by Faye Avalon
EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2018 Faye Avalon
ISBN: 978-1-77339-629-3
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: Melissa Hosack
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
For AJ, as always, and with special thanks to my lovely editor, Melissa Hosack.
CAELAN’S CAPTIVE
Limani Warriors, 1
Faye Avalon
Copyright © 2018
Chapter One
Lahna had no idea how long she’d drifted and she no longer cared. All she knew was that soon she would die.
But, dear Goddess of the Night, please let her die in freedom.
How many nights had she sailed? How many days? Enough that she’d given up hope of sighting land, and with it a place she would be safe and free.
She tried to raise her head, to see above the edge of the simple wooden craft she had stolen from the harbor, but the sun beat down with such ferocity it sent nausea barreling through her. Her throat was raw with thirst. Her flesh clammy and flaking from exposure.
As the wind picked up and tossed her against the side of the small boat, she again attempted to haul herself from the slatted wooden deck of the Kalisima. She prayed that whoever had been in charge of this boat would escape punishment, because she’d had no option but to take the vessel to make her escape.
She managed to lift her head a little more, and through the blur of her gritty eyes she saw a hazy outline on the horizon. Was her mind playing tricks? Allowing her to envision land where there was none? Or had she been turning in circles and fate was dragging her back to face her doom. Hefting herself upward another inch, she felt a gut-churning pressure bearing down on her head … and the sky went black.
****
Caelan wanted rid of the fawning group around him. He had no time for politics, even less time for day-to-day trivialities. He knew it went with the territory, as it had for his father before him, and while he accepted and respected the responsibilities that came with his role as ruling Prince of Limani, he could not profess to like them. Right then, he was keen to wrap up the minutiae of the morning and get back to formulating plans to rally the leaders of the neighboring islands to once more fight for independence from Zomotian rule. This, Caelan considered, was the real business of his office. He had sensed the disquiet among his people, and knew that time was fast approaching when he would have to act.
Secretly, he was reluctant for more bloodshed. His armies had already fought too many battles. But there was no other way.
He scrubbed a hand over his head, as if to scour away the beginnings of an ache that pulsed there. Dullard meetings with his court, made up mostly of the island’s elders who wished to maintain the status quo, always took a toll on his nerves. Truth be known, he would prefer the ravages of battle to the numbing idiocies of court matters.
Caelan could not stomach the trivial bickering and point seeking.
With a wave of his hand, his court disappeared to go about the business of the day.
“My lord, if I may speak with you privately.” Kassaro, his closest friend and most trusted advisor, bowed respectfully as he strode through the meandering group making their way to the exit.
“Make it quick,” Caelan growled, fast losing his patience. “And close the door.”
Alone with Kassaro, Caelan relaxed for the first time that morning. He sank back into the chair that was his emblem of office. “The gods preserve me, Kass. This life will steal my soul.”
Kassaro sat on the wooden plinth beside his friend, who for the past six months had been his Lord Prince. Caelan was the island’s most revered warrior and only son of Limani’s once great leader who, in his final moments, had succumbed to an evil which forced him to sign over the Principality of Limani, his strategically placed island nation, to the vast kingdom of Zomotia.
In the short months since he had returned from his battles to find his father dead and his birthright now in the hands of the greedy ruler of Zomotia, Caelan had vowed to free his people, and those of the smaller neighboring islands, from the tyrant king’s rule. But only when the time was right and the stars auspicious. Which required patience. A trait with which Caelan had not been endowed.
Kassaro, aware of his friend’s dilemma, shifted beside him. “We need to move fast, my lord. The men are aching to go into battle. In the absence of which, they need an outlet.”
“We are not yet ready,” was Caelan’s curt reply. “If the men need an outlet they can visit the Doe Park.”
Kassaro cleared his throat, a wry smile softening his hard mouth. “That’s one of the problems, my lord. The Park is diminishing rapidly. Many of the women there were tempted by the promise of riches and coerced into joining the king’s harem. The men are thus unable to relieve their frustrations for battle in the arms of a warm and willing female. The simple fact is we need more women, or we must stop this waiting and go into battle.”
Caelan turned to glare at Kassaro. Wooing women away from Limani was just another of the king’s ploys to keep the island on its back foot. Without the availability of adequate sexual relief for Caelan’s men, the king no doubt believed he would eventually be able to coerce Caelan’s own warriors into his vast army where women were readily available.
Caelan had never before had cause to question the loyalty, or friendship, of his warriors, but then his homeland had never before been under such threat.
Considering, he stroked his jaw.
“My lord, it’s becoming serious.”
Caelan slapped his palms on the slatted arms of his chair and stood. He had little time for this and much less inclination. What was wrong with his men? Why couldn’t they slake their sexual hunger in the same way Limani’s men had done for centuries? The Doe Park, high on the northern hill of Limani, housed whores and willing serving wenches. Now, if there were too few women, his warriors would have to learn to share those who were available.
He himself had done so countless times. He and Kassaro, or one or another of his fellow warriors, had often shared a woman, despite that the women available to serve the sexual needs of the royal household were once far more plentiful than those available to the common man.
Caelan ran a hand through his hair. Gods. It had been so long since he last slipped between a woman’s warm thighs, shared or otherwise, that he marveled he could still remember how to use his cock. He’d consoled himself with the fact that conservation of his sexual energies was a good thing, channeling them into something more meaningful with which to help his people. It was more useful to seek freedom and independence for his land than to crawl between a woman’s legs. He had a duty, a responsibility to his people, to the island, to his ancestors. This land belonged to every Limanish citizen, not to some greedy and debauched king who took a life as easily as other men took a woman.
He sighed heavily. These last few nights he’d been restless, unsettled. Perhaps it was time to end his self-imposed celibacy and give his sexual appetite full rein. Maybe that would put an end to his restive spirit. A man’s masculinity needed an outlet, just as Kassaro had warned. In the absence of a sword, a man could take refuge in the warm folds of a woman.
> His warriors grew impatient. They wanted to act, to rally the outlying islands in battle against the king. But Caelan knew the time was not yet right.
“Call an assembly of the council,” Caelan decided, stripping his black cape from his shoulders, and lamenting the need for yet another meeting. “We will debate this lack of female availability for the warriors.”
“Many members of the council are equally mournful of the situation,” Kassaro warned. “It was women from the higher orders who were taken in marriage by the king’s courtiers. The men need heirs, sons who will bear their name and continue the bloodlines.”
“Then we’ll send boats out to the islands. Get more women.”
Kassaro hesitated, obviously aware that Caelan’s meager patience hung by a thread. “The islands find themselves in the same position we are, my master. But if it pleases you…” He bowed low. “I will make arrangements to—”
“For the sake of all that is holy, Kassaro. Will you cease with the genuflections? You make my head spin with all your bowing and scraping.” He drew in a long, heavy breath. “And one more Master or My Lord and I swear I’ll take a sword to your tongue.”
Kassaro gave a respectful nod and wisely remained silent, but his lips twitched.
The two men stared at each other for long moments, until the tension was broken when they both huffed out a laugh.
“It seems the blink of an eye since we were off drinking and wench-ing with not a care in the world, does it not?” Caelan let loose another heavy sigh. He seemed to indulge in them all too frequently of late. “What happened to those days, my friend?”
“Alas, Caelan, we grew to become men.” Kassaro hesitated, as if unsure and uncomfortable about addressing his leader by his given name, as he had done for many years until Caelan had become ruler of the Principality following his father’s demise. “Now, loftier matters fill our heads.”
Caelan gave him a sideways glance. “It doesn’t stop your visits to the Park, I notice. You obviously manage to find an outlet amongst the pitifully waning offerings.”
“A man has his needs, and thank the gods I have the benefits of the royal tent available to me.” Kassaro returned Caelan’s grin, but then grew serious. “Perhaps you would care to visit with me tonight. Tavi asks of you often and enquires when you will next join us in her bed.”
Caelan shook his head, clearing his mind of the raven-haired beauty whose delights he had sampled on many an occasion during his reign as heir apparent. “My mind now fills with those loftier matters.”
“It is not your mind I intend for you to fill.”
Kassaro’s comment had the desired effect and Caelan threw his head back and laughed, causing the black hair that fell loose across his shoulders to arrow down his back.
He went to the nearby table and poured two cups of ale. “Perhaps you are right and I need a woman.” He offered Kassaro one of the cups. “Then, if the Gods permit, I shall think clearer, my vision will be sharper.”
The two men touched cups in salute. “Shall we meet at sunset?” Kassaro asked. “At the crossroads?”
Caelan swallowed a taste of the potent brew, then shook his head. “Not tonight. I am to resume my meeting with the elders. They no doubt wish to give me further grief about the wisdom of joining the islands against the king.”
“Old fools. Do they not expect a return to the old ways? Our men forced into battles simply to assuage the desires of a greedy monarch? While our women are forced to feed their children on the barest of rations because the best harvest has been shipped to the mainland?”
“The elders might argue that the alternative would require that our men be forced into battle to assuage my own greedy desires.”
With a vengeful huff, Kassaro strode to the table and placed down his cup. “Your desire is to unite the islands again, to stand together against tyranny and oppression, as our forefathers did, and stand up for what worked for hundreds of years, before your…”
As Kassaro trailed off and visibly paled, Caelan walked to him and put his hand on his shoulder. “Say it, my friend, it is nothing I have not grieved upon these past months.”
“Your father was a sick man,” Kassaro appeased. “The fever took hold of him before he could stop what trickery had been started. If there is any blame to be marked, it should be on the shoulders of the elders who did nothing to stop it.”
“They had little power. Ultimately, it was my father’s hand that gave Zomotia rule over the islands. My only goal now is to make right that wrong.”
With a bow Kassaro left, and Caelan moved to the window opening where he looked out across the cliffs to the sea. In the months since his father’s death, he had struggled to find ways to unite the island chiefs and make them want to fight to get their islands returned to Limani rule. Under Limani protection, they had enjoyed an unprecedented autonomy and self-sufficiency that had sufficed them for over a hundred years, since they first fought for independence from the mainland.
Under the rule of Zomotia, they endured high taxes, the best of their crops acquired by the mainland, their daughters married off to old men of the king’s court and forever lost to them, their sons acquired to swell the king’s army.
Caelan’s only consolation was that Limani had up until now escaped these endurances, except for the high taxes. Kassaro had told him that he believed that was due to the king’s wish to appease Caelan, whose fearless army, while unable to match the might of the king’s, was made up of the fiercest and bravest of warriors. Kassaro also said that he believed the king was not stupid and had obviously considered that by keeping Limani and its ruler largely appeased, Caelan would not find reason to move to unite the islands once more and lead them into battle for freedom from Zomotian rule.
Restless, Caelan left the dining hall and headed out of the castle toward the cliffs. At the edge, he planted his feet, placed his hands on his hips, and raised his face to the sky. He took a deep, calming breath, his wide chest expanding beneath the sleeveless black tunic he wore.
The elders were hell bent against war. Perhaps he could understand it from their point of view, seeing as their own lives had changed little under Zomotian rule. Yet they did not seem to care that their fellow islanders had begun to suffer. Before long, Caelan feared that the king’s desires would take a pernicious hold on his people. If he, Caelan, did nothing, then the king would perceive that as weakness, or appeasement, and a man as ruthless and voracious as he would no longer be able to resist pushing Limani to the brink of ruin.
It was unthinkable.
Caelan took another breath, closing his eyes. The day was sultry and the air he sucked into his lungs felt cloying, claustrophobic. He missed his father’s counsel, and once again, regret hit him hard that he had been away from the island when his father’s life force left his earthly body and took flight for the afterlife.
Caelan cleared his mind, trying to connect to his father’s energy and to that of the Gods. What do I do? he asked silently into the ether. Do I lead my people into battle once more, or do I concede to the elders? Show me the way of wisdom, the way that leads to ultimate peace and stability.
He stood there at the edge of the cliff, eyes closed, mind empty, his only companions the gentle breeze that stirred the air and the sounds of the ocean.
He swayed, drifted, his feet firmly planted as his body lightened.
The wisdom you seek is at hand, my son.
Caelan resisted the urge to snap his brain into gear as the words drifted across his consciousness and his father’s voice echoed through his soul. It was the first time he had connected to his father since the man’s death, and Caelan felt his heart soar.
Act from a pure heart, your actions those of a leader content only to serve our people. Your path will become clear and will be aided in ways you cannot yet anticipate. But take care, my son. All is not as it will seem...
The last of his father’s words melted away and for long moments Caelan stood there, waiting, hoping. Yet he
knew the contact with his father had ceased. He opened his eyes and pondered the words of counsel.
Moments later, Caelan nodded and drew in a breath. His path had become clear. His father’s advice to serve his people meant he could not see them suffer. He would take his people into war against Zomotia. He would rally the other islands and they would join against the king. He would keep his father’s counsel uppermost in his thoughts and remain mindful that all was not as it would seem. If he were to be aided in ways he could not yet anticipate, he would take rest this night and allow the Gods of the universe to speak with him in dreams. Were they willing, he would be shown the way.
He stepped away from the cliff, his mind lucid for the first time since his father’s death. He would be shown the way and he would trust his instincts. Never had they let him down before—not in peace and not in battle. He would trust them now.
With one last glance out at the ocean, he turned to walk away, but something drew him back. He peered out beyond the rocks, beyond the reef, and saw what had caught his attention. It glinted in the sun, and bobbed against the swell of the reef.
He strode toward an opening in the cliff where the terrain became rocky, and picked his way down to get a better view. But the object seemed to have disappeared.
Driftwood, Caelan thought as he hunkered down and continued to watch. Yet what had alerted his eye, strummed a feeling in his gut, about a piece of driftwood?
The object appeared once again, bobbing dangerously close to the reef. Narrowing his eyes, Caelan strained to see. Sunlight caught the side of the object, clearly indicating that what he watched was a small boat.
He knew it was not one of the island’s fishermen. Every inhabitant knew the treachery of the reef and never ventured near it.
