FION'S DAUGHTER

by Brenna Lyons

  Ro shook his head. What use, indeed! “Get your rest, Donic. We leave before sunup.”

  “Ro,” he cautioned.

  “They travel sunup to sundown. We must make more time than that.”

  “Perhaps your bride will find a way to slow them down,” he suggested.

  Ro shuddered. “Jurel would kill her for trying,” he decided.

  “Would he? He could have done that at your home.”

  “Sleep, Donic.”

  Ro stared into the trees for a long moment before he staggered back to his pallet. Sleep would not be easily won. It hadn’t been since he’d found Della’s abinatine coated in Lengar blood and discarded.

  Days on his war-buck, tracking endlessly with little sleep to sustain him, were taking their toll on Ro. He rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. If it was this rough on him, it must be unbearable for Della. He gave in to exhaustion slowly, promising to find Della and revenge her properly when he did.

  *

  Fim 4th, Ti 10-460

  “What is it?” Ro asked wearily.

  Donic looked up, as Novin stepped away to be sick in the brush. The young man trembled in his nausea.

  “A dead Lengar soldier,” Donic informed him, mounting his buck stiffly and leaving the corpse behind. “Feasted on a bit. No large predator has discovered it yet.”

  Novin heaved again at that.

  “How?” Ro asked, praying that another of Jurel’s men had not been killed for laying hands on Della.

  “A small blade to the base of the skull. Silent and quick with no chance of retribution.” He met Ro’s eyes. “A woman’s kill — if she were trained to kill.”

  Ro rubbed his neck, muttering a harsh curse. Della knew the best ways to kill: the three silent killers, the six bleeders, and the five quick deaths. This was a kill she would have taken to attempt escape. “What do the trackers say?”

  Jobin, his head tracker, motioned toward the Lengar border. “They laid on without delay.”

  Donic scowled. “She is pregnant. Escape was hopeless, but she had to try. Were she not so close to date—”

  Novin weaved back to his buck and mounted shakily, nodding to Ro.

  Ro fisted his reins. “We have to move. We— Too much time,” he whispered.

  He urged his buck up to speed, visions of Della killing the soldier and running taunting him. Did she know how close Ro was to her? Was Della trying to reach him when she ran?

  I am coming for you, Ro promised. I am.

  *

  Deliya sank her forehead to the buck’s flowing mane, rolling her shoulders painfully. Her eyes closed on a low groan. She was bitterly tired, beyond exhaustion, but Jurel would not pause for her comforts.

  Her mount jerked right, and she grasped the bridle in her fist. Deliya didn’t open her eyes. She was beyond caring that Jurel was pulling her in to his side again. His hand touched her shoulder, and Deliya shook it off.

  “You hurt,” he noted. “Your muscles are in knots.”

  She didn’t deny it. Between her pregnancy signs and the endless ride, Deliya’s muscles were a mass of knots, and her entire body ached.

  “I can help,” he offered.

  “Do not touch me,” she rasped, forcing the command past her dry mouth.

  “As you wish.” He released the reins and let her buck drift from his.

  *

  Deliya sighed as the shackles opened and the belt was uncinched. Large hands lifted her from her mount and carried her into the shelter that lay waiting. The cot offered no comfort. Her whole body ached, and the quilts were an irritation to skin already painfully sensitized. The shackle closed again, and the man who tended her walked away. Deliya didn’t open her eyes to see if it was Jurel. What did it matter if it was?

  The woman healer touched her cheek and raised a cup to her lips. “Please drink, Majesty,” she whispered.

  Deliya drank down several mouthfuls. Implin juice spiced with Cimmeg and a small dose of olum. She knows her cures.

  “You must eat,” the woman urged her.

  Deliya groaned and turned away. “I cannot.”

  “Your pregnancy signs—”

  “I cannot. Please leave me,” she begged, heartsick at what she knew. Her whole body hurt, most of all her breasts. Her babe was coming too soon, and there was no way to stop what had been set in motion.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Fim 5th, Ti 10-460

  Deliya forced her breathing to calm. Not now, she begged. Ro will find us soon. But their child was not to be denied. Deliya relaxed her muscles into the ripple of pain, thankful that Jurel ordered his man to listen from outside the tent to prevent a repeat of her escape attempt.

  She panted back another pain. Remember the challenge. Focus and remain relaxed. You can ride the crest of pain as you learned to ride the crest of pleasure.

  If Deliya were relaxed, the birth would pass more easily. If she were silent, she would not be subjected to Jurel hovering over her bedside as Deliya gave life to her child. Deliya looked to the other bed wearily. Calling for the woman healer would defeat her purpose, though the woman was sure to have herbs that would ease the pain.

  She pushed herself to sitting with her knees spread high and wide and her feet planted on the edges of the cot to open the channel, easing her robes over her hips. It was the proper way, but it also protected the only clothing she had. Deliya spread the quilt over her lower body. She should be uncovered for the birth, but the idea of Jurel watching her child emerge was too much. Pain assaulted her. Remember the challenge.

  The pains came and went, intensifying as the night waned around her. Deliya made soundless entreaties to Fion to speed the process, to allow Deliya to deliver her child before Jurel came for her again, but gods and babies are not to be rushed.

  Jurel entered the shelter as he always did, whipping back the flap without warning. He strode to her, his black armor glinting in the first rays of the sun streaming through the open flap. He released the shackle on her wrist, waved her toward the waiting war-buck, and turned away without waiting to offer aid she would refuse.

  He looked back in surprise when she didn’t move to follow him. “If you wish to eat, you will leave that bed,” he warned, though she knew as well as he that he would not deprive her of food. Making her pregnancy signs worse would not be in his best interests.

  “Leave me,” Deliya whispered, wiping a sweat-soaked lock of hair from her face.

  His eyes widened. “Woman healer,” he barked. “What is this?”

  The other woman hurried from her bed, running her hand over Deliya’s face then her womb.

  “Leave me,” Deliya growled, fixing her fury on Jurel.

  “Does she require my healing?” he asked.

  “I require nothing of you but your absence,” Deliya informed him coldly.

  “Please, Majesty,” the woman healer begged of Jurel. “This is woman’s business. You must leave.”

  “Why did you not tell me how close you were when I asked?” he fumed.

  “I am not,” Deliya snapped irritably. “I should not have delivered for more than a month. It was your relentless riding that did this.”

  His eyes widened. Deliya could see the calculation in that look and it frightened her, though she kept her face studiously blank.

  “Will the child die?” he asked.

  The woman healer pulled a short dagger from her bag, shrugging. “Ro Ti is strong, as is her Majesty. The babe will likely do well, even this early.”

  Deliya sent up a silent prayer for that, though she knew the healer was likely right.

  “In a choice, save the woman. Ro will value future heirs by her over this one that might not survive.”

  Deliya looked up at him in shock.

  “Does she require my healing?” he demanded again. “To deliver the child?”

  “Do not touch me,” Deliya ordered, hate swelling up strong in her.

  The woman healer nodded. “We will require boiling water to sterilize my
tools.”

  “Are you mad?” Jurel thundered. “Ro follows close behind. He must track us now. If we light a fire, he will be upon us before the sun is high.”

  Deliya thanked Mag and Fion both that he was so close.

  “If I do not sterilize my tools, I risk infection,” the healer argued. “You would lose them both.”

  “Then pray that does not happen,” he growled.

  Deliya stiffened in pain then forced her muscles to ease again. “There is another way,” she offered desperately. “A fire is not necessary. Leave me now, and I will teach your woman healer.” He had to leave quickly. Deliya would not bring Ro’s child into the world with their enemy standing over her, and the babe was in the canal.

  Jurel looked at her curiously. “Why would you do that?” he challenged.

  “To make you leave. A priestess of Fion does not bring forth a life this way. I will fight this birth until I kill us both rather than deliver my child in your sight.”

  He smiled widely. “Then I take my leave.”

  The healer shuddered, as the tent flap closed behind him, shooting Deliya a sad look. “Please trust me,” she whispered. “I was taken from my home to help you. Not much better than you were. I am no happier here than you are.”

  “Why?” Deliya asked, panting back another pain. “Why you?”

  She darkened. “I have milk. If something goes awry, he means me to nurse your child.”

  “You lost a child?” she asked.

  The healer nodded sadly. “My son,” she whispered, as if that made the loss worse.

  Deliya looked to the dirty-faced girl still asleep on her mother’s cot. Did the woman not realize the gift she had in her daughter? Another pain reminded Deliya that she had more important things to worry about than opening this woman’s eyes to new possibilities. “You must work quickly. Have you Felgren and Auguren?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “Mix it equally. Since we cannot heat water, make a paste with a bit of oil and scrub the mixture into your hands and tools. It will leave a choc stain for several days, but it will not harm you.”

  The woman didn’t question Deliya’s instructions. She set to work mixing the herbs. “How far are you, Majesty?”

  “We have little time,” Deliya admitted. “What is your name, healer?”

  “Lera, Majesty.”

  “Do not call me— Either Priestess or Mother Deliya, if you please, Lera.”

  She nodded.

  Deliya shot a quick look at the walls to make certain they were not being eavesdropped on. “Why do you do this?” she whispered.

  The healer glanced up as she rubbed the paste onto her hands, looking confused.

  “Why do you serve Jurel?”

  “You speak as if I have a choice,” she dismissed the question.

  “You do.”

  “What choice? I am Lengar. Even if I left Lengar lands, the Magden would kill me on sight for what I am.”

  “Ro would not,” she promised.

  Lera moved on to her tools, coating them in the mixture quickly. “You want something from me.”

  “I want us both to be free of Jurel.” Deliya looked to the sleeping child pointedly. “All four of us. Your child is why you stay. Is she not?”

  Lera darkened again.

  “You have my word that you will both be safe in Magden lands.” Deliya held her breath, hoping that Lera wouldn’t use this to better her position with Jurel, turning Deliya’s attempts to sway the woman healer back on her.

  “Why would you keep that promise?”

  “Because Fion’s priestesses always keep their word.”

  Lera looked to her hopefully. For an instant, she was radiant and alive. Then the light left her eyes. “Your child, Priestess,” she said brusquely.

  As if I could forget. Deliya longed to cry out, but she would not give Jurel the satisfaction of hearing her pain. She fisted her hands on the edge of the cot, forcing all her tension into that grip while she relaxed her pelvic muscles into the birth. “Hurry,” she breathed, as Lera disinfected her blade.

  Lera pulled the quilt back and knelt between Deliya’s thighs to check her progress. She swore softly. “How could you get so far without crying out and without healing?” she asked.

  “A priestess of Fion is trained to control her pain.”

  “Well trained,” Lera noted. She used the water pitcher and a cloth to bathe Deliya’s face while she labored.

  Deliya lost her grip on the passage of time. With Ro’s help, their child might have been born near sunrise. Without him, the sun had been in the sky for nearly two hours, Lera’s girl watching from her cot while she nibbled on bread and tea, before the babe eased into the healer’s hands.

  Deliya sank to the bed, shaking in exhaustion, as the pain disappeared. Her lungs ached, and her entire body felt weak as a newborn hottel foal. She opened her eyes as Lera cleaned the babe. “Boy or girl?” Deliya rasped.

  The healer smiled sadly. “A female, Priestess.”

  Deliya laughed in relief. “Good.”

  Lera looked at her in confusion then picked up a large square of cloth to wrap the babe in.

  “No,” Deliya instructed her. “Hand her to me.” Once her daughter was in her arms, Deliya removed her overmantle and reached for Lera’s dagger.

  The healer shook her head, pulling the blade from Deliya’s reach. “Jurel would kill me if I armed you,” she whispered.

  “My child is a Daughter of Fion. She will not wear anything Jurel provides,” Deliya insisted. “You have my vow that I will not use your blade against you or anyone else.”

  Lera hesitated then eased the blade into Deliya’s hand, grimacing at the trust she was showing her enemy.

  Deliya cut squares of silin from the overmantle to use as soil wraps and set the cowl aside to swaddle her babe in. By the time her daughter was properly covered and wrapped in the cowl, she had woken and started squalling for her first meal, her face as red as the hair she inherited from her father.

  Deliya handed the blade back to Lera with a nod of thanks. The healer stared at it in shock, nodding to Deliya and moving her eyes to her own daughter. Deliya latched her child to her breast with a smile. Perhaps she had an ally after all.

  Her smile disappeared as Jurel threw back the flap and strode into the shelter, watching Deliya feed her child with a smug smile on his rugged face.

  “I take it that Ro’s son is well?” he asked.

  Deliya met his eyes in challenge. “Ro’s daughter is strong and hungry.”

  His smile disappeared. “Daughter?”

  Deliya nodded curtly.

  “A daughter is useless to me,” he decided, pulling his dagger. “Ro will only bargain for an heir.”

  Deliya pulled the babe to her chest, shaking in disbelief. Even Jurel couldn’t be that heartless. Could he? One look in his black eyes told her that he was, and she was too weak to fight him.

  Lera grasped his arm. “No, Majesty. Please wait,” she begged.

  He struck her, knocking the healer to the ground. “Touch me again and die,” Jurel warned in a voice shaking in fury.

  “Majesty, you have a son,” Lera gasped.

  “What of it?” he snapped.

  “This daughter of Ro’s wed to your son would prove his rule over all the races on Kegin.”

  Jurel paused, his brows furrowing as he worked at that idea. Deliya held her breath, praying for this short reprieve even as her stomach twisted at the plan Lera laid out to win them this chance.

  “It would,” he conceded. “She may be of some use to me yet.” His smile returned, a cold, calculating smile. “Feed your child. I will send food in to you. We leave in an hour.”

  Deliya shook her head, weak in release of her fear more than her exhaustion. “It is too soon,” she informed him.

  Jurel crouched to face her. “If the child is too weak to travel, she is of no use to me,” he warned, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

  “It is not the c
hild,” Lera offered. “The priestess will not be able to ride for more than a week. Even with a litter, she should not be moved for several days. The babe was born very early. Her mother’s milk is best for her. Mine may not be sufficient. Without the priestess in good health and producing that milk, you could lose them both.”

  Deliya sighed in silent thanks. Lera was flirting with untruths, but most of her argument was based in fact.

  Jurel scratched his fingers through his whiskered chin. “Then we meet Ro here,” he decided.

  Deliya nodded, hiding her joy studiously.

  “If you do not cause me problems, both you and your child will survive the day,” he promised.

  She swallowed hard and nodded again.

  Ro would not kneel to her. If he did, Deliya would have to stop him at any costs. She looked to her daughter. What punishment would Jurel take? One of them would not survive her attempt to save Ro.

  “What is her name?” Jurel asked, stroking one sun-darkened finger over the babe’s cheek.

  “I will speak her name to Ro first. I owe him that much.” I owe Riella that much.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “They have lit a fire,” Donic noted in confusion. “It is nearly mid-day, and they are not moving. Why would Jurel stop in Magden lands when the temporary border is only half a day’s ride away?”

  “He wants to draw me in,” Ro answered. “Jurel either believes he will win or has no choice.” Why stop here? Has Della forced this confrontation somehow?

  “You cannot be seriously considering this,” Donic stated in disbelief. “Three-quarters of our troops are off checking the side trails Jurel left in the last two days to throw us off. If he kills you—”

  “Juria and Benel will carry on. He has my bride and child, Donic. I will have them back.”

  “Let me send for more men.”

  “There is no time. By what the trackers have seen, we are well-matched.”

  “If Jurel has not met up with more.”

  “I will have Della back at any cost.”

  “You cannot bargain, Ro.”

  “I will do what I must and only that much. Spread the word among the men. If it comes to a battle, they are to reach Della and protect her with their lives. I can protect myself.”