I twisted out of his grip, my hand going to the dagger at my thigh. “I have not chosen this path,” I said, my chin high.
His brows came down hard over his eyes. “The flush chooses!”
“I will choose!” I pushed my face into Dorn’s space.
“How dare you place yourself above the goddess.”
I held my ground, stung by his words into silence. The flanks stamped their hooves in the dust behind me, warning Dorn.
His voice was cold as he continued. “This is not about you. Should you defy the traditions of our people ... Should you disregard the ritual of the goddess, how will that affect everything that holds this life together? Your contempt will destroy the fabric we weave to keep you Queen!”
Never had he spoken to me like this. Never would I have let it happen. My breath left me slowly as I stood at my full height and looked down my nose at him. “You keep me Queen? You, tale tracker? I was Queen long before you became servant to my rule.”
Dorn’s anger faded before my words, the sides of his mouth turning down in resignation. I held onto my rage as if it were armour. I encouraged outrage to kindle in my heart. How dare he claim to be the hands on my power? I kept myself Queen through my strength, my actions, my decisions! No man wove my destiny for me.
“Laywren,” Dorn spoke firmly. “I am your servant, but not just because you lead the Horde.” He stepped forward, his hand over his chest, “My heart...”
“You are not free to speak!” I said harshly, cutting off his words. “I revoke permission.”
His lips pressed together, draining the blood from them. I was aware of his hand fisted at his side. We stood, locked eye-to-eye, the very air dancing between us. Then, as I hoped he would, Dorn tipped his head down. He stayed, looking at the ground, his shoulders heaving with the effort to control himself. He backed up three paces, turned and left the tent without another word.
My neck and shoulders began to ache with tension. I tried to rub out the pain, but my hands were trembling with fury. Turning, I looked at the flanks standing ready to guard me. Hinfūs was watching from the back of the empty tent, his eyes glowing in his grey face. The stillness was deafening. My vision blurred, and I blinked quickly to clear my eyes.
Never had I doubted Dorn, nor doubted his honour in his dedication to serve me. But this morning, I had seen a new Dorn—one I did not know. One I could not trust. Dorn knew I had flushed and faded, flushed and not acted. If he told the Horde of my actions against the traditions, it would be devastating to my rule. For the first time in eight years, I wondered if he would betray me.
“Left Flank.” My guard stepped up to my side. “Follow him unseen.”
Hinfūs was a better tracker, but the hounds were immune to Lumen’s touch. I could not command or seek them with the disc.
Using Lumen, I tapped into my guard’s sight, picking up the view from the flank’s eyes. I could see Dorn’s back moving through camp in the direction of his mount. He brushed past a Julee carrying goat water skins.
PLACING THE BRIDLE on his Alacrite mare, he flipped his cape over his shoulder and leapt onto the horse’s bare back. Through the flank’s eyes, I saw Dorn ride hard out of camp.
I knew I should be packing for travel, but instead I lay down and snoozed on my hides, emotionally exhausted. I tossed through strange dreams as Flank faltered and fell behind Dorn. My guard tracked the hoof marks until high sun, and finally came upon the mare, over a grassy ridge. I woke and gave Lumen’s image my full attention.
Dorn had dismounted and was practicing his cut and thrust moves with his long sword. His face was grim with concentration. I watched his body turn and thrust the blade up into the ribcage of his imaginary enemy. He spun and sliced where the neck would be. His elbow bent up beside his ear, and he jabbed forward with the death strike. Dorn moved gracefully, yet with deadly purpose, his sandals stirring up the dust.
I had thought he might betray me, and yet here he was working out the anger I had seeded in him. He had not turned it on me, and not because he was weak, but because he was strong, strong enough for the both of us—strong enough to control both of us.
Sweat glistened on his muscled thighs, the sight striking a chord in my pulse. I should not have doubted Dorn’s loyalty. The flush was making me weak, turning me into a spy of good men. I broke the link to Lumen, a sign for the flank to return.
The guilt at doubting Dorn’s honour made me want to make things right. I thought of how I would speak to him upon his return. I would try not to mention his comment about those who kept me Queen.
I took out my goddess statue, curving my hands around her smooth sides. Holding her thus, my thoughts turned to graciousness. Truly, it was she who made me Queen. It was she who had chosen my destiny. It was she who had put Rserker and Dorn in my path so that I should be supported in all I did. It was the goddess who had granted me the power to rule.
Humbling myself, I spoke the prayer of devotion as the sun tracked across the sky outside of my tent. When my voice was harsh from overuse, I moved to return the statue to my fur pouch, when my skin caught on a sharp edge. Bringing her closer to my eyes, I ran my finger over the small, sharp foot of Goddess. I had carved her when quite young, and this was her one flaw.
WHEN I HAD BEEN 11 years old, my father had organized an Outlander journey, and I was finally old enough to be invited. Instead of making me ride my hoarge mount, father had presented me with a young Alacrite gelding. The horse had a thick, short mane and his hide was the dark brown that turns black when wet with sweat. The animal had been full of fire, dancing sideways, throwing his tail out as if ready to burst free and escape.
My mother had made me a saddle in the way of the Mantie tribe. The space between the raised horn and leather back ridge was small, only wide enough for a Mantie pelvis. It functioned to hold the rider in place during mounted two-handed combat, and it was perfect for my child-slim body.
The journey had been hard, as I knew it would be. But, this was my chance to prove myself to Outlander kin. They watched me every minute. How I rode, how I cared for my weapons, my mount, how I spoke to my father. Oh, the pride I had felt, when riding behind my father’s massive, grey war horse.
After many days of traveling, we had come to a grove of Oil Berry trees. My father stopped us at a distance, so we could view the eight, great trunks. Father moved his horse close to mine. I reached out and touched the white lamb’s wool hide he used to soften his saddle.
“This is the Garden of Ele-berge. Some of these trees are many thousands of years old, and from one, you shall carve your goddess on-lícnes,” Father said to me.
That day, we camped in the shade of the Oil Berry trees. The shade was not made by the leaves which were sparse, but from the trunks that were wide enough to block the sun. While the others made camp, I visited each tree. One was an ancient stump, split down the middle and covered in warts like a boulder toad. I would have thought it dead but for six slender branches, reaching eagerly to the sky like children’s arms. Another tree was circled by stones placed there by some unknown hand, hundreds of years ago. The black trunk of this tree spiraled up and split into two, its bark pock-marked. Many branches rippled from this trunk, spreading a silver canopy of minnow-shaped leaves above me. I looked carefully at each tree and tried to read their secret language in the wind’s caress on the leaves.
IN THE END, I KEPT being drawn back to the old trunk, and those six reaching branches. Each branch was crowned with a small halo of leaves. This was the tree that would birth my goddess carving. I did not need a sign, for I knew it in my heart.
Climbing the trunk, I placed my sandaled feet on the raised roots, boosting myself up another foot. With a child’s curiosity, I ran my fingers over the ancient bumps and grooves. How many hands had travelled this path? The air was warm, but the tree’s bark was cool. I did not want to cut any of the slender branches, but I knew to cut the trunk would endanger the tree. I made my way around its ancient side, marveling at i
ts girth. Twenty warriors could ring the trunk and still not reach all the way around. And then, I found it. A small knot pushing out against the tree’s side, curving like a woman’s hip. This was the piece that would not cut the flow of juices from the roots.
Before I raised my father’s ax, I had to give respect to the Ele-berge tree. I knelt on the ground and spoke to the split side of the trunk.
Your roots curve deep within the forest floor
And my feet are free to walk on top
You and I, we face the same sun.
Many travelers have camped beneath your arms
I am but a flicker in your life
You and I, we breathe the same air.
Your fruit ripens and falls in a season
I wait many seasons to mature
You and I, we share the same mother
Please, gift me your flesh
That I may carve her and-lícnis
A totem through which her blessings can reach me
A totem through which my prayers may reach her
Great tree, I ask only this.
I took out the small axe my father had given me, and I chopped under the setting sun. With a crack, the wooden knot split from its mother and fell to the ground, rocking on its hump between my feet.
Within the hewn slivers of wood, a golden shine reflected back the sun. I knelt to examine it and found a shiny disc trapped within the piece of wood. When I rubbed the disc with my fingers, the surface lit up with light, and I felt a tugging in my mind.
“A gift from the tree,” I whispered. “A gift from the goddess!”
I had bowed in thanks to the old trunk, then quickly pried out the disc with my dagger. I had felt this gift should be kept secret for the time. When I returned to my father, he saw only the piece of wood that would become my goddess image. First, I would carve my figure, then, I would explore the disc. And that is what I did, day after day, reaching into the disc’s heart with my mind until we were one. Lumen became more important in my life each time I used it.
I SIGHED AT THE OLD memory and placed my goddess figure in the small pouch, settling her carefully against the fur lining. Praying to the goddess had restored my calm, and I could now consider my earlier confrontation with Dorn with a clear mind.
I had fooled myself for years. I had considered Dorn a friend, looking up to him as an advisor, while all the time, love smoldered in the ashes of my heart. The flush had forced me to consider the idea of a mate, and my spirit had secretly chosen the Chronicle Warden. And now, my feelings for him would not be subdued, could not be restrained. I could feel my need for him pulsing beneath my skin. Everything was in flux, the balance, the future, why not my feelings? Maybe Goddess had given me the flush to lead me to Dorn’s side. Maybe it was time to take a man.
Hinfūs sulked at the side of the tent, glaring at me with his ears down. When I looked his way, he slunk forward on his belly.
“What is wrong, Hound?” I reached to pet his ears, but he licked at my hand, his tongue dripping with saliva. I wiped it on his neck fur, disgusted at the slimy threads.
“Out!” My mood darkened, as I chased him from the tent.
Dorn startled me as he stepped from the afternoon shadows outside.
“Would you chase me away, too?” he asked.
His tone was half teasing, and I could see he was once again the Dorn I knew. I stepped back from the entrance, inviting him in. Remembering his ride on the mare, I was surprised at his clean leather tunic, his dust-free body. I realized he had changed before returning. Any discomfort I felt about our earlier argument was cleared by Dorn’s gentle smile. I willingly joined his lighter mood.
“Have you come to tell me a story?” I asked.
“If that is what you want,” he said.
Together we moved further into the tent, closer to the single candle burning on the table. When we were within the circle of dim orange light, I turned to him.
“Dorn...” I started, but he interrupted me.
“Laywren, I must beg your forgiveness for the way I spoke to you.”
I said nothing, standing with my hands at my sides, waiting for him to continue.
“I have waited long to tell you of my feelings, perhaps too long.” He looked at me with regret. “And now the words are foreign on my tongue.”
I released him from any repentance he felt he had to give. “I have never felt displeased with your service, Dorn.”
He nodded and continued in his clear voice. “For eight years, you and I have complimented each other’s strengths and shored up each other’s weaknesses. Together, we have travelled half this world and survived what has been the end for many.”
I agreed with his opinion of our relationship.
Dorn took a step toward me, smiling kindly into my eyes. “We have been blessed to have shared this time. I have been blessed to share in your life, to be by your side, to serve when you needed me, and to observe when you did not.”
I softened at his words.
“But now, that is no longer enough,” he said, his voice low and husky.
My heart was pounding, and I knew we were coming to the moment when he would say things he could never unsay. I was not sure I was ready to hear him and raised my hand as if to ward off his words.
Dorn held his tongue and ran his hand through his hair, holding the lengths back from his face as he considered me. Then, he dropped his hand and glared at some point across the tent, as if he could draw strength from the walls. Looking at Dorn’s strong profile, I suddenly wished I had not stopped him. The silence between us stilled my tongue, making it impossible to speak. So, I reached out the hand that would stop his speech and touched his shoulder with it. Dorn looked at my hand, and then, lifted his eyes to my face.
“It is hard for me...,” I started. It was no small thing to take down the defenses that kept me alive in this life. I had spent years building walls to ward off the simple emotions that others could enjoy freely. Others who did not have the responsibilities I had. Others who did not have to keep their minds clear to make decisions for the greater good.
I tried again, “It is hard for me, but I want to trust myself to you.”
Dorn took my hand in his, holding it gently as if my sword-calloused hand was delicate. He slid his thumb lightly across the back of my fingers. The movement twisted his bronze wrist band, which looked dark in the candle light. Trailing vines tracked across the edges of the metal cuff—the symbol of the Eldersleen. Dorn was like the vine, reaching back into my past, and moving forward into my future. He was constant, but never binding.
“Laywren, when I saw you flush, I was elated for you. And the Horde. For all people, for your flush is the hope for life—patterns of hope brushed on skin that I have ached to brush with my fingers ...” His voice faded to a whisper on the last word.
My face burned at his words, but I hungered for his confession. I wanted to leave this moment raw—to savour it, but Dorn continued.
“But with my joy came such dread. The thought of the flush choosing a man other than me was unbearable. And the very act of thinking such a thought was a betrayal to the goddess.”
I darted a look at his eyes to see if he was baiting me—if he was going to challenge me about denying Nethaz.
Instead, he only said, “Do you understand, Laywren?”
I held my breath, while Dorn waited for me to reply. I did not dare speak.
“Do you understand that what I feel for you could destroy my faith, disarm my service to the goddess, and tempt me to disregard the sacred traditions that I live to uphold?”
I had already done what Dorn struggled to resist, and he must never know I had ignored the calling to mate with the giant. Guilt made me slip my hand from his—made me want to flee the moment. A man like Dorn did not easily sacrifice his beliefs for a woman. I was unworthy of such a forfeit.
I could not even find words worthy of an answer. Reaching up, I caressed his cheek and bared my soul for his study. If he never
knew how I cherished his wisdom, how I needed his words, his support, he should know now. Dorn’s eyes sparkled as they explored the prospect of my gaze.
“You do see the man before you,” he said warmly, and turned his head to press his lips into my hand.
His deep pleasure at discovering something that had been there all along stung me with sadness. I had pressed down my feelings until they were out of sight, out of reach. Dorn did not deserve that. He was a man who deserved more than I could give him.
“Dorn,” I smiled softly, taking my hand from his face. “I do feel a kinship to you. It is more than brotherhood, stronger than warrior oaths. It is a bond that feeds my soul each time you are with me.”
“But do you not want more?” he whispered fiercely, grasping my upper arms and pulling me closer to him. “Does your soul not want to feast, Laywren?”
Longing softened my lips and desire flashed a hot reply in his eyes. Together, we stood and breathed—the deep, rhythmic draw and release of two souls bound by the same need.
This was the moment we could never go back from—the moment when our eyes bled promises that would change our relationship forever. I was agreeable. I wanted it to change. I wanted to step into his arms and feel his body against mine. But, my legs were stiff, unbending. I could not release myself to trust him so completely. I had to bring him to me.
“I free you Dorn,” I whispered.
His eyes burned bright, “In what manner, Laywren?”
“In all manners,” I whispered, barely able to form the words.
He released my arms carefully, as if afraid I would change my mind if he moved too quickly. The heat from his hand burned into the small of my back as he slowly pulled me closer. I did not turn away, but I did not come easily for I could not deny this joining would change my rule, and I was not sure I could sacrifice so much. Dorn raised a brow as if he were calculating the distance between journeys.
“Why do you resist?”
The Precious Quest Page 10
