FION'S DAUGHTER

by Brenna Lyons

  “Because he was male. My mother sent me with my father. It was unheard of, Ro. I was of his loins, and we always know who sired us, but Celdin was my lesser from the day I started my training. I loved him, but I owed Celdin nothing more than the courtesy shown the mate of Mother Leiana. Had they not been true mates, I would not have owed him that much.

  “Still, Celdin loved me, despite the fact that he could never claim me openly as his. Perhaps Loric loved his children as well. It was not unusual to see males playing with children when the work was done. It would take a fool not to see that they played most often with those they sired. Perhaps—

  “Oh, what does it matter? He wanted to know his children grew in my womb. That much was clear.”

  Ro nodded uncertainly. “And what of me?”

  She blushed. “You are not one of Fion’s Children. You are a Magden king. I suppose — you are my equal.”

  “But, Fion’s priestesses do not choose an equal as a mate,” he reasoned bitterly.

  Deliya stood slowly, watching him warily. “Fion’s Priestess takes no one but another of Fion’s Children as mate.”

  “That would seem a little difficult, Priestess.” Ro cursed the fact that her rejection stung.

  “Loric was right,” she whispered. “I killed us all.”

  Before Ro could form a response to that, she’d returned to the cave, most likely to don her armor.

  *

  Donic was highly displeased when they made camp. Only Ro’s warning glare kept his general’s words corked within. Deliya pulled away from Donic’s hand when he tried to disarm her, shooting Ro an uneasy look.

  Ro nodded. “Leave it, Donic. The priestess will not be armored for sleep any longer, but she is retaining full rights otherwise.”

  “Ro,” she began.

  He scowled at her. “It is within my rights to strip you of your arms and has been since the first time you raised a weapon against me.”

  She opened her mouth, probably to protest again that her abinatine was not a weapon. Ro silenced her with a hard look. Deliya nodded her agreement.

  Donic laughed harshly. “Will she retain her poisons?” he demanded.

  “I never poisoned you,” Deliya protested. “You undoubtedly woke feeling relaxed and refreshed.”

  “And, if the Lengar had attacked while we slept?” he asked pointedly.

  She paled. “You are correct, of course, and you have my apologies for it. I had not considered that possibility in a group as large as this and in Magden lands.”

  “Ro,” he growled. “You cannot chance—”

  Ro shook his head. “The priestess will not be cooking for us again. She will have no opportunity to use her herbs to drug us.”

  Deliya grasped her packs and stormed into the camp.

  “No further than my shelter,” Ro ordered.

  She shot him a look of pure fury then turned away.

  Donic watched her go, suspicion etched on his face. “That one will kill you if she has the chance,” he growled.

  Ro smiled. “No. That one will be my greatest challenge.”

  “Challenge? Ro, bedding that female would be like bedding a jaglin in heat,” he cautioned.

  “I have no doubts that it would, but I doubt she means to let that happen.”

  “Then what?”

  “Peace first. Once we have established that, I will pursue any opening she leaves me.”

  *

  Deliya stared at Ro across the fire. She moved her eyes to the pallet they would soon share. Ro insisted that it was the only way to protect Deliya from his men. She wondered who would protect her from herself.

  Ro stood, crossing to her and offering Deliya his hand.

  She stared at it for a moment. “I think I will sit up a while longer,” she decided.

  “We have a long ride,” Ro informed her.

  Deliya met his eyes in challenge. “You think to order one of Fion’s priestesses?” she countered, praying that the threat worked better on Ro than it typically did on Loric. “You think I am a babe who needs a keeper?”

  “I think I will tie you to my bed, if you balk me much more,” he warned.

  Donic laughed heartily but remained surprisingly silent otherwise.

  Deliya swallowed hard, her body and mind playing traitor. Visions of Ro over her again assaulted her, his cock cradled in the apex of her sex and her arms held down in his larger hand. She drew in a sharp breath as her body responded.

  Ro nodded and motioned for her hand. “Now,” he reminded her.

  She placed her hand in his and followed Ro into his shelter, pulling away and removing her armor before he could offer to help again. Deliya was certain she wouldn’t survive that. She heard the pallet shift and shivered, knowing that Ro waited patiently for her to join him.

  Deliya turned, her mouth going dry at the sight of him. Ro was stretched out with the quilts pooled at his hips, his tunic off and his hair unbound. The muscles of his abdomen were outlined in the moonlight streaming past the flap. She took a moment to memorize the sight.

  “Come to bed, Deliya,” he ordered.

  She nodded, sinking to the pallet beside him. Deliya tensed, expecting a sexual advance on Ro’s part that she would have a difficult time convincing herself not to accept.

  Ro chuckled, as if he knew her mind. “I gave my word, Deliya. You have nothing to fear from me.”

  “I do not fear you,” she denied, asking Fion’s forgiveness for the untruth.

  “Liar. You said Fion does not care for lies any more than Mag does. Should I take a penalty?”

  “You unnerve me,” she asserted. “It is not the same thing.”

  “I apologize.”

  “As well you should.”

  “Why did you not return home when Celdin died?”

  Deliya shifted nervously. “I was ordered not to. The chance of being taken alone—”

  “You did not think your mother would want to know?”

  “If she did not want me to chance returning to choose another—” She sighed. “But, that was a lie as well,” she noted wryly.

  “Tell me about your guards,” he requested.

  “Why?” she asked suspiciously.

  “You mention them so often. Tell me about them. I want to know them. Perhaps if I see how much they cared for you, I might appreciate how they could lie to you to keep you from the pain of the truth.”

  “Vela was my mentor, the oldest female of my line. She trained me as a priestess and continued my training as a warrior when we left my mother.”

  “She was your grandmother?”

  “My grandmother’s mother. The Mother before Leiana and Turila.”

  Ro nodded. “Go on.”

  “She was a strict teacher, a hard taskmistress, but she trained me well. As well as one so old could train a headstrong, proud young priestess. I owe her many prayers of thanks, more than I can count.

  “Celdin was always smiling, except in battle. He was always ready with a joke or story to pass the time.” Until he killed Loric. Then his smiles were seldom won. “He trained me at battle when Vela was too old to swing a sword. He trained me in running a farm. He was a strong man.”

  “And protective?” Ro hedged.

  “Yes. That is why my mother entrusted me to his care. If she had not believed in his commitment, Leiana would never have trusted him with my safety.

  “Leiana knew when she sent Celdin away that she would likely never see him again, but she sent him away. I pretended not to notice her anguish. I still wonder if she sent him away simply because he was the most dedicated guard for me or to save his life, to know that she would not see him fall in battle. A priestess will give her life for her family, as Leiana did.”

  Ro rose up on his elbow, nodding as he looked down at her. “Tell me about Loric.”

  Her stomach clenched. “Why?”

  His eyes narrowed, a clear warning that he would not be denied. “I wish to know.”

  “He was— Loric was fo
ur years my senior. When my mother sent us away, Loric was like the older brother Fion never granted me. He played at guard. He acted the part of a man, though he was a half-trained boy.”

  Ro nodded. “Go on. What did he train you in?”

  Deliya took a calming breath, looking away to the tent flap. “The love arts,” she admitted.

  “And?”

  “He was a most diligent teacher. Loric feared Vela. She terrified him. When he asked to train me— Loric waited a full year past the usual time to ask out of fear of informing Vela that he would be coming to my bed. I imagine he was desperate for a woman’s touch by then. He hadn’t taken another in almost four years, and knowing that he could touch me if I accepted him— Loric knew me better than anyone.”

  Ro turned her face back to him. “And, he used what he knew against you.”

  She didn’t deny it. She’d lied once that night. Once was more than enough.

  “What proper time were you waiting for?”

  Deliya grimaced. “We— There is a tradition. I would have been legally an adult at the spring celebration. Loric did not want to wait. I had reached the anniversary of my birth. He wanted to become my true mate.”

  “But, you were already—”

  Deliya shook her head. “Never with the possibility of conceiving a child together. A woman may not until she is legally an adult.”

  “Did you love him?”

  “Yes. I did.” She said it simply and without hesitation.

  Ro uttered a harsh curse and dropped to his back. “He knew you did.”

  Deliya found it hard to breathe. “I should not have let it go on as long as it did,” she managed hoarsely.

  “Loving him?” Ro asked in surprise.

  “His — attitude. Loric did not act like he should have. He was too familiar, too flippant, too aggressive and dominant.”

  “You disliked that?” he asked in a tone that said he knew better.

  Deliya turned away. Ro did know better, and that reminder hurt.

  He wrapped an arm around her waist and pressed his chest to her back. She waited for a comment that would light the pyre under her carefully constructed lies. Ro didn’t offer any comments. He didn’t touch her sexually.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “You could not have known that Loric had changed. Sleep well, Deliya.”

  She closed her eyes, certain she could not sleep, but Ro’s arms soothed her away.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Caj 12th, Ti 10-459

  Deliya smiled as Novin approached the small clearing she’d found to take her rest.

  He bowed from the edge of the trees. “May I enter?” he asked reverently. Of all Ro’s men, Novin showed the most respect for Deliya’s beliefs.

  She chuckled. “You may. I have drawn no circle.”

  Novin nodded and ambled to her, his tan armor gleaming in the midday sun. He handed her meat and fruit set on a thick slab of flat bread.

  She nodded her thanks. Ro sent him out to make sure she ate — and more. Deliya sighed, as Novin sank to the grass next to her.

  “He sent you out to guard me,” she noted in exasperation.

  “Ro?” Novin asked, as if he couldn’t guess.

  Deliya nodded, taking a bite of the meat and closing her eyes in pleasure. Ro’s cook was a wonder. At times, she swore the man could make Gelgrin from Eir bark and lizor stems.

  Novin sighed. “It is not that he does not trust you, Priestess.”

  “I know. Ro believes I am one of your meek, helpless women,” she grumbled.

  “He worries about you.”

  “Ro is possessive,” she stated calmly. “He has no right to be.”

  “Would Ro make such a horrible husband?” Novin asked curiously. “I can tell you honestly and on Mag’s name that Ro has never shown as much interest in a woman as he has in you.”

  Deliya’s heart stuttered at that. It seemed Len had tortured her nightly since Ro’s first kiss. Her sanity would not handle the blow of Ro’s unwavering attention. “He is not one of Fion’s Children, Novin. Interested or not, Ro is not a mate my vow allows me to take.”

  Novin blanched. “Ro will not be happy to hear that.”

  “He has heard it. He chooses not to listen. I cannot remedy that.” Deliya took another bite of the huge portion of meat, praying that Novin would not pursue the topic.

  She stilled at the sound of an animal growl behind them. Deliya didn’t need the scent that would be upon them soon to recognize the jaglin. The Mother answers prayers in her own way, she reminded herself.

  Deliya grasped Novin’s wrist, as he reached for his sword. “Be still. There is no need for your weapon.”

  Novin shot her a look of pure fear, and Deliya patted his hand in assurance. She reached into the pouch at her hip, removing several bags of herbs slowly, herbs every priestess carried for moments like this. Deliya opened the small bag of lizor and poured it over the remaining meat, massaging it in with her fingertips.

  Novin stiffened at a closer, rumbling growl. The jaglin was stalking them, confirming Deliya’s suspicions. She nodded, adding olum to the meat hurriedly. There was little time left to act.

  “I must,” Novin whispered.

  “Be still,” she breathed. “Do not provoke the beast.” Deliya tossed the meat over her shoulder, listening for the sounds of the jaglin eating.

  She breathed a sigh of relief, as the jaglin devoured the meat. As she supposed, the jaglin was desperate enough to eat the offering, herbs and all. Deliya turned to her hands and knees slowly, returning the last of the olum to her pouch and removing the Garigol sprigs.

  Novin grasped her arm, shaking his head adamantly.

  “It is not enough,” she informed him. “I have done this before.” Once. There was no use in frightening him. The jaglin needed her help. Deliya smiled. “Trust me.”

  Novin pulled his hand away, grimacing as if he were in pain. “Ro will kill me for this,” he grumbled.

  She scowled. “Ro has no right.”

  Deliya eased toward the jaglin. It was a young female with nursing young. She was injured, no doubt. A jaglin would not approach people for food unless it was a child unguarded or the animal was unable to hunt and despairing. Deliya hoped she could save the mother, or the babes would die with the adult.

  She crawled slowly, keeping her head up and shoulders tensed. She didn’t blink, locking her eyes on the beast’s. The jaglin would recognize this as the stance of a high-ranked female. Hopefully, the olum and lizor would confuse her enough to accept the person imitating the motions.

  The jaglin shook her head, as the olum and lizor entered her bloodstream via her tongue. It was time. Deliya opened the airtight container of Garigol and the jaglin’s head came up. She scented the air and bared her sharp teeth.

  Deliya nodded and tossed the container to the beast. The jaglin attacked the Garigol, drawn by the fragrance as they always were. The Garigol worked on all forms of life, but only a jaglin would eat it into unconsciousness.

  Novin drew his sword, rising to his knees with a look somewhere between fear and fury on his face. Deliya motioned him back. The jaglin was reacting just as she expected.

  The jaglin weaved on her feet, laying down heavily. Deliya moved to her side, searching for the injury.

  “Let me,” Novin spoke from behind her.

  Deliya looked up at his raised sword in dismay. “No,” she gasped.

  “It is a dangerous animal, Priestess, but its pelt would make you a fine—”

  “No. She has young, and jaglin serve a purpose, Novin. They hunt animals who threaten crops.” She went back to looking for an injury.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Healing her — if I can. She has young,” she reminded him. “If I lose this jaglin, we will lose her entire litter. At this time of year, they cannot be capable of surviving without her.”

  “You went to all this trouble to heal a jaglin?”

  “Of course.” Deliya sm
iled as she found the thorn in the female’s rear hip. It was a large thorn from a Garigol tree. “And still you insist on ingesting it,” she teased the great beast. The thorn was buried deep in the hip muscle, rendering the female unable to crouch or run. “There,” Deliya crooned. She grasped the thorn and eased it free.

  The jaglin roared, swiping at Deliya’s armored chest. Deliya ducked the blow, shaking off Novin, as he grasped at her shoulder and raised the damned sword again.

  “Kneel,” she ordered in a low voice. “Sword down. She fears you.”

  “Fears me,” Novin growled dangerously. “A jaglin fears me.” But, he dropped to his knees and lowered the sword.

  Deliya ignored his complaints, touching the jaglin gingerly. There was no sign of infection and no pronounced swelling. That was good. The female would heal quickly and be hunting again in days.

  The jaglin made a rumbling sound of happiness and nuzzled Deliya’s face in thanks. Her tongue rasped over Deliya’s cheek, and her soft legs wrapped around Deliya’s torso. Deliya laughed in delight.

  *

  Ro launched from the fireside at the sound of the jaglin’s roar. He muttered harsh curses as he raced into the trees in the direction Deliya and Novin took, the direction of that roar.

  Men crashed along behind him, loyal men willing to take on a jaglin without a nuglin, with only a sword in hand, if Ro’s life depended on it. If Deliya were in danger, his life would depend on it.

  Ro came to an abrupt halt as he breached the edge of a clearing. Deliya sat, trapped in the jaglin’s grasp, the beast face to face with her.

  He looked to Novin in confusion. The young man knelt behind Deliya, his eyes wild and motioning frantically for Ro to kneel and be still. Ro did so, motioning for his men to do the same, as they made their way from the trees.

  Donic leaned close, his breathing harsh. “What is this?” he asked.

  Ro’s eyes narrowed. “It— The beast is playing with her like a wariken, cleaning her face.”

  “More like a kittle,” Donic noted in a stunned voice.

  As if proving Donic correct, the jaglin rubbed its huge head around both sides of Deliya’s face. Deliya laughed a light, lilting laugh and wrapped her arms around the beast’s great neck.