Seventh Born

by Rachel Rossano

  “My cousin, Orwin?”

  “Sworn allegiance to my liege, but his sincerity is suspect. You are King Mendal’s guarantee from Orwin that he will remain faithful.”

  I laughed, a bitter sound despite my efforts to quell it.

  “I am a worthless pawn for that purpose. Orwin cares not for my safety. My peril will not hinder his plans a hair’s breadth.”

  “Your peril is not my goal. I seek your submission.”

  Before I could seek clarification, another helmeted soldier approached. This one moved like a man with a purpose. The sudden silence and tension of the men around me clearly marked his importance.

  “All are accounted for, my lord, thirty-five women of marriageable age, twenty-five dwellings with potential to last the winter.”

  “The lord’s hall?”

  “Usable also, given time for cleaning and repair.”

  Lord Irvaine nodded. “Take the quartermaster and assign wives. See to it that the men show respect and offer the women the option to purchase refusal. Give care to look up the fate of their previous mates before presenting them to the officiate for vow recording. Warn the men that I will suffer no abuse. If such is discovered, the offender shall lose his share of spoils and suffer further punishment based on the crime.”

  The soldier bowed and retreated.

  “By what right do you do this?” I demanded. “We are citizens of Rhynan, not cattle to be divided and claimed. These are free women not slaves.”

  Lord Irvaine’s displeasure at my words was evident in his stiffened stance. I savored my small victory.

  “They, you, and this land are tribute to King Mendal from your cousin, part of his measures to convince the king of his shift in allegiance.”

  “You take pleasure in raping women and possessing land not your own? You are no better than the robber barons over the border. They take what they wish without compensating us. You defile the title of noble, my lord!” I spat the title into the torn earth at his feet.

  Answering anger tensed his left arm as his fingers curled into a fist. I lifted my chin and awaited the blow that would reveal his true nature. Instead, he pulled his helmet from his head. Dark, sweat-matted hair plastered his head and dirt streaked down his hollowed cheeks from dark circles around his eyes. He dropped his helm to the ground at my knees. It rolled to rest against my thigh. He stepped forward and leaned down so close I smelled his sweat. I noted the lack of sour wine on his breath.

  “Look in my face, Lady Solarius, and see the truth. I take no joy from this task. But I am a loyal soldier. I do as my master bids.”

  His dark, haunted eyes bore into mine. Something deep inside my chest stirred. However, anger still possessed my tongue.

  “I see only a monster intent on unleashing his pleasure-seeking men on a village of unarmed women and children.”

  He flinched, a barely perceptible movement in his features.

  “Enough.” Rising to his feet with more grace than I expected, he strode away. “Antano!” A burly man, helmetless and carrying more visible weapons than the other men in the group, answered the call.

  “My lord?”

  “See that she observes the operation, but doesn’t interfere. Then escort her to my quarters by nightfall.”

  “Aye, my lord.” Antano approached respectfully. “This way, my lady.”

  I watched Lord Irvaine stride away among his men. As I rose from the dust, I picked up the helmet. It was heavy, but well made. The leather felt worn and supple. What kind of man hid behind its surface?

  I offered it to my escort.

  “Nay, bring it with you, lady.” Antano loomed over me. “You can return it to him tonight. For now, we must go. He wishes for you to see how your women are treated.”

  He crossed the now empty village center toward the lord’s hall, due east. I followed him, dreading the hours to come. Despite the fleeting inclination to leave it behind, I carried Lord Irvaine’s helmet with me.

  Duty is now available in print and ebook formats along with other books in the series.

  White Bear

  An Fairy Tale Inspirational Romance

  Chapter One

  Willow

  I SCANNED THE LOBBY of the Diamond Mine Hotel Casino in Atlantic City with growing disquiet. Dad had promised to wait. If only we could get this whole trip behind us.

  Laughter wafted from the casino. Lights and lush carpeting beckoned to those lingering in the cavernous, tiled expanse of the foyer. There should have been a sign over the archway: “Beware, those who enter here, the house always wins.”

  I pulled my thoughts from the dire circumstances of my father’s financial future and returned to seek him instead.

  Cubic zirconia-draped candelabras guarded the walls of the lobby. Uncomfortable silver gilt benches and frail tables huddled between them, overwhelmed by their glitter. The only other human in the room was the receptionist behind the front desk. She glowered at me as though I would palm one of the ostentatious baubles overflowing from the jeweled fruit bowls.

  “Lose something, miss?”

  “Yes, my father. He promised to wait for me here.”

  “Perhaps he wandered into the casino to pass the time.”

  Please, Lord, not that. The debt from his last excursion still smothered our lives.

  The elevator chimed its arrival. I turned toward the door with inane hope before glancing at the receptionist again. “Did you see him go toward the bathrooms?”

  “I just came on duty, miss, and there was no one here when I arrived.”

  The elevator doors opened, and a massive security guard stepped out. Black suit, strapping shoulders, and a grim face, he looked the part more than the man who escorted me out of the manager’s office moments ago.

  I assessed the casino entrance with a grimace. It was the only option. Well, not quite, but there was no way I was asking the security guard to check the men’s room for me. He would give Dad a heart attack. I straightened my shoulders and entered.

  Voices and harsh sounds washed over me. I flinched when a slot machine shrieked to life and announced the gambler’s winnings as it spewed coins into a bucket.

  Friday evening crowds filtered through the expansive room in clusters. Their attention focused on the felt and wood tables lying like fertile islands in the sea of ebony carpeting. They promised riches if blessed by a whimsical lady named Luck.

  Narrowing my eyes against the glittering mirrors and crystal, I searched for a familiar face. I spotted him over at the blackjack tables, a head of pure white hair between a dyed brunette and a salt and pepper. Keeping my eyes on him, I worked my way through the crowd. I tried to recall if he had any money on him to lose.

  He had promised to never do this again.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  He looked up at me and smiled absently. His rheumy blue eyes lit like a child’s. “Ah, Willow, you finished already?” His fingers clutched and released the chips rhythmically.

  “How far are you down?” I scanned the empty table.

  “Only $300.”

  I took a breath. If we were careful, we could recover from that. I could work extra hours at the bank.

  “Dad, we need to go.”

  “Just one more time, sweet.” He smiled. “I can make it back in one ...”

  I shook my head. “No, Dad, we need to leave.” My eyes fell on the security guard from the lobby. He was watching us. We needed to leave the casino area before someone recognized Dad.

  “Remember, you aren’t supposed to even be in here. If they recognize you, they will throw you out.”

  “Why?” Dad stared at me as though I had gone mad.

  “A month ago, you gambled over the limit and then caused a disturbance when they wouldn’t give you more credit. Don’t you remember?”

  His only response was a blank gaze. The dealer behind him carefully ignored our conversation but dealt my father out of the game.

  Another memory lapse added to the tally. That was three to
day. I glanced over at the security guard. He frowned. Even from across the room he looked intimidating.

  “We are going now.” Then taking the chips from Dad’s hand, I linked my arm with his. “Let me help you.”

  Dad didn’t usually need help. However, my hale and vibrant father was growing unsteady and forgetful. He fell frequently, misremembered instructions, or simply stared at me in confusion at least once a day when I brought up recent events. I feared Alzheimer’s disease or something worse.

  He stumbled. Please, God, not here. Leaning heavily into Dad’s side to prop him up, I pulled him forward. If we could just reach the lobby, it would be better than the casino floor. The receptionist’s scrutiny trumped the crowd of gawkers he would attract here.

  “One foot at a time, Dad,” I coached. “If we make it to the lobby you can rest before we walk to the bus. Come on. We are almost there.”

  “Do you need assistance?”

  The rumble of a deep voice sent chills down my spine. I knew it was the security guard before I looked up. Well over six feet, he loomed over Dad and me. He assessed us sternly, but I took hope from the fact he didn’t block our way.

  “We are leaving,” I assured him.

  “It looks like he needs help. Do you want me to clear the way?”

  I shook my head. We didn’t want more attention than the unavoidable curiosity of the people nearby. “We were heading to the lobby. He needs to rest a moment before we leave.”

  “Then allow me.” He slid an arm under Dad’s other forearm and started forward, half-carrying him and dragging me.

  I scrambled to keep up with his long strides and managed to hold up my side of the burden. A protest died on my tongue when I realized Dad sagged limply between us, head loose and eyes closed.

  “Dad?”

  His head lolled as the guard lifted him into his arms. My heart sank. With surprising agility, the guard navigated the rest of the way to the lobby and deposited Dad gently on one of the benches. He checked his pulse with the expertise of habit. Dad’s shallow breaths reassured me, despite my fear that something was very wrong. The guard rose to his feet and turned to the receptionist.

  “Nicole, call an ambulance.”

  “But ...” The protest jumped out before I could stop it.

  The guard turned to regard me with raised eyebrows.

  “I will get him there another way.” But what do I do instead? No answer came.

  “He needs help.” His azure eyes studied my face, a strangely beautiful color set in the grim lines of his face.

  I looked down at my father’s white face, frighteningly still. Suddenly, I was a child lost without my parent.

  “I know, but we don’t have insurance.” They might turn us away at the door. Too many others already had.

  “The casino will pay for it. Nicole, make the call.”

  I stepped toward him to object, but nothing reasonable came to mind. Our money woes were none of this man’s business.

  “I understand.”

  My head snapped up at that. Encountering sympathy incongruous with the rest of his demeanor, I stared. “Thank you.” I offered a wobbly smile.

  He didn’t smile in return. Pivoting back to Nicole on the phone behind the desk, he spoke to her in low tones. I stared at the broad stretch of his back for a few moments as my thoughts scrambled to catch up. Finally, I realized there was nothing for me to do but to comfort my father. Kneeling on the cold tile next to him, I stroked his hand and talked.

  “Don’t worry. We will find out what is wrong. Just remember ‘Do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.’ He has a reason for this. ‘All things work together for good for those who love the Lord and are called according to his purpose.’”

  I rested my forehead against Dad’s shoulder and started praying.

  More Coming Soon

  The Defender

  The Talented ♦ Book Two

  Chapter I

  Zezilia

  THE SUN PEERED OVER the rosy horizon and stretched its golden arms. The goddess’ city glowed dusky pink in the early morning’s embrace. I couldn’t help appreciating its architectural beauty as we approached by the main road. Positioned in the center of the plain atop the great plateau, it rose strong and sprawling amidst the low brush, tall grasses, and sparse trees. The walls, when not painted by the sun, marched about the outskirts of the city in gray regality. The few buildings I could see beyond the walls boasted of red clay roofs and whitewashed walls.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it.” Hadrian’s rich taste filled my mouth as his words unfolded in my mind. He slowed his mount to walk along side mine. Considering his rank as Sept Son, second in rank to the high king, he was exceptionally personable.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “Too bad it is for the glory of a nonexistent goddess.”

  “Why do you attend the Caelestis Novem when you do not honor the goddess? Isn’t it hard to go through the motions when there is no truth in them?”

  He didn’t look at me, but I could sense his sadness. My sensitivity to his emotions seemed to grow the longer I remained in his presence.

  For the past week of travel, I had barely seen him because I kept to the company of my brother Blan and his small family. My sister-in-law, Donata, and I became instant friends in the brief time. I reveled in the family time with my one-year-old niece, Ardyne, despite the constant travel.

  However, yesterday, the Sept Son called for me and explained that I would be traveling with his company into the city. We left the larger portion of his entourage encamped at the base of the plateau in the pre-dawn hours and moved onward to the city. I had only been three hours in his company, but it was as if I was touching his emotions and feeling them with him.

  “I must. It is my duty.” He frowned. “I try to avoid what I can. The ceremonies grow more difficult each year, but I cannot be absent. It would give those who wish me thrown out another complaint to bring before the High King.”

  Errol had told me of those who opposed the Sept Son, but the threat seemed suddenly real when the Sept Son spoke of it. Perhaps it was the concern in his voice. “Is there a chance of them succeeding?” I asked.

  Hadrian, for he kept insisting I call him Hadrian in private, smiled at me. “Are you planning on changing sides if they do?”

  “No, I just want to know what the situation is. Aren’t they going to be suspicious of the camp we left at the base of the plateau?”

  “I brought a company with me last year. It is widely know that I am on progress, something that requires a large entourage. It is more likely that they are relieved that I am not expecting them all to be housed and fed by the High King.” He slowed his horse even further as Renato approached.

  “The envoys report that the preparations have been made for your arrival, Master,” Renato announced. “It appears that the Kings have all arrived and are in attendance.”

  “Isn’t that unusual?” I asked. We were arriving a day earlier than most celebrants were scheduled to arrive.

  “It is,” Hadrian agreed. “Is there an official explanation?” he asked Renato.

  “The High King called a special meeting to discuss a matter of great importance. Supposedly you were sent an invitation as required by law, but our correspondence is so delayed, we still haven’t received it.” Renato grimaced. “Sounds like the work of the Mesitas.”

  “Don’t be so quick to judge,” Hadrian admonished. “We don’t know what exactly it was about yet. When we know, then we will deal with it. All is still in the Almighty’s hands.”

  “I hope it is,” Renato commented, “because the goddess has been working with the enemy. Have you briefed Zez on the procedures?”

  “Not yet.”

  Turning in his saddle so that he could address me, my brother began spouting a list of rules. “Do not discuss anything of confidential nature with anyone outside of the Sept Son’s inner apartments. When within the inner roo
ms, don’t discuss anything without first requesting that the room be sealed. Speak to no one other than those in the Sept Son’s entourage beyond what is absolutely necessary. It would probably be best for you to not speak to anyone without us.”

  Hadrian interrupted. “Stay close to either Renato or me. Your father and many others are going to want to speak to you once they see you.”

  I nodded. Already, I had seen a foreshadowing of what was to come. Once I donned my uniform for the first time that morning, everyone in camp began to treat me differently. The non-talents that had ignored me or welcomed me in the days before suddenly held me at a more formal distance. They were respectful, but I was no longer seen as one of them.

  I also attracted some interest among the talent also. Their attention was more motivated by curiosity. Just walking from Blan and Donata’s tent to the Sept Son’s tent, I received at least five mental nudges as different talents tested my barriers. I didn’t react, but I noted their tastes. For other talents, their probings would have been undetectable, but my increasing sensitivity made it so I couldn’t completely ignore them.

  “What if father wants to speak to me?” I asked.

  “Don’t speak with your father.” Hadrian’s face fell into grim lines; his eyes studied my face. “Promise me that you will not speak to your father.”

  “Isn’t that a little harsh?” Renato asked.

  Hadrian ignored him. His eyes didn’t leave mine. “Remember our conversation from before?” “He will try to make you leave me and your training. He will try to use you.” A wave of hesitancy washed over me with the intensifying of his taste. “I promised your mother that I would not let your father have you. She believes he would use you without regard for your wellbeing. She is afraid for him.”

  Slowly I nodded. Since Renato had not heard Hadrian’s sending, I had to grasp around for a reply that fit both the spoken question and the sent explanation. “I understand. I will not speak with him.”