, but others do not. Where were the Magden when the Lengar attacked Fion’s Children? When Fion’s High Priestess stooped to beg for Magden aid? Hiding in their stone forts.”
