The Sunset Lands Beyond (The Complete Series, Books 1-3): An epic portal fantasy boxed set

by Sarah Ashwood

  It felt like my air was shutting off. Gasping for breath, I’d wrapped my arms around myself and hung on tight, focusing on nothing but survival until I calmed. The whole episode probably hadn’t lasted more than a few moments, not even long enough for Ilgard to become alarmed and send help. What it had left me with, though, was a lingering sense that this place asked too much. Any nobler aspirations aside, I didn’t think I could handle an entire world bent on killing or controlling me.

  From that point on, I’d tumbled fast and far into the pits of despair. Maybe I was being a baby. Maybe I had good reason to be. All I knew was that it was easier to throw up walls and withdraw from reality than to face what might have happened. For a week now, I’d lived this way, feeling gloomy, enervated, and incapable of action or deep thought. But I hadn’t grown so dense that I didn’t recognize a threat when I heard it.

  Come escort me to the training grounds, I bet. Come and force me to go is more like it.

  Since I still didn’t feel like a confrontation, I decided to cooperate. “Fine,” I said dismissively. “Tell him I’ll be down after a while.”

  “He requests that you attend him now.”

  A flicker of irritation—who did he think he was?

  “Well, I have to get dressed,” I snapped. “Tell him I’ll be down as soon as I get my clothes on, unless he wants me running around in my nightgown.”

  “Very well, my lady. I shall convey your words to the High-Chief.”

  Without another word, he was gone.

  When I was in sight of the practice fields, I purposely slowed my pace. The Simathe High-Chief was the only one around, and although my gait was meant to nettle him, I couldn’t tell if it was working. It was difficult to tell if anything I ever tried on him worked since his face was as hard and calcified as a statue.

  Once I got close, he handed me my usual bow and quiver of arrows, which I accepted without comment. Slinging the quiver across my back, I fastened it into place, nocked an arrow, lifted my bow, and perfected my stance. He waited until the exact instant I was ready to release the arrow and then snaked his foot out, catching my ankle with his boot. One quick tug, and my feet went out from under me. I crashed with a squeal, rolling over onto my hands and knees and spitting the dirt out of my mouth.

  “Are you crazy? What the heck was that for?”

  “Distraction,” he replied. Leaning down, he offered a hand and pulled me to my feet. “Rarely is battle a matter of standing still and shooting. You must learn to keep your aim even while distracted.”

  I eyed him sideways, trying to figure this one out. Was he being honest? Tripping me seemed a rather extreme way to prove his point, but battle was far more extreme than that, so maybe he was only trying to help.

  “Sounds reasonable enough,” I finally assented, wiping the dirt off my face. “But you really didn’t have to knock me on my butt to prove a point.”

  He merely shrugged.

  The old me probably would’ve started World War III over that, but today I let it go with a roll of the eyes and a “Whatever.” All I wanted was to get this over and done with so I could go back to hiding out in my room. Arguing would only delay retreat.

  With that in mind, I readied another arrow and tried again. This time—again, just as I was all set to shoot—he deliberately jarred my elbow. And that was how the next couple hours went, with me trying to shoot and him finding all sorts of ways to distract me. Sometimes I was able to find my target anyway, but few of my attempts were good. Time and again I fell for his tricks, feeling more and more like an idiot as I did.

  I’d never seen the Simathe High-Chief quite like this. His behavior was insensitive, unkind, and unforgiving. Severe, actually. Rather than respectfully pointing out and correcting my mistakes, he criticized them with stinging, well-chosen words. I had to pull the walls of my little cocoon tighter and tighter to keep his remarks from hurting. All the same, by the time he finally called a halt to target practice, I was a little sweaty, a little breathless, and more than a little irritated. If I hadn’t known any better, I’d swear he was enjoying this, even though his equanimity told me nothing.

  “Enough,” he said at last. Judging by his tone, he might as well have added, “Because I’m sick of dealing with someone so hopeless.”

  “Good,” I panted, “’cause I’m kinda tired and hungry, and—”

  He cut me off with an upraised palm. “We are not finished yet.”

  With that he took off, obviously expecting me to follow.

  “We are not finished yet,” I mimicked under my breath, but trailed after him anyway, wondering where we were going.

  He led me to the stables, where one of the Simathe’s huge, black horses was already saddled and waiting. I’d never seen horses like these. If their unique, Simathe-like coloring didn’t set them apart as a distinct breed, the pure, primitive power screaming from every inch of their sleek frames would have. It shouted in the way this one tossed his proud head, shaking his mane and pawing at the ground. Ilgard laid a hand on the animal’s muzzle; it calmed instantly at his touch.

  I felt a sickening twist in the pit of my stomach. The mere sight of this enormous beast was enough to evoke a flood of memories from which I’d been desperately hiding. Memories involving hideous drocnords, whizzing arrows, and the odors of blood and death. Not to mention the attack on the journey to Treygon, of which I still remembered little. And of the ride home after Jonase—

  I began to back away.

  “Stop!” The sharp command shattered the peace. “…My lady.” He added the customary title of respect as an afterthought. “Come here” was his next order, and I found my feet moving woodenly.

  When I was within a few paces, he spoke up, all the while stroking the horse’s velvety muzzle in short, relaxing strokes. “It is time for you to ride our Restless.”

  “R—restless?”

  “Aye.” He scratched the animal behind the ears. In response, the horse butted playfully at his chest, the huge man and animal completely at ease with each another. “They are ever restless for action.” His dark gaze lifted, found mine. “You must learn to ride them.”

  I stared for several seconds before the full impact of his words sunk in. My stomach twisted again, and I edged another step backward.

  “You’re not serious.”

  “I am.”

  “No—no way! You’re out of your mind. I refuse.”

  “I’ll brook no refusals. Come here.”

  Licking my lips, I flicked an anxious glance between man and horse, trying to determine which frightened me more.

  “Come now, my lady.”

  Man won out. I slunk over.

  He pointed at the saddle. “Mount.”

  I tried to obey, fighting queasiness as I stretched a hand toward the pommel. But the instant my fingers touched leather…

  “No, I can’t!”

  Panicking, I jolted away, slamming against something hard. I whirled, only to find myself trapped between warrior and horse.

  “I ordered you to mount, my lady.”

  “I can’t,” I protested weakly, my eyes pleading for understanding. “I just can’t.”

  “Must I put you up there myself, as I did before?”

  He referred to an incident at Laytrii, when he’d pretty much thrown me onto the back of his horse.

  Shaking my head, I mouthed a noiseless, No.

  “Then mount.”

  Perhaps I would’ve gone ahead and done it. Unluckily, the horse chose that moment to toss his head and shift his weight from front to back. He nudged me, and I freaked, jumping away with a yelp. The warrior had no pity. He got right up in my face, closing a large hand around my upper arm and tugging me near.

  “Mount,” he practically hissed, so close I could feel his breath on my nose.

  Suddenly, it just snapped. All day his high-handedness, his domineering attitude, had been chipping away at my self-constructed emotional coma. Now those walls crumbled in a rush as anger and fe
ar thrust their way to the fore, taking over in the guise of self-preservation.

  I shot a scorching glare at the Simathe lord. “No! That’s it. I’ve had it! I won’t do it, and you can’t make me.”

  “My lady—”

  “No!” In an abrupt, angry move, I twisted free of his grasp. “You’ve been treating me like a jerk all day. What’s wrong with you? Are you mad at me for some unknown reason? Like maybe you’re now wishing Jonase had succeeded, or possibly even killed me, so you could be free of our Joining and go back to living your stupid Simathe life? Is that what you want? Or are you mad that he got to try something you’ve wanted to do for a long time?”

  It was word vomit. I didn’t stop to think about what I was saying; it all just came spewing out. The instant I stopped speaking, there was dead silence. A look of wrath like I’d never seen spread slowly across the face of the man before me. I hadn’t even known Simathe could look so angry. I blinked, astounded at myself and scared by him as I realized the horrible, horrible accusations I’d made.

  “Ilgard”—I shook my head nervously—“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t know what I was saying! I only—”

  “Enough.” His voice was low, and his eyes blazed black. He shook his own head slowly, like a lion shaking its shaggy mane. “My lady goes too far,” he growled.

  Before I could think or react, his hands had shot out, capturing my waist. In one swift movement, he had swept me up, bringing my face level with his. I froze, so staggered I forgot to scream or fight. For a split second, his feral eyes bored into mine.

  Who is this man? I thought, astounded to see this side of him that I’d never have dreamed existed.

  I had no time to figure out the answer—or maybe I did, when he pulled me close, smothering my cry with the harsh kiss he pressed against my mouth. Stupefied with shock, I went limp in his arms, not moving, not resisting. The kiss stretched to infinity, my mind whirling all the while with a million different emotions. When he finally raised his head, I gasped for air, not having drawn breath since he seized me, and relaxed the fingers clenching his shoulders. Unable to meet the bottomless-pit black of his eyes, I averted my face as he lowered me slowly to the earth. When my feet touched dirt, I lurched away, swaying weakly against the horse. Breathing hard, I just stood there, helpless for the disbelief and confusion drowning me.

  “Will my lady obey me now?”

  At the quiet words, my eyes swung up to his. I seemed incapable of rational thought. He had kissed me. He had kissed me! Never mind what I’d done to start the whole thing. He had no right to do it, but he’d kissed me. He, Lord Ilgard, High-Chief of the Simathe!

  The anger I’d felt before the kiss crept back, obliterating common sense.

  How dare he? How dare he? Especially after what I went through a week ago?

  Just like that, I rediscovered both resolve and voice.

  “No, I’m not going to obey you,” I spat. “Who do you think you are? How dare you…you treat me like that?” My hands balled into angry fists. “I’m no idiot—this isn’t about me riding your horse! Maybe everything I said was true, after all.”

  The Simathe’s eyes were wickedly black, but his tone was deceptively calm.

  “My lady will not mount?”

  “No!” I shouted obstinately, trying to pry loose the fingers still clasping my arm.

  “If my lady refuses to obey, then she must be taught obedience.”

  “Oh yeah? Who’s gonna teach me that? You and what army?”

  Actually, that was a pretty stupid comeback, seeing as how he technically did have an army. He didn’t need it, though. Although he said nothing, his murderous glare warned me I was pushing too hard. He spun around, stalking toward Treygon’s main building, dragging me along behind.

  “Where are we going?” I demanded, digging my heels into the earth. It did no good, and I received no reply.

  Apparently, I’d really done it this time.

  Hours later, I was down on my hands and knees in a deserted hallway, scrubbing the dusty stone floor with a wet, sudsy brush. Pausing for a brief rest, I used the back of my wrist to wipe a strand of sweaty hair off my forehead. Glancing about, I sighed deeply. Crap. I’d been at this for several solid hours and had finished only half the assigned floor.

  Who knew scrubbing stone floors on one’s hands and knees could be such rough work? My shoulders ached, my wrists ached, my arms hurt, my head ached. My knees were sore from crawling around, and I was soaking wet. If I hadn’t been raised better, I would’ve cussed a certain High-Chief for this.

  After dragging me—yes, dragging me—in here, he’d called for cleaning supplies and set me to work. Not only that, but he’d had made sure everyone in close proximity was there to watch. That number happened to include Cole, Lord Norband, and Lord Contrey, along with half a dozen others. Even Aureeyah and, of course, Ilgard himself had stayed to witness my humiliation.

  That’s what you get for pushing a High-Chief too far, my conscience chided. I still can’t believe you said those awful things to him.

  I can’t believe he made me mad enough to say them in the first place. Doesn’t that make this his fault?

  With another self-pitying sigh, I dipped my brush into the nearby bucket of soapy water and got on with my work. These floors weren’t going to clean themselves, and I highly doubted the guard hovering around in the background could be bribed into doing this for me. Or into letting me go before it was finished.

  Being the supposed Artan around this rotten place sure doesn’t mean very much. I mean, shouldn’t I have diplomatic immunity or something?

  Even Aureeyah, whom I’d counted on as an ally, hadn’t sided with me, although I’d done my best with genuine tears in my eyes to convince her that Ilgard was “just being mean to me,” and wouldn’t she please do something? She hadn’t, darn it!

  Why did everyone around here always assume I was the one in the wrong?

  I should’ve slapped him, I thought for the umpteenth time, thinking back to the forced kiss. He deserved it.

  No, I amended bitterly, it’s probably a good thing I didn’t. If I had, I’d most likely be scrubbing chamber pots instead of hall floors right about now.

  The realization was far from comforting. I couldn’t remember anyone ever making me so angry.

  Explosion

  It was late when I finally got back to my room. I was wet, hungry, tired, and cross—the exact opposite of Aureeyah, who was relaxing in one of the twin chairs in front of the fireplace, her hands folded serenely in her lap.

  She glanced up as I entered. “How passed your day?”

  I shot her an evil glare. She offered a sweet smile in return.

  Grabbing some dry clothing, I stepped behind a dressing screen to change. I could’ve used a bath, I realized while toweling off, but I refused to lower myself and ask for one.

  “I have sent for food.”

  “Waste of time. I’m not hungry.”

  Emerging from behind the screen, I stalked over to the bed, where I plopped down heavily, reaching for a nearby comb.

  “You’ve not dined since morning.”

  True, but that wasn’t my fault. As soon as I’d finished one floor, a Simathe had appeared to escort me to the next. I’d been kept busy all day with no time to rest or eat. Consequently, I was starving; nevertheless, my pride wouldn’t allow me to request a meal, bath, or any other favors from my Simathe prison wardens.

  Choosing to ignore the fairy’s last comment, I gritted my teeth, concentrating on a particularly stubborn knot in my damp hair.

  “You’ll injure yourself.”

  Dainty fingers whisked the comb right out of my hand. Seating herself beside me, the fairy gently turned my head and took over the task of combing out snarls and snags. I wanted to protest but was so tired and glum that I couldn’t find the energy. Rather than argue, I simply gave up and allowed her to help. Beneath her charmed touch, the comb soon slid through my hair as easily as a knife through heated butter.<
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  After a bit, she stopped and laid the comb aside. “We must speak,” she said, all traces of humor gone. I turned reluctantly to face her.

  “This past week has been trying for you, I know. First the attack by Jonase, then your subsequent rescue, followed by your difficulties today.”

  My traitorous mind took a leap, diving through all of it and landing squarely on the memory of Ilgard’s kiss.

  Oh, if only you knew, I thought wryly.

  “You were at odds with the High-Chief today.”

  “Were at odds?”

  “Are,” she amended.

  “That’s more like it.”

  “He was only doing what he judged best for you.”

  I drew my feet up under me on the bed. “So acting like a jerk toward me all day was for my own good? Hmmm…that’s a new one on me.”

  “Jerk?” she echoed, her green eyes twinkling mischievously.

  “Yeah, jerk. It’s basically somebody who’s arrogant, mean, or rude. Not that the High-Chief has ever been the nicest of people,” I said sourly, “but he was way worse today than he’s been in a long time. And you didn’t even stick up for me,” I added, hurt in my voice. “What’s up with that? I thought you were my friend.”

  “So I am,” she declared softly.

  “Then why’d you—”

  “Sometimes,” the fairy cut in, “true friendship means doing what is best for another, even if it is not necessarily what your friend would like.”

  “Oh, so you were in on it with him. For whatever reason, my closest friends have decided treating me like crap is for my own good. Wow, I mean, I feel so loved.”

  “You would not listen to reason.”

  “What reason?” I exploded, throwing my hands in the air. “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

  “No,” she agreed, unruffled as always, “I suppose you haven’t.”

  I took a deep breath and counted to ten before daring to open my mouth. “Okay, so what reason are you talking about then?” I asked sweetly, with a fake smile and clenched teeth.