Dragonlands, Books 1 - 3: Hidden, Hunted, and Retribution

by Megg Jensen

  Chapter Nine

  A cool breeze meandered over Tressa's face. Goose bumps radiated from her forehead to her toes. Tressa’s eyes fluttered open. A large fan made of white feathers pumped up and down over her head, suspended from the ceiling by a series of ropes and pulleys.

  Two women stood on either side of her. They held beige sponges, soaked in cold water, and they used them to clean Tressa’s body of the sand. She looked down, surprised to see herself completely naked on the pallet.

  “Where are my clothes?” She tried to sit up, but one of the women placed a firm hand on her shoulder, holding her down.

  “All is well. Relax. Allow us to serve the promised of the First Guard of the Yellow Queen of Risos.”

  Promised? Her heart raced.

  “Where’s Jarrett?” Tressa asked.

  “Your master awaits you. Until you have been cleansed, you are not to see him. A man such as the First cannot be burdened with a grimy bride to be. If you are not clean, he may throw you naked into the desert, allowing your flesh to be eaten away by the sand.” The woman smiled, her toothy grin belying the harsh words she’d spoken.

  Tressa lay still, wishing they’d work faster. If Jarrett was prancing around the oasis telling people she was his promised, then they needed to have words.

  After what felt like days, Tressa was given a gown of pale gossamer. She suspected her own clothes had been thrown away or repurposed as liner in a stable. Even the attendants who’d bathed her wore gowns finer than anything Tressa had ever laid eyes on.

  They offered to assist her in slipping the gown on, but Tressa insisted dressing herself. The two women exchanged a knowing glance and left her alone. The fan above continued to move up and down. As soon as she was dressed, Tressa intended to find out how the fan moved on its own.

  The gown slid over her body, accentuating every curve, every muscle she’d developed over the last few months. The fine fabric draped as if it were made for her body, falling delicately to her toes. It was then she realized her hair cascaded in waves down her back.

  She’d cut her hair not long ago, keeping it short while she pretended to be a man of the Black Guard. Now her hair was longer than ever before. Tressa nestled her fingers into the crown of her hair, raking through the strands. At the base of her neck, she felt something strange. A small knot. No, a large grouping of knots.

  So they’d found a way to add length to her hair. Tressa felt a sigh of relief. For a moment she’d feared she’d passed out and been unconscious for months. She laughed at her foolishness. This must all be part of making her beautiful for Jarrett.

  As his promised—she couldn’t help but snort when she thought the word—she would need to be beautiful. Well, if beauty bought safety and help for the missing people of Hutton’s Bridge, she wouldn’t fight it.

  After slipping on a pair of sandals, Tressa walked back over to the fan. She eyed the pulley, following the rope to a hole in the top of the tent, where it disappeared to the outside. She parted the heavy silks and peered into another small tent attached to her own. A man sat on a wooden seat, his feet pedaling slowly, pulling the ropes back and forth in rhythm with the fan. She marveled at the invention. It was so simple in its construction, yet so ingenious. Yet she felt a stab of shame. This man’s only job was to pedal endlessly just so she could have a light breeze in the tent.

  “You can stop,” she whispered to him. “I’m okay.”

  He startled, his eyes snapping wide. He mumbled a series of words incoherent to her foreign ears, his hands flailing in the air. He pedaled faster, his cheeks puffed out with exertion. Tressa let the silks fall and she retreated into the tent.

  Jarrett had told her he worked for the queen, but she never expected this level of importance.

  The silks parted, and the two women entered again. “He is waiting for you. Please, follow us.”

  Tressa did as they asked, curious what else lay beyond the tent. She stepped into the cool night air. Without the harsh sun beating down and the shrieking wind reduced to a light breeze, the Sands seemed like a whole new world to Tressa.

  Stars twinkled in an unending black sky, lighting up the desert with a thousand cosmic lanterns. A spicy aroma wafted past Tressa’s nose, enticing her senses. Everything was so different. So beautiful. Perhaps the Sands weren’t as terrible as she’d thought.

  Palm trees dotted the oasis, bringing life to the otherwise barren landscape. Jarrett had attempted to explain them to Tressa on their trek, but until she saw the exotic trees she hadn’t realized how different they were from the tall maples and oaks of her home.

  The women led her to another tent, this one four times as large as the one she’d left. Gold roping trimmed the blood red silks printed with the design of a camel. At least Tressa assumed it was a camel — another of the strange animals Jarrett had tried to explain to her. Creatures similar to a horse, but with humps on their backs. She hadn’t spied one yet, but he’d promised they’d ride on camels to Risos.

  Bowing, the two women parted the silks and gestured for Tressa to enter.

  She stepped in, her eyes struggling to adjust from starlight to candlelight. The sharp spicy scent was even stronger, giving her a heady feeling.

  “Jarrett?” she asked tentatively, suddenly nervous. Yes, she had definitely fallen asleep on the horse and woken in a land from Granna's tales. Fingers caressed her bare shoulder, startling her, followed by a familiar laugh.

  “What do you think of Camel’s Back? I know it’s not much of an improvement over the desert, but it’ll do for a quick rest before we head to the crown city.” Jarrett stepped into view, his broad shoulders illuminated by the flicker of the flames. “Come, sit down. We’ll talk a bit before retiring for the night.”

  She followed him to an assortment of brightly colored silken pillows, intricately stitched with tiny repeating patterns. She ran a fingertip over the designs, enthralled by such small, indulgent work. In Hutton’s Bridge, every stitch served a purpose. “It’s beautiful,” she said, unable to suppress a smile. Despite all the tragedy and her desperate need to find her people, Tressa found herself relaxing.

  Jarrett handed her a plate filled with exotic food. She watched as he chose a yellow square and tossed it in his mouth. “How I’ve missed the fruit of the Sands. Try some.”

  Tressa lifted one from her plate and touched it to her lips, surprised by the mixture of sweet and tart. She took a bite. Juice washed through her mouth, sending her taste buds into shudders of ecstasy. “I’ve never tasted anything so amazing in my life.” She quickly put another piece in her mouth, then another. Her eyes rolled back, her lashes hitting her cheeks. She sank into the delicate fabric of the pillows and ate until she couldn’t stomach another bite.

  “Wine?” Jarrett asked, holding up a purple glass carafe with swirling braids of silver on the edge. “It’s one of my favorites. I think you’ll like it.”

  Tressa held out her hand, taking a full glass from him. She’d never felt so decadent in her life. She wondered if she was still passed out on the horse, hallucinating.

  The wine washed down her throat, a delicate combination of berries and spices. Tressa didn’t know their names, but she wanted to learn.

  “We have some things to discuss before retiring for the night,” Jarrett said, setting his plate down on the floor.

  “Yes,” Tressa said, sad to break the spell. “First I need to know why those women believe I am your promised. Was that necessary?”

  Jarrett’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, but it was. Without that label, it’s likely you wouldn’t make it to Risos alive. The queen can be very jealous.”

  “Jealous?” Tressa’s interest was piqued. The queen had sent Jarrett with her youngest son, Henry, to take over the throne of the Blue. But Henry’s youthful arrogance had cost him his life. Jealousy wasn’t the feeling Tressa would have guessed the boy’s mother would feel upon Jarrett's return.

  “Yes. I am the First Guard to the Yellow Queen of Risos. I am
her lover as well as her guard. If I didn’t give you an official place beside me, she would kill you. Even now, I’m not sure your head is safe, but rumor will spread from oasis to oasis. By the time we arrive at Risos, everyone will know you exist. It will be harder to kill you.”

  “Ah,” Tressa said, taking in the information. “Why not just make me your wife?”

  Jarrett laughed, but Tressa didn’t understand why it was so funny.

  “Wouldn’t I be better protected as your wife?” she asked, irritated.

  “We have no proof of marriage. No witnesses.” Jarrett shrugged and sank into the pillows.

  Tressa raised her chin, vowing to be strong. “Then I’ll pretend to be your promised, but only as long as it serves my needs.”

  The smile disappeared from Jarrett’s face. His dark eyes looked sad. “Don’t be over-confident, Tressa. You’re entering a very dangerous place.”

  “Then why did you bring me here? Are you sure she’ll help us?” Nerves fluttered around her stomach.

  “Once I realized what happened to your village and I saw the red dragons searching it, we had no other option. The only help I can ask for lies here. We just need to hope it will be given.” Jarrett stood and extinguished a candle. Then another.

  “Aren’t you going to wait until I head back to my tent before doing away with all of the lights?”

  “Tressa, you are my promised. You must sleep here to keep up the charade,” his voice softly reminded her.

  Chapter Ten

  A low growl pulled Bastian out of an erotic dream. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, his body aching with the lust his dreams had brought.

  Connor still slept. Elinor lay next to him. Her little pink lips set in a snarl, her eyes scrunched shut and her delicate hands in fists. Another growl rolled out of her nostrils. Bastian smothered a laugh behind his hand.

  So it was the healer. In her dreams she must be just as fierce as she imagined herself in real life. Bastian found it funny that a girl so small could be so confident. Woman, he reminded himself. She’d said she was eighteen. Not a girl, then. A woman in the dream he’d just had about her.

  Bastian stood, careful not to nudge either of the sleepers. He squatted a few times, stretching his legs. Running his hands over his chest, he marveled again how fully his wounds had healed.

  Elinor had risked a month of magical healing to help him. Maybe she’d seen him as a challenge, as badly hurt as he was. She'd said it was her first time. He was glad it worked properly and all of his parts were in the right place.

  He checked on Connor and Elinor once more. Still asleep. He stepped out of the cave and into the forest. The sun barely glimmered through the thick tree canopy. He walked to the bank of the Snake River. The water meandered in a serpentine motion, bouncing off the rocks and trees that littered the riverbank. Bastian had never seen its like. Hutton’s Bridge had one small pond they used for bathing. The rest came from wells.

  Rushes swayed in the light morning breeze and the sun reflected off the gentle waves. Bastian hadn’t bathed since he'd been healed. The filth of battle still clung to his body.

  Bastian pulled his shirt over his head and his pants fell to the ground. He waded into the water, the chill biting his legs. He shivered, but continued to submerge until the water covered his shoulders. With lazy eyes, he scanned his skin. Not a blemish in sight. No pink and puckered healing wounds. Not even the scar he’d had since childhood. Tressa used to trace it with her fingertips and kiss it. She’d laugh about the day he got it in the woods on the outskirts of the village.

  Tressa, Connor, and Bastian had been playing tag. Connor was running at full speed. Bastian tried to outmaneuver him by feinting a run at the fog. Instead, he tripped and fell, landing on a tree stump that nearly punctured a hole in his chest. He’d slung his arms around Tressa and Connor’s shoulders, and they’d taken him to his uncle Adam for healing, a sheepish grin on his face. They’d been warned not to play so close to the fog and Bastian wasn’t happy he had to admit fault.

  His thoughts drifted back to Tressa again. He hoped she’d gotten the answers she needed in Hutton’s Bridge and come back to Ashoom looking for him. If Elinor was to be believed, one of the healers was watching for Tressa and would tell her where he’d gone. He needed to see her again, and he wanted her away from Jarrett.

  Tressa swore Jarrett was honorable and that he wouldn’t do anything untoward, but Bastian wasn’t so sure. He saw the way Jarrett looked at her when they were trapped in the castle fighting for their lives. The man with the black goatee and dark skin wasn’t only worried about winning. He was genuinely concerned about Tressa.

  In part, Bastian was happy. He couldn’t be there to protect her from Stacia. Jarrett had. For that, he was grateful. Tressa had changed while they were separated. It wasn’t just her haircut. She seemed harder. Her face was thinner and her arms more muscular. Still, inside she was the same girl he’d loved back in the village. Vulnerable. Alone. Desperate for him to love her.

  And he did. Very much. He couldn’t stop thinking about her when he was awake. The dream he’d had was just that – a dream. Nothing more. Even if it was about Elinor.

  Bastian closed his eyes as the sun’s rays pierced the quiet morning. He smiled and rolled onto his back, floating. He let the water rock him as memories of Tressa flooded his imagination. He wanted, no needed, to see her again. He had to know she still felt the same way about him. And if she wasn’t sure of his feelings, he’d show her.

  Blood rushed through his veins as he thought of holding her again, caressing her tender skin, biting her lips in a moment of passion. A searing pain in his groin tore him from his reverie. Bastian floundered in the water, screaming out in desperation. Something had bit him.

  Bastian splashed toward the riverbank, scrabbling for land, his fingernails digging into the damp dirt. A blood-curdling scream ripped from his throat. Within seconds Elinor came running.

  “Bastian! Are you okay?” She stopped short when she saw him lying in the mud, completely naked, his hands cupped around his genitals. “What are you doing?”

  “Something’s biting me! Help!” Bastian squirmed on the ground, in more excruciating pain than he’d felt after getting beaten by the men of the Black Guard. Even worse than when that huge guard had shoved his boot onto Bastian’s balls, making him pass out.

  This felt like something was sawing away at his penis bit by bit. “Help me,” he whimpered.

  Elinor sighed and sank down into the mud next to him. “Move your hands.” She swatted Bastian’s fingers, cupped tightly around his genitals. He didn’t budge. “I can’t help you if you don’t move them.”

  “You’ll see me naked,” he said between gritted teeth. Pain seared through his body.

  “I’ve seen plenty of naked men. You’re no different,” she said. Still, he didn’t move. “Fine. Take care of it yourself. But the piranhas in this river don’t let go of their prey easily. They will continue to chomp until they’ve eaten your entire manhood for breakfast.”

  Bastian shut his eyes and moved his hands. He didn’t want to see whatever it was that had latched on to him. Instead, he felt Elinor’s fingers on his most private area. Despite the pain, he was aroused. And ashamed. And scared he was going to lose a chunk of his cock to some damn fish. Then what? Who would want him then?

  “I think I’ll be able to save most of it,” Elinor said, her tone grave. “Just hold still. Keep your eyes shut and don’t look, Bastian.” Bastian did as she said.

  A few more agonizing seconds and it was over.

  “Don’t open your eyes yet.” Elinor’s hands were no longer on him.

  A cold breeze drifted across his body. He kept his eyes squeezed shut. He didn’t want to open them. He was afraid to know what was left, if anything. The whole area throbbed and stung.

  “Now, Bastian,” she said, hesitating, “I don’t want you to think that anything has changed. You’ll still be able to…perform.”

  He moaned.
How bad was it?

  Then he heard it. The small twitter. The shaking in her voice. It wasn’t long until Elinor was full out laughing. Bastian’s eyelids snapped open. He glanced down. Other than two little teeth marks, everything was fine.

  He sat up. “You lied!”

  Elinor wrapped her arms around her stomach and gasped for air. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  “You’re a healer! Do you make fun of all your patients like this?” Anger rose in his chest. He wanted to shake her, to make her see what a horrible thing she’d done. He glanced at the ground next to her, where the fish lay. It was a small thing. Barely bigger than his thumb. How could such a small fish hurt so much?

  A blush crept over his cheeks. He didn’t have to see himself in a mirror to know. It was the curse of his red hair. He blushed too easily and without warning. If he would have taken a moment in the water to look at himself, he probably could have removed the fish, tossed it to the side, and no one would have been the wiser.

  Instead he’d lain on the ground, his bum squished in mud, dripping wet and exposing every inch of his naked body to a woman he’d just met. And she was laughing at him.

  “I wish you would have said something before going in the river. I would have warned you.” Elinor averted her eyes, her giggles subsiding into deep sighs.

  “I didn’t want to wake anyone up.” Bastian grumbled as he pulled his shirt over his head. He yanked it down and covered himself as best as he could. “If you don’t mind leaving, I’d like to rinse the mud off my legs and put my pants on.”

  Elinor nodded, looking toward the cave. “Of course. I should check on your friend anyway. He may need my help more than you do.”

  Bastian watched her walk away, her hips swinging confidently. She looked far different without her heavy cloak. Another breeze swept across his skin, reminding him he wasn’t fully dressed yet. With a grunt, Bastian stood up and stepped into the river again.