FION'S DAUGHTER

by Brenna Lyons

  Donic wasn’t happy with the arrangement, but he agreed to follow Ro on this mad crusade. Ro ordered a half-dozen men around the camp to avoid an ambush and took the other half with him as he rode into the camp.

  Jurel rose, smiling smugly as Ro came. “It took you long enough,” he taunted.

  Ro scanned his eyes over the camp from his vantage point on his buck, looking over the heads of the guards between Jurel and himself and noting a heavily-guarded tent behind the fires. “Bring out my bride,” he ordered.

  “Why in such a hurry, Ro? We have much to discuss.”

  “For instance?”

  “You will fall back to the south and stay there, two hundred stride south of the Garesh Mountains.”

  Ro bit back his anger. “I will discuss nothing until I see that my bride is well.”

  Jurel motioned to one of his men. “Bring out the woman,” he ordered.

  Ro watched the man’s progress. He entered the tent, and two of the other guards accompanied him. Ro forced his breathing to remain slow and steady as the minutes ticked away. What had they done to her that it took three men to bring her out?

  The flap swung open and two of the man reappeared, guiding Della between them, one clasping each of her arms. She was pale, and a dark bruise marred her jaw. Her hair was disheveled and unwashed, and her blue silin robes were splattered in blood and mud. Ro tensed, as Della stumbled and her guards hauled her to her feet. “Della,” he breathed. Jurel would pay dearly for her treatment — once Della was safe.

  Jurel laughed at his fury. “I assure you that she is merely in need of rest. As a proper host, I stopped for her comfort.”

  Della weaved on her feet, all but collapsing in their arms as the guards came even with Jurel. She stiffened her shaking form, her face down. Della cast her eyes back and forth warily, as if searching for an attack. The hair on the back of Ro’s neck rose in warning. Something was amiss here.

  Ro motioned to her. “I can see what a gracious host you have been,” he growled.

  “Oh, but I have been.” Jurel motioned his men away and drew Della to his side.

  His men joined the two that already stood between Ro and his foe.

  Della met Ro’s eyes fully for the first time. She moved her hand over the front of her robes, flattening them over what had been a much larger mound of a babe only a few days earlier.

  Ro shot his eyes back to the tent in understanding. Jurel had to stop for Della to deliver their child. That was why he didn’t make the border before he drew Ro in. Was their child a hostage or was it too early for the babe to survive outside the womb?

  “I provided a woman healer for my enemy’s child,” Jurel noted silkily. “I stopped and had fires lit to feed the new mother, my enemy’s mate. Does that not place you in my debt?”

  Ro looked to Della sadly. He had failed her. She’d brought their child into the world in this Len-be-damned place, without his healing. “Our child is well?” he asked, praying that everything went smoothly.

  Jurel’s hand tightened on her arm, and Ro wondered at the warning, knowing that Della would find a way to tell Ro the truth no matter the cost.

  She nodded and motioned to the tent. “Your true heir is well, Ro.”

  He smiled in understanding. Della had given him a daughter. Jurel didn’t want him to know that, believing Ro wouldn’t hold a female in the same regard he would hold a male. “Well done,” he assured her.

  Jurel relaxed slightly.

  Ro took in Della’s exhaustion. “What do you want, Jurel?”

  “I have told you the dividing line I demand.”

  Yes. Two hundred stride south of the Garesh Mountains. “So you have all the best farm land and ore deposits? So the Lengar grow stronger with every passing season? A more even split or nothing.” No matter the split, Jurel will attack again.

  Jurel pressed a blade to Della’s throat. “How important is the mother of your heir, Ro?” he asked, as if in deep consideration.

  Ro took a calming breath. “I cannot make a vow so against the interests of my people,” he whispered. Though Jurel would break his word, Ro would keep to his vow, as Mag would demand of him. “The Teldin Pass of the Garesh Mountains. As long as you stay to your side of the border, I will do the same,” he offered.

  Jurel scowled. “That is almost three hundred stride from the site I suggested.”

  Two hundred and sixty. “It is an equitable split of resources.”

  “A change so drastic means some considerable consolation. Would you argue that it is not so?” His slid the blade along Della’s throat but did not draw blood.

  She raised her chin in challenge. Ro heard her words from the night Donic told her the fate of her people as if she spoke them aloud again. “My people do not bargain. Not even for me.” Della would expect no less from Ro.

  “If you kill my bride, you will not leave this place alive,” Ro warned.

  Jurel took the blade from her throat, waving it theatrically. “Perhaps. That was not the consolation I envisioned, at any rate.”

  “What was?” Ro growled, growing tired of Jurel’s insufferable games.

  “Kneel to me. Kneel to me, and we both leave this place with the agreement of the Teldin Pass as a border. Your woman and heir are free to leave with you.”

  Ro took a calming breath, ignoring the warning look Donic sent him. If Ro knelt to Jurel, he would never save face with his men, but if it would save Della and his child, he would risk almost anything.

  Della laughed harshly. “Ro Ti kneels to no man,” she informed Jurel. “You will rot in your master’s dungeons before he—”

  Jurel struck her with his armored hand, and Ro dropped to his feet from his mount, his hand on his sword hilt and a wild urge to run Jurel through driving him. Donic and Novin stepped between Ro and his adversaries, stopping him mid-stride. Jurel’s men closed around him — all but the two holding his daughter hostage.

  “You play a dangerous game,” Ro warned.

  Ro turned his eyes to Della, trying to gauge her outburst. Did she simply not want Ro to compromise for her? His hair bristled in warning again. No. There was something more, but she could not say what it was and live.

  Jurel put up his hands, a sign of momentary peace. “You will not kneel to me?” he asked.

  Della shook her head slowly.

  “I kneel to no one,” Ro repeated.

  Jurel laughed heartily. “Come now. I know that is not true.” He moved his eyes over Della pointedly.

  She darkened and shot a pained look at Ro, her eyes moving over the men between them.

  “Sex games are not a sign of servitude,” Ro noted, scanning his eyes over his own men. There was a traitor in his ranks. Only someone spying in Ro’s household could have delivered them to this.

  “You will not kneel to your mate,” Jurel repeated, seemingly stunned by the turn of events. He signaled with his hand. “Would you kneel to your heir?”

  Ro stiffened as a babe squalled from the tent — his daughter. Della whirled in Jurel’s grip, pulling weakly at his hold. Jurel dragged her back with a vicious smile, and Della glared at him, a look that Ro wagered would see Jurel dead were she not so depleted from childbirth.

  “Will you kneel to your heir, Ro?” Jurel taunted.

  Della looked to the tent then back to Ro, swallowing hard and shaking her head. She trembled in Jurel’s grasp. Was she still begging him not to kneel? When it was their child Jurel threatened? Surely not. Della must be begging with Ro to save the babe. A niggling doubt ate at Ro. He wished he knew for sure.

  He closed his hand on Donic’s shoulder. “I must do this,” he whispered. “You must be my witness to this.”

  Donic made a sound of disgust. “I will gut him for this,” he promised.

  Novin nodded. “Save your son.”

  Ro didn’t bother to correct them. While Ro valued his daughter, his men would not hold her in as high regard as they would a son. It was to Ro’s advantage not to correct them.
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br />   He motioned them away. Donic and Novin stepped aside, and Ro stepped forward. He met Della’s eyes and nodded as he started to lower himself to one knee.

  “No,” Della screamed, lunging toward Jurel.

  Ro jerked back toward his feet, instantly on alert, then froze at the flash of metal as she struck. Della fell with Jurel into the line of his men, and Ro reached for his sword.

  A deafening explosion sounded around them and echoed off the surrounding hills. Ro fell back as something hit the armor covering his shoulder. He cried out in surprise as it ripped through the metal and sent slivers of pain through the meat of his upper arm. Ro pushed to his feet, as Novin and Donic charged into the mass of bodies.

  “Your son,” Donic screamed.

  Ro cut down the two guards in his path and sprinted for the tent, as his men poured from the trees with a thunder of hooves and battle cries. He faltered as Della cried out then laid on speed. Della had Novin and Donic to protect her. Their daughter was unprotected — and still crying.

  The guard at the tent flap backed off as Ro raised his sword. Then he turned and ran. Ro saw one of the mounted Magden soldiers veer off to cut the Lengar down.

  He pulled back the flap and faced a wide-eyed soldier holding a green silin bundle on his crooked arm. Ro watched the tiny fist waving at the man in relief. His daughter was alive and well, though the soldier held a blade to her chest.

  Ro put his free hand out, keeping his sword point lowered. “Give her to me, and I promise to let you live.”

  The soldier paled. “You know the child is female?” he gasped. “You would have knelt for a female?”

  “My daughter,” Ro reminded him, edging toward him.

  A small girl darted to the soldier. The man didn’t acknowledge her presence, even when she pulled on his leg.

  “Your child will be safe,” Ro assured him. “The lives of your family for mine.”

  He glanced at the girl in confusion. “What? This is not—”

  He got no further. The soldier cried out and kicked the child away, whipping the blade from the babe’s chest to knock the bit of metal from his leg.

  Ro struck, planting his sword at the thigh joint of his adversary’s armor and cradling his daughter away as the man fell back. A woman ran at them, and Ro turned to attack, but she darted off to snatch the girl from the floor. Ro stared at her, unsure of her purpose.

  “The priestess promised you would not harm us,” she whispered. “She vowed you would take us safely to Magden lands with you. Mother Deliya carries my blade in trust of that vow.”

  Ro nodded, lowering his sword. “Follow me with your child. You will be safe. You have my vow.”

  He turned and left the tent, crooning to the babe in his arms as he took in the destruction around him. The fighting was done. His men had made short work of Jurel and his followers. He took a moment to smile at his daughter: the shock of red hair and the dark eyes that regarded him curiously as her tiny fist beat at his armor. She yawned widely, and Ro laughed in delight. She was as beautiful as her mother was.

  Ro furrowed his brow. Where was Della? He strode toward the knot of his men, quickening his step as Novin shot him a pained look. Ro’s mind protested the obvious conclusion, even as he argued that Della must be seriously injured if she didn’t come to Ro and their daughter.

  His men parted for him, looking pale and nervous. Ro stilled at the sight of her, swallowing the scream of dismay rising behind his lips. He knelt to Della, moving his eyes from her blood-soaked robes to the tears on her face.

  Ro brushed at the tears, blinking back his own. “Fion’s Priestess does not weep before her enemies,” he reminded her, refusing to speak the last portion of the saying. Even as she dies.

  “My enemies are dead.” Della reached a shaking hand to the hole in Ro’s armor. “I could not let them—” She grimaced, her breath hitching. “Jurel thought the confusion of your death would allow him to win.”

  Donic nodded. “It was a lightweight projectile weapon. Her Majesty’s move jarred the shooter off target. Jurel had little time to contemplate his fate. Her aim was true.” He didn’t meet Ro’s eyes as he gave his report.

  Ro nodded, scooping Della’s hand to his lips. He grimaced at the bruises ringing her wrists. She had obviously spent a great deal of her time with Jurel bound. “You should not have sacrificed yourself,” he breathed.

  Della groaned. “Never by action or inaction,” she gasped. A priestess lays down her life for those she loves. I could not allow you to come to harm.” She moved her eyes to the bundle of sleeping child in his arms. “Our daughter looks like you,” she noted.

  “Daughter?” Donic demanded. “She lied.”

  “Quiet,” Ro ordered, though he kept his voice low to avoid startling their child again. “Della did not lie to me, despite the fact that Jurel wanted her to. She told me that my true heir was well. The true heir of one of Fion’s priestesses is her daughter. We performed Della’s ceremony when we married. Our daughter is my true heir.”

  Della’s eyes widened. “You are a Magden king,” she gasped.

  “And Magden law allows for a king to accede by virtue of marriage,” he soothed her. “We mated for life. I gave my vow to you.”

  “Your duty— If our child had been male and I was left,” she whispered frantically.

  Ro covered her lips with his fingertips, releasing her hand so it lay on his cheek. “Shhh.” He couldn’t listen to Della ask him to take another while she lay dying. Ro had no doubts that she would not have the heart to take another if he had left her, though he dared not call her a liar. “Name our daughter and promise to walk with me in the soul’s reward,” he requested.

  Della nodded. “I present your daughter, Riella, named for the first high priestess of my line, thirty generations ago.” She draped her silin-clad hand over Riella’s chest. “May you lead with Mag’s justice and Fion’s mercy. May you serve your people well, as has your father before you.”

  “And your mother,” Ro added, noting the ceremony to be passed down to the royal line of Magden in her honor.

  “I will wait for you at the gates to the soul’s reward,” she promised.

  “Then rest,” Ro whispered.

  Della shook her head. “Lera — is a woman healer.”

  “She has my protection,” Ro vowed.

  “She is a milk nurse.”

  Ro nodded. “You wish her to care for Riella?”

  “Yes. If you will not take another to have your son—” She moved her eyes to a spot behind Ro.

  He followed her eyes to the child holding Lera’s hand. Ro nodded his agreement. With no siblings, Riella would need a servant sister. “It will be done,” he vowed, turning back to her.

  Della touched their daughter’s face, smiling weakly. “I wanted to be there for her.”

  “You will be. I will teach her all I can. Riella will read the great book. She will know you through my eyes. You have my vow that she will.”

  She closed her eyes, her breathing shallowing as her lifeblood left her body.

  “Sleep, Della,” Ro soothed her. “Take your rest.” He held her hand long after her breathing stopped and Donic paid his regrets.

  Ro kissed her cheek and rose, looking to Riella. She was his greatest treasure now. He looked to Novin. “Build a pyre and allow Della the rest of her people,” he instructed in a broken voice.

  Novin waved several of their men away and followed them off.

  Donic stayed behind. He cleared his throat. “You did not mean what you said,” he ventured carefully. “You said those things to ease her out of this life.”

  “I meant every word, Donic. I gave my vow that Della would be my one true mate. Riella is my heir.”

  Donic nodded. “As you wish, Ro.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Abrin 12th, Ti 10-465

  Ro groaned, as the woman moved over him, her body soft and sweet. This was all he needed, the release a schente could offer him. It had taken h
im long enough to accept that much. Ro had remained celibate the entire two years he’d kept Riella in his room, afraid to let her out of his sight even that long, afraid that he might find that he was willing to attach meaning to the physical act of intercourse with anyone but Della. But, as a priestess who lost her true mate only took physical release in the act, taking a young buck to pleasure her without chance of children, so did Ro. There was nothing more for him without Della.

  Accepting schente again gave Donic hope that Ro would concede to more. Despite the general’s attempts to tempt Ro into another marriage, it would never be. Ro had given his vow in Della’s ceremony to be her mate alone and only marry again to the production of a true heir. Della had gifted him that — a true heir. Even Magden law allowed for a female heir when the king left no sons. Riella’s husband would rule with her.

  Even if Ro hadn’t made that vow, he couldn’t take another mate now. He’d bound himself to Della, given her his heart. No woman could capture what was not his to give.

  Ro took the schente fast and hard, as was his way when it wasn’t Della he took. He climaxed, waving the woman away as soon as he lessened. They were always willing to spend a few extra moments with him if it would give Ro ease, but having a schente in his bed gave him no comfort past the obvious release of tensions.

  The night was cool and dark, and Ro wrapped himself in a robe as he took air on his balcony. He stared into the gardens, planted with Della’s precious bags of seed — all but the gola berry. Ro woke from too many nightmares where Riella ate the innocent-look berries to allow those plants anywhere near the palace.

  It was his conscience. Ro knew it was. He had broken too many vows to Della in their short marriage. The Triclum was yet another. He told himself that he would have stood a chance against the Church council if Della lived to complete the woman healer’s training, but she did not, and Ro could not adequately champion her case. The woman healers had the knowledge of many things they had not before: ways to limit fertility, ways to save lives — and ways to end misbegotten pregnancies. They did not have the full training in the Mother’s way that would prevent them from using that knowledge in ways Fion’s priestesses never would.