FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy

by Mercedes Lackey

LATER THAT NIGHT, SHANTI FOUND herself sitting cross legged under a large Elm tree, balanced and relaxed, making peace with the undercurrent of power alive in her body. Cayan sat across from her, also cross-legged, dressed in loose sweats. It was slightly disconcerting having such a large man, mostly a stranger, so close without weapons handy, especially after the last year of being alone and hunted, but she was determined to attempt this. She needed to see where her future lay, and he was pivotal in that. Plus, there was no embarrassing personal mess outdoors, and there was much more room to scuffle or run away, so this was probably a better situation.

  Cayan sat peacefully, focused on Shanti, his hands on his thighs. He’d slept in her bed all afternoon while she’d slept in a copse of trees, cursing him. Finally, when he left, she headed back and stared in disbelief at the disturbed sheets. He’d crawled inside. He’d also moved her strip of purple undergarment to the table with the candle supplies. It was crossing the line, but she was too embarrassed to complain to Lucius about it and ask about retaliation protocol. Instead, she’d stripped the sheets so as to have Molly wash them of his smell, which was some sort of mannish musk. It wasn’t unpleasant but…still.

  He’d met her in the trees at dark, as she’d asked. She hadn’t told him where she was, knowing he’d find her regardless. And he had.

  “You need to ground yourself,” she started, not sure where to look but not wanting to meet his eyes. “Feel the trees around you. Feel the ground under you. Feel the air, notice if it moves, notice how it interacts with the leaves. Center yourself in the world around you. Try to clear your mind.”

  A quick glance revealed that he was looking at her.

  “It helps if you close your eyes when you’re learning…”

  He held her gaze for a moment before closing his eyes.

  “Let me know when you feel balanced. When you let go of all your worries, and all the things you have to do, and whatever else that goes on in your head.”

  She could just make out a dimple deepening in the moonlight. It meant he was smiling. Or smirking. Probably thinking she sounded ridiculous. Which she kind of did. She was used to working with kids.

  “Ready,” he said quietly in his deep gravel.

  “Now you need to open your mind like a flower.”

  She watched him, noting a crease between his eyebrows as he looked inward. She took this opportunity to assess him without interruption. His masculine face looked like it was chiseled from stone, then sanded by a great artist. His bone structure was defined and symmetrical, with dark bushy brows that gave his eye sockets a striking depth. When he wasn’t busy being so serious and in control, he had a pleasant vibe about him—a charisma that exuded a sort of animalistic primal quality. He was one well-made, handsome bastard. And judging by all the women batting their eyes at him, he was in demand. Some men just had it all.

  Too rich for her blood, though—as Xavier said about the baker’s daughter, much too high-maintenance. Chocolate was delicious, but when it was too rich, it rotted the teeth.

  “I feel your laughter,” Cayan murmured, his eyebrow crease more pronounced. “Is it me?”

  “I didn’t turn my humor into a physical reaction, so you felt my funny.”

  “Mirth.”

  “Okay, linguist, you felt my mirth. And yes it was you, but no, not your practice. Anyway, what do you feel?”

  “What do you mean it was me but not my practice?” he pushed.

  “I was laughing at your personal life, rather than this specific moment.”

  “What about my personal life?”

  “You are being sidetracked. Return to your practice. Focus.” She waited a beat, then said, “What do you feel?”

  “Can’t you touch me and find out?”

  “Normally I would be in constant contact, yes. But I can’t control the amount of power in me right now, and don’t want your half to excite it.”

  “It, or you?”

  “Same th—“ His dimples dug deeply into his cheeks. He was playing with her again.

  “Give me your hand and we’ll try,” Shanti said warily.

  The humor wiped from his face like dew from a window. His hand, palm upward, reached out from his body. She softly slid her hand along his, marveling at the size difference between them. An electric tingle vibrated her skin and flashed up her arm, but no surge. No whirlwind. No ground dropping away…

  Their sighs chorused.

  “For one,” she said, “your mind is closed up. Which is actually helpful at the moment. For two, I’m glad to see your hands are not soft.”

  She felt confusion softly drift around her awareness. His hand involuntarily squeezed.

  “Sterling’s hand is weirdly soft,” she replied to his unasked question.

  “He uses a lot of lotion. His woman doesn’t like rough hands.”

  “Then she is with the wrong man.”

  “I think he likes that she is delicate.”

  Shanti rubbed her palm around the rough skin of Cayan’s, his callouses screaming out his prowess with weapons. Screaming out safety and protection. “Ah. I’m sure he does with his history—don’t freak out, he told me. It isn’t gossip. I informed him that I killed five of those women. I have an idea what he’s been through. Unlucky.”

  “I remember when he was returned. He is a few years older than me—he was in a higher level of training—but I was home when he was brought to my father. It wasn’t pretty.”

  “Neither was the way I killed the clan I found.”

  “He won’t admit it, but I’m sure he’s grateful.”

  “Let’s get back to it. If we don’t figure you out, then he and many others might end up being subjected to worse.”

  “Many women have tried to figure me out. Haven’t been able to.”

  “I liked you better when you were always serious,” Shanti mumbled.

  “I liked you better when you were naked.”

  “Most men do. Now focus.”

  She scootched a little closer and took his other hand. “You are holding everything so deeply within you. It probably feels like a weight, or a heavy ball, right behind your rib cage. Imagine it…dissolving, bubbling upwards and spreading out, like tentacles…”

  She felt the blockage within curl tighter.

  “Are you afraid of losing control?” she asked quietly.

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t be. Hopefully we’ve already hit the ceiling, and we both survived. I think we’ll be okay. I’m more comfortable now; I can be your safety net.”

  He took a deep breath. “Since my dad died, I’m not used to relying on anyone.”

  “I care about that, and later I would love to talk about it in length, but right now I am not interested in excuses. Let go of your hold.”

  He started chuckling. “Is that your default sensitive response?”

  “Not usually, but we don’t have the time. Usually I…” Shanti shook her head, shedding her distraction. “Focus.”

  “You’re tough,” he muttered with a smile, his mind going inward.

  “You do this naturally. How do you normally access your power?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. I think about things I want to know, then I just kind of…know them.”

  Shanti blew out a breath. “I suddenly know why trainers hate starting with talent late. Erasing bad habits… Okay, take off your shirt.”

  Cayan’s eyes snapped open. He stared at her for one long beat before doing as instructed.

  “Okay.” She crawled to his side and kneeled, positioning one hand in the center of his warm back, and one nestled between his pecs. She couldn’t stop a flitted grin, fighting her desire to let that hand roam around his well-built chest. The man was a perfectly defined powerhouse. She hadn’t seen anyone this well-proportioned in useful muscle…ever, maybe. The men from her land were thinner, lithe. He was…not.

  Shanti tried to clear her mind, somewhat distracted by the tingling in both her palms. The warm spicy feeling in her
body grew, the effect of extended contact. “You need to stop focusing on that lump of power. Return to balancing yourself. Listen to the night. Feel the trees. Let your head get light. Let me know when you are in that headspace.”

  After about a minute he nodded. The tingle spread up her arms and into her chest. Heat kindled somewhere deep, whether from the power merging, or something else. Half of her mind was focusing on the task at hand. The other half scanned the cords of muscular armor for weaknesses. She would eventually fight him again, and hopefully, with a little scrutiny, she could find some weak points. It might be cheating, but she was smaller—it was allowed.

  “Don’t focus on my hands,” she murmured, scanning his body. She couldn’t help it—it was chocolate for the eyes. “Think of the trees. Hear them move in the wind. Hear the small animals flit from branch to branch. Hear the whine of the insects around you. Stay balanced…”

  She drew her hands up his chest and back slowly and lightly, trailing her fingertips across his smooth skin. She spread out her fingers and brushed his skin, hoping he was loose enough that the power would flow. His mind relaxed further as her hands went wide, moving in large circles, working with her mind to release his unconscious hold. They should have done this before now. She shouldn’t have let him lose control before he’d ever tried to gain it in the first place. His personality didn’t respect failure, and now he would try that much harder for control. It made her job so much harder.

  An hour in and energy crackled between them, but nothing more. No progression. His body was brimming with power, his hold thankfully dissolved, but his control not engaged. He was letting her solidly lead, which would have been great if she was dealing with a five-year-old and a tenth of the power he possessed.

  “I want you to envision that flower.” She worked her hands higher up his chest, feeling his power unconsciously following, and his mind focusing on the night and her touch. “A tulip. It is a bulb, planted in your sternum. In the spring it crawls up through the dirt, which is what you are feeling now. The tulip is flowering right behind your eyes. What color is the stem?”

  “Bright, healthy green,” he whispered.

  “What color is the closed bud?”

  “Deep red.”

  “What color is the pollen on the inside?”

  His power blossomed outward, shooting out in all directions. She kept her hands on his body so he had a point of solidity—she didn’t need him grabbing her mind like a safety raft.

  “Keep balanced,” she cautioned quietly. “You have found the extra sense you spoke of. It is fragile, though. A life of its own. Don’t try at it too hard or it will collapse. Have confidence it is there, and it will not fail you. Now let it go, and we’ll try that again.”

  Cayan took a huge breath and opened his eyes. His power shriveled down into himself.

  “Well, it seems you are really good at pushing it back down,” Shanti surmised.

  “I’ve worked on it all day. I didn’t want a repeat of last night.”

  “In my bed…” she muttered sulkily.

  “It smelled good. Like fresh, clean woman.” He didn’t sound repentant.

  “Yeah, well, you should put in a request to have your women bathe more often. Focus.”

  They went through the exercise three more times, Cayan able to easily cast his power outwards by the end. Unfortunately, soon after, he pulled it all back in tightly again, not letting it expand. He had a lot of work to do.

  “Okay, I think that’s it for tonight.” Shanti sighed deeply, curling her legs back under her and getting ready to find her peace.

  “Then what are you doing?”

  “I want to let my mind wander, soak up the life around me. I can’t do that when I am focused on you.”

  “Can I… Is there a way…”

  “Hitch a ride? Possibly, but chances are you will retreat when I start to spread out. Which is normal. Sit next to me.”

  He changed positions, closed his eyes, and reached out his hand. She grabbed it, then startled when his fingers threaded with hers. Electricity worked its way up her arm and into her middle, quickening her heart. Making her breath speed up. Melting the ice of her past and letting the memories trickle out.

  “That is more of an intimate hand hold,” she uttered in choked voice. “Usually it is resting hands together, like your handshake, rather than entwining them.”

  “I need more contact than palms.” His voice wasn’t shaking, per se, but he was nervous. It was as if the man hadn’t done it a million times on his own before she’d come. He just needed to get out of his own way.

  Resigned, fighting the memories, Shanti said, “Open up your mind. After you do, I will connect with you and lead. You can just close your eyes and go for the ride. If you get…nervous, just let go of my hand. You can leave, then. I will continue on.”

  He nodded. She waited for him to open up his power, needing only a couple prompts, then she connected gently, trying not to be distracted his hand squeezing hers. She expanded her mind with a heavy heart, unable to keep from thinking of her lost love. Thinking of the many times she had intertwined fingers with him. The warmth of his hands. The beauty of his face. Those deep brown, earth-colored eyes.

  Her mind skipped, calling up her mother’s smiling face. So proud of Shanti for opening up at such a young age. Nearly four. It had been a record. They’d worked together all afternoon in the soft sunshine, her mother holding both her hands and encouraging with jokes and laughter. Keeping it light. Fun.

  Then to her father—she barely remembered the scratchy feel of his chin. His large hand taking hers. The sun shining in his green eyes. She’d inherited those eyes, before the power had singed the color away. She was the spitting image of her mother, except for the eyes. And now all she had was her father’s ring.

  As if thunderclouds had rolled through, sullen grey shadowed those happy times. The picture faded, and then bleached. Death showed up, ripping it all away.

  Grief blurring the edges, Shanti pushed out past the city limits and out past the sentries. There was no effort to go this far anymore. She was well within her comfort zone, so she went farther still, seeing how far she could travel without strain. When she reached that limit, she drew back in and got more specific. She checked on the minds of the sentries, making sure each was alive and awake. One wasn’t. She gave him a prod.

  She found her Honor Guard, knowing their brain signatures. They were sleeping, except for Leilius, who was sneaking around the city trying to catch cats. It was a punishment he was actually enjoying. He hadn’t caught one yet, but he was hopeful. She found Sterling and immediately bounded away—he was in an intimate moment. Hopefully Cayan would notice that that was a breach of privacy. She found Lucius next, who was worried. He probably wondered what kept her and Cayan. She hadn’t told him where they were going.

  She pulled everything back in slowly so Cayan would have time to adjust, then gently disengaged. When she opened her moist eyes he was looking at her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t realize.”

  “Oh, Lucius will get over it. I often disappear without telling him.”

  “No, about holding hands. I didn’t realize…what it meant to you. Memories it must have called up.”

  That was the bad news about sharing a more in-depth mind space while touching. It was harder to keep things to yourself. She brushed it off. “It’s to be expected.”

  His large hand squeezed hers gently. His soft gaze held hers. The spicy feeling made her heart race.

  “Okay, then. Practice, practice. Good luck.” Shanti jumped up, ripping her hand away from his. She didn’t know what had made her so uncomfortable, but she wasn’t in the mood to find out. Without a backward glance, she was trotting home, eager for her bed. And her fresh sheets.

  Chapter XXXIII

  SANDERS LAY IN A PUDDLE of himself. They had come to question him again, asking the same ones as the day before. It meant they weren’t getting answers, which
meant the other men they’d captured weren’t talking. It was a blessing. He had taken experienced men, but not the top tier, in case the city was attacked again. This crew hadn’t seen the foreign woman fight or heard about her mental abilities, and for the first time, he was thankful for the Captain’s foresight in keeping that information among only those who had seen it. That was just one juicy piece of info on their city, though. There were plenty others.

  It was quiet as he lay. He could hear his own rasping breath, raking his burnt lungs. They’d brought in another torturer. Now they had four. He could hear the men screaming down the hall as the day wore on. Or night—he had no concept of time; how long it had been since he was brought in or how long the painful sessions lasted. He did know that each black-suited man didn’t last as long as he used to. They only had one or two good punches before their energy gave out. It was a good sign. Or a terrible one—he would rather they just kill him already.

  He counted four different screams. He had counted eight dead before they took him. That left two. It was a slim hope that they had survived to get help. And if they didn’t, it would be too long before the Captain sent someone to look.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Sanders nearly growled. What a dumb fucking question. He had no strength to lift his head, let alone get up to his chair, and they asked how he was doing.

  “I was hoping you would come by. I was beginning to miss our chats,” Sanders ground out.

  “I came to inform you that we’ve gotten some information off of one your men. It won’t be long now before we piece it all together.”

  “Well whoop-dee-do for you.”

  “I also regret to inform you that we have accidently killed one of your men. Casualties are an unfortunate practice in this sort of thing.”

  Sanders showed his teeth in a silent laugh. “Don’t have perfect use of the language, huh?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Look, we aren’t friends. I am enjoying a little R&R. Go away.”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll see you again in another sun’s turn.”

  “I’ll try to fit it into my busy schedule.”