FION'S DAUGHTER

by Brenna Lyons

  Ro scanned his oculars over the hillside beyond the planting fields. After half a day’s ride, leaving his bride to come here, Ro was scarcely in the mood to learn that he had been tricked, but the evidence left little doubt that he had been.

  Half the fields had been burned, and dead Magden were being loaded onto a pyre. The dead were all men. No women or children. Had the Lengar been serious about this attack, the damage would have been much worse, the death toll much higher.

  Ro whipped down the oculars with a muttered curse. Where would Jurel strike? Perhaps Gidlore or Fint. Perhaps Sten, but why would he need to lure Ro away to do it? Those villages were easily as far from his home as Dariden was and not even in an opposite direction.

  Donic returned to his side. “Jurel was not with the attacking troops. The men were Jurel’s men but without Jurel at their head,” he spat. “The fighting was only heavy the first two hours.”

  “Long enough for the villagers to send for my help,” Ro growled.

  “Yes. Exactly.” Donic motioned to the hills. “Should we pursue?”

  “How many Lengar were there?”

  “Ten. They left one short.”

  “Leave six of our men.”

  “What is your plan?”

  “Home,” Ro whispered, his heart pounding. Something was not right, but his home was shut tight — and Della would be waiting to welcome him to his bed.

  “We will not make the house before dark. Perhaps Jurel’s plan is to take you in the open after dark.”

  “It does not matter,” Ro stated emphatically. “We return home. If we are needed elsewhere, we will be summoned.”

  “As you wish, Ro.”

  *

  Deliya shivered in the chill air, forcing her eyes open. It took a moment for the moving horizon to sink in. She pulled against the arms circling her. Shackles and brute strength pulled her up short.

  “Ah, the priestess wakes at last,” Jurel taunted. “I was beginning to think my man struck you too hard.”

  “Take your filthy hands off of me,” she growled.

  “In good time. First, we will understand each other. You killed one of my men and injured three more. I could kill you for less, but you are of some small importance to me.

  “You are not of paramount importance, however. Remember that. If you cause me too much trouble, I will kill you. Killing you and Ro’s son would serve nearly as well as taking you from him.

  “Every comfort will be provided for you. A woman healer travels with us. Your food and shelter are assured. If you require healing—”

  “You will not touch me,” she stormed.

  Jurel smiled. “As you wish — for now.”

  Deliya looked at the dozen and a half men who traveled with them in dismay. The only others were the Lengar woman healer and a small girl. Her heart sank.

  “The others?” she whispered. “The women— Ro’s servants? What did you do to them?” Please, let him have spared them to tell Ro of his victory. Please, Mother. Grant me this.

  “I could not allow them to warn Ro,” he replied coldly.

  Deliya swallowed the bitter lump in her throat, blinking back tears. Fion’s priestesses do not weep before their enemies, even as they die. Laril’s face swam before her eyes. Ro will avenge us, Deliya promised. Ro will avenge us all.

  *

  Ro shook his head, praying the image would change. It didn’t. The towers remained dark. He pulled his oculars up, cursing solidly.

  “What do you see?” Donic asked.

  Ro fumbled the oculars, missing his pouch. Their fall went unheeded, as he pushed his war-buck to a full run. He didn’t take the time to answer Donic. There was no time to waste. The main gates were wide open when Ro had ordered them shut tight. Only the one-man gate should have been used while he was away and only for the roving watches.

  “Ro,” Donic shouted hopelessly. “It must be a trap.”

  Ro couldn’t concern himself with that possibility. Only Della and their child mattered now.

  The ten stride that separated Ro from his home fell away at a fraction of the time it typically took. Ro thundered through the gates, scanning his eyes over the destruction in the bright moonlight.

  His soldiers had been massacred. The few Lengar he passed bore the jaglin print insignia of Jurel’s personal guard. Ro didn’t pause, laying on to the house and vaulting up the stone stairs before Donic and the first of his troops cleared the gates.

  Some few lamps were still lit. Faces of the dead flashed past Ro’s eyes as he ran for the royal chambers. His men would have cornered Della there in an attack. When Jurel reached her, he reached her there.

  Ro didn’t bother to pull his sword. It was unlikely that Jurel left an assassin behind. If he had, Ro would kill the man with his bare hands.

  The doors to the royal chambers were thrown wide. Ro bolted through them and halted, gasping for breaths as he took in the clues left behind. Della wasn’t there, but two Lengar were. He spied Della’s abinatine and collected it with hands shaking in rage. She shouldn’t have had to battle Lengar. Ro should have kept her safe. He should not have been taken in by Jurel’s trick.

  “Ro?” Donic asked cautiously.

  “He took her. She is alive.”

  Donic panned his eyes over the room, the dead men and the blood soaking many of the surfaces. “You cannot know that,” he breathed, looking more than a little ill.

  “I know.”

  “Ro—”

  Ro ignored him, motioning to the first Lengar. “Della killed this one, but she was overpowered. Jurel wanted her alive.”

  “What am I missing?”

  “The Lengar who came for her were unarmed. Jurel did not want her injured.” He motioned to the second soldier. “And, he killed his own man. By the golden hair on his gauntlet, I would surmise that his offense was injuring her.” Ro ground his teeth in fury at that. It shouldn’t have been possible. How did Jurel breach the gates?

  “The priestess could have killed them both,” Donic argued.

  Ro glared at him. “Her sword is there in the cabinet, untouched. She is alive. We leave tonight.”

  “We cannot track them in the dark,” Donic reminded him.

  “Lanterns,” Ro suggested hopelessly.

  “And be led astray? Our trackers have their best return if we wait until morning.”

  “They have a full day on us,” Ro growled.

  “But they will be hampered by an unwilling Priestess of Fion. As much as your bride has infuriated me at times, Jurel will not find traveling with her any easier than we did when she did not wish our company. You can wager on that with confidence.”

  Ro nodded, suddenly exhausted. “At daybreak,” he decided, but his gut ached at the truth of the matter.

  Jurel would be hampered by Della’s condition — if he allowed her the comforts her condition demanded. At full speed, Ro and his men could catch Jurel quickly — perhaps in a day or two at the most.

  The problem was, the Magden wouldn’t be traveling at full speed. Jurel’s path was uncertain, and tracking slowed the pursuer’s pace.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Fim 2nd, Ti 10-460

  Deliya looked around wearily at the endless trees. They had been riding all day, her hands shackled through a prison ring in the bridle, a belt restraint keeping her from sliding off the buck’s back, and her reins tied to Jurel’s bridle to prevent her using leg controls to run with her mount. She’d ridden straight on the buck all day, but her strength was flagging as the sun set.

  Jurel pulled her mount close, and Deliya stiffened. His hand stroked over her child, and she yanked at the shackles in frustration, shooting him a warning look. He chuckled and released her reins.

  “You find something amusing?” she demanded.

  “You have spirit. Not that it surprises me. All of your accursed priestesses have spirit, but you have more than most. I am very tempted to sample my enemy’s goods, but I will wait until his son is delivered of you first.�
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  Deliya ground her teeth in irritation, guiding the buck with her knees to the length of the reins.

  Jurel’s eyes traveled over her body hungrily. “I wonder if your body will taste as sweet as your mother’s did?” he mused.

  She snorted. “You lie,” she informed him. Deliya pushed away her uncertainty. If Jurel had, Ro would have told me. I know he would.

  “Oh, I had Leiana,” Jurel assured her.

  “After her death like the geela you are, I am sure.”

  “You would like to believe that, but you are proof enough that a priestess can be taken alive. Rest assured that she took a hand of my men down as she stood alone, before they fell on her in force. She cursed me with every breath and pretended not to enjoy my cock, even when I stimulated her.”

  Jurel scowled. “Your priestesses made a poor showing of sex for my men. Some of them might have lived had they reacted as normal women will.”

  As Lengar bed slaves. “Then I can promise you will have to kill me,” Deliya snapped.

  Jurel shot her a searing look. “I think not.” His eyes settled on her babe again. “You will have ample reason to stay in my good graces.”

  Deliya straightened her spine. “Fion’s priestesses do not bargain with their enemies, even for the sake of their children.”

  He searched her face for signs of weakness. “We shall see. We stop here for the night.”

  *

  Food was brought to her. Guards accompanied her, as Deliya relieved herself. The shackles were only removed long enough for her to complete each task, and she was always watched.

  Her eyes wandered, taking in Jurel’s encampment and the guards’ placement. It was simply impossible, she decided. Jurel had more than a dozen men fanned around her at almost every moment, and Deliya had no way to drug them. Even if she made it to a war-buck, she was incapable of the speed that would allow her to escape Jurel’s grasp for long.

  “It will not work,” he taunted quietly, sidling up next to Deliya.

  She eased away from him, her skin crawling at the idea of Jurel touching her child again.

  Jurel grasped her arm, bringing Deliya’s wrist up to heal the bruises the shackles left. She slapped him, scurrying an arm’s length further away.

  He grasped her shoulders with a growl of displeasure. “I will heal you,” he stated.

  “Do not touch me. The laws—”

  “Your laws,” he thundered. Jurel took a calming breath. “Your laws and Magden laws. By Lengar law, you are a woman and a prisoner. I may do what I wish.”

  Deliya pulled against his hold. Jurel might believe that, but she didn’t have to accept it willingly.

  Jurel dragged her to his chest. “You and that child belong to me. Ro cannot free you. He will try. I will enjoy killing him when he does.”

  “Ro will cut out your dead heart and place it on a pyre while he leaves your corpse to feed the geela,” she promised.

  He laughed harshly. “He will kneel before me and be killed by my men.”

  “Ro Ti will never kneel to you.”

  “You are correct, but he will kneel to you. I know he will.”

  Deliya shook her head in disbelief. “Ro kneels to no one,” she denied.

  “Mag knelt at Fion’s feet and called her beloved,” he whispered. “Shall I tell you what he did next, Priestess? Shall I tell you the sweet sounds Fion made as Mag’s mouth took her to a slice of the soul’s reward?”

  She gasped, feeling faint. How long had the traitor been reporting their lives to Jurel?

  “Or perhaps I should show you. There is your schen to consider, and I would be a gracious host,” he offered in a voice ragged in arousal.

  Deliya glared at him. “That is one of the many things about you that hold no interest for me,” she informed him coldly and with an unwavering voice.

  Jurel nodded, pushing her toward a guard. “Take her to the shelter and watch her closely. Make sure her Majesty has ample quilts and food. A woman incapacitated by pregnancy signs is of no use to me.”

  *

  Fim 3rd, Ti 10-460

  Deliya shivered, glancing at the guard’s back. She had to escape somehow. Over the last day, Jurel had become more insistent: watching her with growing lust, touching her often, promising to use her to kill Ro.

  Never by action or inaction, she repeated to herself. Deliya could not allow Jurel to do whatever he intended, but what could his plan be? Only a fool expected to meet Ro in hand-to-hand combat and win. Jurel would use some trickery to win. Deliya wished she knew how.

  “I need to relieve myself,” Deliya informed her guard.

  He shot her a look of irritation. “You relieved yourself an hour ago.”

  “The babe causes it.” That much wasn’t a lie. The forced hours on hottel were not helping matters, but her pregnancy alone would make these trips necessary. Deliya forced Jurel to stop for her comfort as often as she dared during the daylight hours, setting the stage for what she must do. This was her only chance at escape, the only weak point in Jurel’s tireless presence.

  He unshackled her arm with a muttered curse and waved her toward the flap. “Come on,” he growled.

  Deliya preceded him into the darkness. The fires, lit at new dark to hide the smoke, had been extinguished to keep Ro from tracking the light in the darkness of full night. This would work to her advantage.

  She strode into the deep brush, squatting and gathering her robes to accomplish the first part of her plan. The guard turned his face away, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger. Deliya shook her head, making the flow of urine a trickle to waste as much time as she could.

  “Finish,” he ordered.

  “You know how to rush these things?” Deliya asked pointedly.

  The guard growled in displeasure at being the one to give up his sleep to watch her while others might rest this night. He crossed his arms over his chest, and Deliya smiled. It was time.

  She stood abruptly and grasped his tunic, feigning imbalance that wasn’t far from the truth of the matter. The guard reached to steady her, grumbling complaints, and Deliya struck. She swept his dagger from the sheath swiftly and silently, planting it deep into his brain base and severing all nervous activity with a quick slice and twist. A warm trickle of blood ran down her hand, soaking the cuff of her robes.

  His eyes went wide, and his hands fell away. His muscles went lax. Deliya eased him to the ground awkwardly, panting in the pain the movement sent through her spine. She surveyed him for a moment. It wouldn’t take long. In a few short moments, his heart would forget how to beat. Already, his lungs had seized and none of his muscles would function.

  Deliya cleaned the dagger on his jacket and moved through the trees. There was no chance of stealing a hottel, and Jurel had taken her boots, but Deliya had surprise on her side — and her training. If Fion were kind and Mag just, she would be well hidden before they discovered her flight. All she had to do was stay hidden long enough to force Jurel to fight a fair fight with Ro or flee.

  An explosion echoed off the near hillside. Deliya shielded her face and ducked away as shards of tree bark flew at her.

  “Drop the dagger,” Jurel ordered.

  Deliya turned toward him, shaking. He was an indistinct spot of black in the darkness around them. Another dark form moved beside him.

  “I do not have to come near to kill you,” he continued. “The blade is useless to you.”

  She looked to the deep gash in the tree, touching the damage lightly and making the automatic determination that the Eir would survive the harm. “You—” Deliya gasped. “This is your plan.” Jurel wouldn’t have to best Ro in combat. The projectile would kill him from a distance.”

  “Put down the dagger, Priestess. My man’s next shot will not be aimed to miss.”

  Deliya nodded, letting the dagger slip from her numb fingers. Ro’s only chance was a direct warning from her lips. “His men will kill you,” she breathed. Donic will kill you, if you harm him.
r />   Jurel strode to her, striking Deliya hard across the cheek with his armored hand and dragging her to his chest when she stumbled back. His voice shook in fury. “I knew you would try this eventually. I simply had no idea you would be so successful. Under normal circumstances, I would kill you for killing my guard, but a careless man at my back is worse than none. You will not attempt this again, Priestess. If you do, I will cut the child from your womb and leave your body for Ro to find. Do not test me again.”

  Deliya’s stomach lurched at that threat. She weaved on her feet then forced her trembling legs not to desert her.

  “Am I understood, Priestess?”

  She nodded weakly. “Yes. I understand you.”

  “Good. I will return you to the woman healer now. I imagine a calming tea is in order before you sleep.”

  “I want nothing,” Deliya denied.

  “That is not true,” Jurel replied coldly. “You want Ro to gut me for this.”

  He half-dragged her to the shelter, pushing Deliya to the cot and shackling her wrist to the heavy frame. He pulled a quilt over her and left without comment.

  The woman healer came to her, laying a hand on Deliya’s chilled cheek. “I will bring a lizor tea,” she whispered.

  “Leave me,” Deliya growled. “I require nothing of Lengar kindness.”

  “As you wish, Majesty.” Her hand lingered a moment longer, and her voice sounded of a sad sort of wish. She retreated to the cot she shared with her child.

  Deliya closed her eyes, running a hand over her child. Not by action or inaction— Mother Fion, do not make me choose.

  *

  Ro launched from his shelter, trying to track the echoing sound, but the canyon walls rising above the trees confused his sense of direction. He waited, barely breathing, praying for another sound, any sound that might let him track them.

  Donic’s hand closed on Ro’s shoulder. “We cannot possibly track them in the dark,” he whispered. “Sleep, Ro. We will have a long day of tracking tomorrow.”

  “What was it?” Ro asked helplessly. “An explosion?”

  “Perhaps,” Donic replied thoughtfully. “A small one, but what use would so small an explosion be?”