FION'S DAUGHTER

by Brenna Lyons

“Have you heard the story before?” Deliya asked quietly.

  He shrugged. “Perhaps. When I was young. It never seemed—”

  “Important?”

  Ro motioned to the page. “Is it?”

  Deliya nodded. “You see the missive?” she asked, pointing to her mother’s words.

  “Your mother sent you to me,” he noted. “She wanted the Magden to ally with Fion’s children as Fion and Mag allied when Len attacked the soul’s reward and was banished to his dungeons.” He pushed the page back at her.

  She shook her head. “No. You are mistaking the text,” she explained.

  Ro looked at her dubiously. “How so?”

  Deliya took a calming breath. She traced the faded words with a fingertip. “Mag Ti le ti trin. Tie Fion han so. Mag left his throne. He took Fion safely home.”

  He nodded. “They allied.”

  “No. You see the faded bit?”

  Ro raised an eyebrow in warning.

  “As part of a priestess’ early training, she is required to memorize every word of the great book.”

  “And?” he demanded.

  “I didn’t feel it was important. I memorized the words, but I never internalized them. I could not see when they would ever be of use.”

  “What would?” Ro asked impatiently.

  “Mag ken e Fion chel Pris Chidan. Fion tie Ti ag diten,” she quoted from memory. Deliya held her breath and waited for Ro’s response.

  He pulled the page from her hands and ambled across the room, staring at the faint outlines of the words she’d memorized. How clear was it? Would he believe her if he couldn’t see the words clearly?

  Deliya inched after him, stopping at the foot of the bed as he whipped around to face her.

  “Why was this so important that you endangered yourself and our child to come after me?”

  “I—” She pressed a hand to the squirming in her stomach and leaned against the footboard of the bed, her heart sinking. It meant nothing to Ro and probably would not even when she explained it.

  He strode to Deliya, taking her gently by her arms. “What did you ride out to tell me?”

  “That I would sign your contract,” she admitted.

  “That is all?”

  She shrugged uncomfortably.

  Ro pushed away from her. “Because the gods were wed, you decided to sign a contract with me,” he spat.

  Deliya looked around for the closest object at hand. Ro ducked in surprise and the crock of lizor berry powder sailed over his head and shattered against the wall. He looked at the mess then back at her. Deliya tried to still her shaking hands as she snatched up the crock of olum.

  “Say it again, and I will not miss,” she promised.

  Deliya tried to calm herself. Fury was unbecoming. It was beneath one of Fion’s priestesses. It took the extinction of their race to enrage Vela. Deliya should make her mentor proud of how well she internalized the elder’s teachings.

  To Len’s Dungeons with that! She threw the second crock with a grunt of pure frustration and reached for a third.

  Ro caught the olum, tossing it on the bed as he stepped to her and caught up her hands, stopping the crock of Walla that would have flown next. His expression was abruptly unsure. “Why are you doing this?” he asked.

  “Are all Magden males this stupid?” she inquired coldly. “If so, I can’t see how your race survives.”

  He pried the crock from her fingers and set it on the table she had snatched it from. Deliya balled up her fists in fury.

  “Do not try it,” he warned. “Now. I will take a wild leap of faith and suppose that you are angry with me, because you love me.”

  Deliya crossed her arms over her chest and stared at a point over his shoulder, doing her best to ignore him.

  Ro turned her face back to his gently. “You have never told me that you do, so it is not unexpected that I would have to suppose such a thing.”

  “Any fool with eyes and a heart,” she stormed.

  “Would see what?” he challenged.

  “What difference does it make?”

  “It makes a difference,” he assured her. “Why did you ride after me?” Ro waited a moment then dropped his lips to hers.

  Deliya’s body seemed intent to answer for her. Her blood heated, and visions of their encounter in the stable filled her mind. Deliya lost herself in their rising passion, placing herself in his hands.

  Ro removed her hands from his tunic, pressing them to the edge of the footboard and covering them with his hands. “This was why you came after me,” he whispered. “Wasn’t it?”

  “Ro, please.” She nipped at his chin.

  “What did the text mean to you?”

  “That the reasons I gave myself for pushing you away were ridiculous,” she admitted. “Fion Herself took Mag as mate. How could one of her daughters be seen as a traitor for loving one of Mag’s sons?”

  “Loving?” He pressed his body to hers, his erect length seeking her core. “And you denied that love despite the fact that you serve the Goddess of Love?”

  Deliya groaned at the truth of that statement. “I could not let you think for another moment that I had no love for you. I could not let you go into battle believing that I would have disappeared with our child before you returned.”

  Ro chuckled. “I gave orders that you were to remain here until I returned,” he informed her.

  “It did not work,” she reminded him.

  “You came after me to put my mind at ease?”

  “To convince you that I love you. I would have knelt at your feet to prove it.”

  “A priestess of Fion kneels to no man,” he quoted her.

  “I knelt before you in the stable,” she whispered. “I would kneel before you now,” she offered, tipping her mound to him.

  Ro shivered, his breathing ragged. “I am a Magden king,” he reminded her. “I kneel to no man.”

  “I know. I do not ask you to kneel to me.” The idea of kneeling before Ro, of pleasuring him as a sign of her sincerity, made her body throb for him.

  He shook his head and sank to his knees. “I kneel to no man,” he repeated. “I kneel to you. I would have knelt to you at any time for the promise of your love.”

  “You do not have to do this,” she assured him.

  “Mag knelt at Fion’s feet and called her beloved.” Ro pulled her robe open in a single movement, and his lips closed on her hood.

  Deliya jerked, stunned by his unexpected move. Ro placed his hands under her thighs and lifted her onto the edge of the footboard, spreading her legs wider. His tongue caressed her, and Deliya gripped the board tighter.

  “Beloved,” he breathed into her. “Ma Chidan.” Ro stroked his tongue over her slowly, as if he were bathing her.

  “I love you,” Deliya whispered.

  He buried his tongue deep inside her at that, his groan playing delicious counterpoint to the first whispers of her climax. Ro was relentless. His tongue tasted and taunted, darted and danced until Deliya threw her head back and vented a formless howl of release.

  Ro stood, nipping at her trembling lips. “We will do this your way,” he informed her. “Tell me how that is. Is it like the first time? Must I place myself in your hands?”

  “My ceremony?” she asked.

  “Am I unworthy—”

  Deliya covered his lips with her hand, shaking her head. “Never think that.”

  Ro nodded, kissing her fingertips. “What needs done? Am I placing myself in your hands?”

  “No. That is only necessary for the challenge.” Her head spun at the implications. Ro wanted her ceremony.

  “Would you like,” he began.

  “No. Not this time,” she answered distractedly.

  “Deliya?”

  She met his eyes. “Yes?”

  “Quickly,” he urged her. Ro guided her hand to his cock. It jumped at her touch.

  Deliya nodded. She slid to the floor and turned to the bed, grasping the footboard and heavi
ng it toward her a half a hand.

  Ro’s hands covered hers, removing them gently. He kissed the shell of her ear. “Tell me what you need,” he instructed.

  “Pull the bed from the wall.”

  “How far?”

  “An arm’s length.”

  He kissed her throat. “Do whatever else needs done.”

  Deliya left the circle of his arms reluctantly, smiling as Ro moved the bed in one smooth motion.

  She pulled a long, green silin dress from the cabinet and discarded her robe in favor of the garment. Deliya stilled as she turned back to Ro.

  *

  Ro fisted his hand in his tunic, every muscle bunching as he stared at Deliya, unable even to let the material fall to the floor. His eyes traveled the length of her left leg, bared in the slit of the presentation dress. Her pale breasts peeked into the upper slit, making him ache to peel the dress back and frame them in the dark silin.

  He locked down on his self-control. Ro had never asked Deliya to wear the dress. He’d never told her what the significance of it was. Deliya could not know the restraint it took not to fall on her at the sight of her in it.

  She met his eyes, questioning Ro’s tension silently. He wondered at her choice. It could not be coincidence that she chose that dress. Could she not simply let him honor Fion for the gift of Deliya’s love without trying to appease his Magden sensibilities?

  “I said we would consummate our contract your way,” he growled.

  Deliya backed off a step in confusion. “I do not understand.”

  “The dress.”

  “I require a long, silin gown,” she whispered. “Traditionally, I would wear my robes and overmantle, but in the absence of them, this will suffice.”

  Ro nodded. It would more than suffice.

  “This dress has some meaning to you,” she guessed. “If it is inappropriate to wear it—”

  “It is more appropriate than you can comprehend at this moment,” he assured her, raking his hungry eyes over her body again.

  She darkened then sauntered to him. “And will you show me what the dress means to a Magden king?” she offered in a voice low and sultry in invitation.

  Ro swallowed hard, the urge to take that as a promise all but undoing his resolve to properly thank her Goddess. “Next time,” he replied solemnly. “You will wear this for me again.”

  Deliya nodded, her nipples calling him, beaded against the silin in invitation. “You have my vow.”

  “Your ceremony,” he reminded her.

  She turned to the table beside the foot of the bed and took up her bowl, anointing it with a sweet-smelling oil and saying a blessing much like the one she used when she made the healing circle for Novin. Deliya picked up the bowl and kissed the side, leaving a sheen of the oil on her lips that made Ro want to lick it off.

  “Should I disrobe?” he asked, unsure of her ceremony. Her healing circle had very specific rules. When Ro was within the boundaries, he was required to remove his shirt, armor, boots and weapons, but no more.

  Deliya smiled. “It is much easier that way,” she teased.

  Ro pulled off his boots and trousers, glad for that favor. He smiled as Deliya bent to her work, an idea taking hold. He stood behind her, tracing his hands over her hips.

  She paused in adding a gray powder to the bowl, pressing her body back into his, her skin heating beneath his fingers. “Ro, if you want me to finish quickly,” she pleaded.

  He trailed his hands up her stomach to cup her breasts. “You were trained to face the challenge,” he reminded her.

  She dropped the powder into the bowl and planted her hands on the tabletop. “Women in the challenge are not pregnant, Ro,” she snapped.

  Ro chucked. “My touch disturbs you?” he taunted.

  Deliya turned on him, pushing at his chest with a burning, trembling hand. “Ro Ti, you face a woman in her schen — a love schen, who has not had use of the man she loves for more than three weeks. I gave my vow not to raise my blade against you, but I am a trained warrior, and if you tease me much more—” She let the threat hang between them.

  He removed his hands, smiling in victory. “As you wish, my love,” he conceded.

  She nodded and returned to her work. Ro turned around her and leaned back on the footboard, watching her. Deliya added the ingredients, mixing them with the point of her blade. She muttered to herself, glancing at his body in undisguised longing. Ro bit back a laugh at that.

  Deliya furrowed her brow, touching each crock she’d used in turn. She snatched the crock from the bed and set it back in an empty place on the table with a hearty thunk. Deliya scanned her eyes over the bed and table again. She bit her lip and rubbed at her forehead.

  Ro pushed off the bed and eased her to his body, planting his lips on her forehead and healing her. “You should have told me,” he whispered, rubbing the knots from her shoulders.

  “It is not,” Deliya growled in frustration.

  Ro moved to the next knot along her spine. “Is it not?” he challenged.

  She groaned and shifted to guide him to another tense spot. “Of course, I feel the signs,” she reasoned.

  “Not while you carry my child,” he grumbled.

  “I meant, that is not causing my concern.”

  “What is?”

  “My lizor berry powder. I had it minutes ago when I was checking my stores. What have I done with it?”

  Ro grimaced. “What does this powder look like?” he asked, hoping he was wrong.

  “Deep red.”

  “In a purple crock with a red lid?” he asked.

  Deliya smiled. “Yes. Where did I put it?”

  Ro sighed and turned her to the shattered crock. “I believe you were aiming for me.”

  She covered her mouth with her hand, looking pained. Deliya strode to the mess and squatted next to it, pulling bits of the crock out with her fingertips.

  “Deliya, you will cut yourself,” he pleaded. “We can get lizor powder from the kitchen.”

  “It will not be pure.”

  “We can wait to do this.”

  Deliya scooped up a handful of the powder and returned to the table. “Lizor blooms in summer, Ro. I assume you want to consummate before our child is born?” she asked as she mixed the powder into the bowl.

  “I certainly hope so,” he growled.

  She nodded as she said another quiet prayer. “I will close the circle in a few moments,” she told him.

  “How long will we be inside the circle?” Ro asked, suddenly aware of the myriad of problems this could cause.

  Deliya smiled widely. “Quite a while, I image. You are rather virile, as I recall.”

  “Do not close the circle yet,” he ordered, striding to the door.

  “Ro, you are nude,” she gasped.

  He laughed loud and long. “I am a Magden king,” he quipped, looking at her and stilling at the sight of her in the presentation gown. “You should go in the other room for a moment,” he suggested.

  She placed her fists on her hips, darkening. “You may walk about unclothed, but I must hide away while I am clothed?” she demanded.

  “No, but it is too much to expect that my men would be able to resist looking at you in that dress. They barely avoid my blade on a daily basis, and I have no wish to kill them for presuming too much.”

  Deliya turned and fled, shooting him a look of disbelief as she closed the door to the bath behind her.

  Ro ordered the man outside the room to send for food then knocked in the bath door. “Deliya?” he called.

  She opened the door, looking uncertain. “You were joking. Were you not?” she whispered.

  “About?”

  “You would really kill a man for looking at me?” she asked.

  “No,” he admitted. “I would not kill a man who dared to look, though I would be within my rights to.” Ro cupped her cheek. “If he touched you, it would be another matter.”

  She dropped her gaze. “Others have died for pres
uming that much.”

  And will again, if it comes to that. Ro kissed her, groaning as she pressed to his body. “They had better hurry with the food,” he grumbled. “I will not survive this erection forever.”

  Deliya smiled a secretive smile. “We shall see.”

  *

  Ro stretched out on the bed, watching as Deliya sprinkled the last handful of the light purple powder that closed the circle. She bent her head and asked Fion’s blessing.

  Deliya turned to him. “You have to stand for the first bit,” she told him.

  He nodded and stood beside the bed. Ro furrowed his brow, as she returned with her abinatine and a flask.

  She smiled widely as she set the flask on the bed and held the blade between them. “This is your last chance to back out, Ro.”

  “Are you mad? Why would I want to do that?”

  Her smile disappeared. “A priestess may take men to her bed to produce heirs or to sate her needs with protection to prevent that eventuality, but only once does she pledge her heart. A priestess who loses her love before adequate heirs are born will take men to produce heirs, but she never performs this ceremony a second time. She never chooses another true mate.” Deliya cleared her throat. “Neither does a male.”

  “You mate for life?” he asked in surprise.

  Deliya nodded. “If you do not wish that, we can use your ceremony.” Her eyes showed a pain at that thought that she masked otherwise.

  “Perform the ceremony. I will be bound by it,” he promised.

  She sighed in relief. Ro resisted the urge to pull her close. Had she really worried that he’d shy at the idea of mating for life? It was a relief that Deliya wouldn’t be looking to dissolve their contract for a penalty. Would that Magden women believed the same.

  Deliya met his eyes. “A priestess of Fion does not choose a mate lightly,” she intoned. “I ask you now, Ro Ti of the Magden, if you will be bound to me alone in this life and the next, father of my heirs, seed to my soil, the missing half of my heart.”

  “I will.”

  She nodded. Deliya used the tip of her blade to pierce the pad of her left thumb then took his right. She drew his blood quickly and with little pain.

  Deliya positioned his hand with the palm toward hers and pressed her hand to it. “We are bound, blood to blood and heart to heart. I vow to walk with you in this life and meet you in the soul’s reward. I will not ever, by action or inaction, allow you to come to harm while I live to prevent it.” She motioned to him.