by Shea Godfrey
Cecelia smiled in surprise as the weight of her pending loss brought tears to her eyes. “No one was to know about the library,” she replied, and her voice was rough. She cleared her throat and looked down at her sleeping friend. “I should’ve known better, I suppose,” she whispered. “He’s always loved a good secret.”
Chapter Nine
Darry crouched upon the trunk of a fallen oak tree and waited, her arms braced straight out upon her knees. Her dagger was stabbed in the wood beside her, should she need it.
The circle of birch trees did not move in the breeze, and neither did the grass. She could not see beyond the layered ring of trees, and try as she might to find it, Jessa’s scent was completely gone from the night air. It was merely the way it was, and she accepted her place within the bigger events at play, at least at first. When Jessa had disappeared into the grove, Darry had encouraged it. It was what she had fought for, both she and Hinsa. It was a prize worthy of their wounds.
As the minutes passed, however, the situation seemed more and more suspicious. She had lost track of time since she’d first felt anxious, and things had gone astray from that moment on.
She stared at a bush in the distance, heavy bunches of black berries pulling the thin, tangled branches toward the ground. They were not unlike her worries, which had grown fat with their own weight.
Her right hand came back and slid upon the skin of her upper chest until her scar was beneath her fingers. The tissue was heavy and tight, and in some quiet part of her soul, she could still feel the pressure of Malcolm’s boot against her shoulder. The pain caused had been much deeper than even he had intended, and she was well aware of the pleasure that fact would bring him if he knew. She closed her eyes.
So now you will disappear into the night…We shall all grieve, of course, and there will be tears. Mother’s heart will be broken, but she’ll bear it, just as she did when Jacey Rose left us.
She had struggled with duty and honor her entire life. How to be a good daughter, how she might stay true to her nature and yet please those she loved the most. How to serve her family name and her respect for the legacy of those who came before. It was clear early on that the sword was her way to do that. No matter how much it went against tradition, and her father’s wishes, it was the gift she had been given and she loved it. To throw that away, to deny it, would have been an affront to Gamar.
The High Priest Haba Una had told her to follow her path no matter where it led, and this would be all that Gamar could ever ask. Be true, Darrius Lauranna, and Gamar shall bless you. There are so many who lose their way, but all he has ever asked of us was that we be true.
They had argued over the years about what that meant, exactly. The High Priest would brew his black spice tea and they would debate until Haba laughed and ordered her to go home. Be true to your best self then, Darrius, until we might agree.
Her gift was the sword. Her gift was the grace of Honshi and the Dance of Steel. Her gift was Hinsa, and Hinsa had spoken. She had language and words, or at least, when lost to her deepest blood. Darry had finally had the chance to hear her. To have been denied such a thing because of caution, because of fear, it had been weak and…no, not weak. She had never been weak.
But she had always been frightened. She had been terrified they would kill Hinsa, or keep them apart in some way. That they would cage her, and one day, at some point, Hinsa would just disappear.
Your blood actually is diseased. You truly are a mongrel now, aren’t you.
Hinsa would’ve been easy prey for Malcolm’s men, if trapped somehow. Her fear had been well founded, though only hindsight gave her that knowledge. He would have mounted her head upon the wall of the King’s Lodge in the Green Hills, and laughed when he looked at his trophy.
You’re a backward cunt, and I am the Crown Prince of Arravan.
Darry’s eyes narrowed into the darkness as Malcolm’s voice drifted through her head.
Poised to take the throne.
His choice of words and his tone had been interesting now that she had some distance from that night. He had always had plans in motion, but now, they were spiraling about the throne of Arravan with a vengeance. They would be tightening, and the King’s Council would begin to split, if it hadn’t already. Killing Marteen had been a horrible mistake on his part, and she was still unsure of why he’d done it. Perhaps with Bentley and Etienne as unexpected witnesses to his treachery and treason, he felt he could no longer trust his advisor to keep quiet.
Then the joy shall be all mine, as she fights against me. Though either way, Darrius Lauranna Durand, I shall plant my heirs in her womb.
Jessa needed protection, and her Boys understood that almost as much as she did. Bentley and Etienne has heard Malcolm’s threats, and no doubt they had shared with the others, at least in essence, what he had threatened. Jessa knew what Malcolm wanted, but she would argue that she needed no such safeguards, especially if they put others in danger. Darry understood the truth. Jessa was the key to Malcolm’s grand schemes concerning Lyoness, which made her lover the most vulnerable of them all. Somehow it was the truth, and Darry had always known it.
She looked down at her feet, balanced so easily upon the fallen oak.
The Lanark River Estate had been a true gift to them all, and Darry felt a pang of sadness that Emmalyn could not share in its uncomplicated joys. Emmalyn had seen to their safety when they had been in dire need, and she had done so within hours of their escape into the maze. For her missives to have reached Ballentrae and be waiting for them, the house prepared and the Seneschal and his people at the ready, Emmalyn had acted with ruthless efficiency.
Emmalyn was on the move, and Darry could not think of a more dangerous opponent to have. Malcolm had challenged her once at Kings and Jackals, and when it was obvious he had no chance of winning, he had abandoned their game. When it was spoken of, he would boast of having allowed Emmalyn her victory. The lack of honor in such a small matter had always galled Darry, but Emmalyn would only smile. Time will tell, she had said.
Wyatt was home. He had to be. Her protector and defender in all things, her brother and boon companion. They had been robbed of their reunion, which they had planned even before his departure. They had promised themselves a stolen bottle of Artanis Gold from their father’s private collection, and they would drink it while sitting upon the thrones of Arravan. And she had missed Jacob and Alisha’s wedding.
Malcolm had backed her into a corner and she could feel it. Her blood pushed and screamed through her veins and she lifted her head back. A low growl of rage rolled along her throat and lifted quietly into the night as it moved through the trees. The noises around her ceased in reaction, the crickets and the night birds, and the frogs, as well. Only the breeze remained as it moved through the forest.
Darry looked toward the river and smiled a bit sheepishly. “Sorry.”
She was tired beyond her capacity to measure it and she still had no answers, and so she closed her eyes. She could feel Jessa’s body against her own, certain and safe and filled with such life. She felt herself drift in the sweetness, letting it soothe her blood as well as her troubled thoughts. Sleep was but a heartbeat away, and she fought against it, right up until she couldn’t…
“I would hold my love beneath the skins, when the winter wind would scream beyond the walls of our tent. She would tangle me up and kiss me in her sleep.”
Darry looked to the fallen birch among the undergrowth, less than ten feet away.
The scarred woman sat upon the bend of rotting wood, her body glowing with moonlight. Her figure caught at the hidden colors of the night, and they poured over her shoulders and fell from the tips of her heavy hair like rain.
“I cannot describe in words how I felt, only to say that in those moments her love made me feel like a god.”
“I know this feeling,” Darry whispered.
The scarred woman smiled in a tender manner. “I know you do, love.”
“How am I
to protect her?”
The scarred woman gestured to the grove. “This place, it bends things. The light and the colors. Time.” Her expression held a touch of something close to disapproval. “The Great Loom is exposed here, like the moments between life and death. It’s vulnerable. Everything here is on the edge of forever. Enoch use to say that the gods come here to play with men, like toys.” Her eyes were intense and Darry felt a touch of unease at the raw power they held. “But they come here to worship, as well. To worship us, to worship men because they live with passion. A passion for life, and each other, that the gods have long since forgotten. If you can find the right thread?” She grabbed at the air, and the closing of her fist echoed in Darry’s head. “You can ride it, and there is nothing they can do to stop you, because they are afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” Darry felt like a child before the fire, listening to her grandmother Asa Lewellyn tell a tale of the Olden Men and their wars.
“Of being lost.” The scarred woman smiled a mercenary sort of smile. “They have nothing to anchor them in time.” The thick scar that ran down her face bent as her amber eye flared with light. She looked young with her enthusiasm, terribly young and alive. “But we have our blood.”
“Why do I feel like you’re telling me something important?” Darry asked, suddenly wary.
“Because the Loom is moving, and it will be a cruel change of seasons, not just a shift in the wind. And because time is not what people think it is.”
Darry knew she was right. War was coming, and for Lyoness, it had already arrived.
“There are many groves like this, I have found, and though they are all different they are the same. Do you understand?”
“Like priests,” Darry answered.
The scarred woman smiled again. “Yes. But not the Holy Men.”
“No, they’re different.”
“The Vhaelin gods are almost as old as the Dog Star gods, who made the Cha-Diah people. No one knew who they were, either. Saving their totem, it was a thing of great respect.”
“I respect their power, but I did it for her.”
“I know.”
“How am I to protect her?”
“You must leave her.”
“I won’t,” Darry replied as her deep ache of peacefulness turned quickly into something else. “I will never leave her.”
“Yes…when Sorrow comes for you, you must leave her.”
Darry did not understand, but it didn’t matter. “No.”
The scarred woman stood up in a smooth move and crossed the distance between them. With each step she took, the moon’s light seemed to bend around her, just as she had said. She left shimmers of color in her footsteps through the grass, like lamp oil that had been spilled in pools of water.
When she stood close, she reached out and touched Darry’s cheek. Darry felt the wave of light from the woman’s hand slide down her neck in a supple manner. “If you would stay with her, then you must. Sorrow is the only weapon I have left with which to help you. That was my fault, and I’m sorry. When he comes for you, take his hand, or you will lose all that is yours. All that is good and clean and sweet. If you don’t, you will lose everything…just as I did.”
Darry frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“And you must remember whose blood runs in your veins, and return to it when it calls you home. Remember your blood.”
Darry felt the full effects of the love in the woman’s eyes, and it filled her bones with weight. “Are you going to make me climb that damn rock again?”
The scarred woman chuckled happily, the sound deep and rough. “You will have to. You forgot what I left for you.”
It took her a moment, but Darry remembered her promised gift.
“You should wake up now, my daughter…She calls for you.”
Darry opened her eyes with a start, still balanced upon the fallen oak. Her heart was beating fast, and she turned her head, her eyes intense upon the trees of the grove.
The name whispered through her thoughts and she pushed and leaped, on the run as she hit the ground. The saplings seemed to crowd her path, and as she neared the grove an unnatural wave of fear rolled over her like the incoming tide. Perhaps it was meant to warn her away, but she was more confused by its sudden presence than frightened. She knew only respect and curiosity for the Vhaelin. Darry ran through it and rushed past the ring of birch trees, four or five trees thick, and grown so close that it slowed her down before she burst through into the open grove.
Jessa sat in the center of the grass circle, leaning upon her left arm as if it were all she could do to stay upright. Her hair tumbled about her face and shoulders, the dark curls reaching toward the ground.
Darry ran and slid upon her knees as she approached, stopping before her lover. Her heart beat with an honest fear, a fear not born of spell or trickery. She could feel the power of the Vhaelin in the grove, and it swept against her skin in a swell of otherworldly presence that raised the hair upon her arms.
Darry touched Jessa’s face, her fingers gentle upon the familiar feel of Jessa’s cheek. She smelled of jasmine and pine and the sweet, enticing scent that was uniquely feminine to Darry’s senses. “Jessa?”
Jessa smiled slowly, her expression filled with unexpected indulgence. Her eyes opened as her hands came forward, and the fullness of her touch slid along the muscles of Darry’s stomach. The caress pulled the air from Darry’s lungs as Jessa took hold of Darry’s breasts in a covetous manner, turning her hands as her eyes lifted.
“I love you, Akasha.”
Jessa rose onto her knees and kissed her, her mouth smooth and hungry as her arms went about Darry’s back beneath her open shirt. Darry returned the embrace, lifting and pulling Jessa close. Jessa’s mouth tasted like home, and her dark curls filled Darry’s hand like the heavy waters of the Sellen Sea, alive against her skin and filled with mystery.
Darry fell beneath the influence of Jessa’s tongue, their passion weaving a spell that called out to the tattered remains of her wildest blood.
Her left hand slid beneath Jessa’s trousers and breeches and took hold of Jessa’s buttocks, grasping at the smooth skin as they kissed. Darry moved against her once, and then again. Jessa’s arms tightened and her mouth opened as her body pushed and reached in response. Her intimate, unexpected cry as she released her spirit flipped Darry’s heart and sent a shiver of pleasure along the flesh between her own legs.
Jessa rolled her shoulders and Darry felt the touch along her ribs, and then her neck. Jessa was careful about Darry’s wounds, but she would not be denied until she held Darry’s face. Jessa kissed her, wet and full with longing. “Don’t,” Jessa said, breathless. Her touch held the sort of possessiveness that thrilled Darry to her very bones. “Don’t ever run from me, Darrius, please. You must stay close. You must try.”
Jessa’s eyes in the moonlight were a splendid sable violet, abundant with so many treasures. A sweetness and unguarded innocence that only Darry knew, as well as strength, and a hidden potential for rage and temper that few would expect. There was laughter, and tenderness, and a power that knew very few restraints unless imposed by Jessa herself. A dry wit laced with a lethal mockery that only appeared when Jessa was frustrated or challenged. Darry understood her sexual appetites, held just beneath the surface of her shy surprise at being loved. Her girlish love of simple joys remained intact alongside the pain of a life lived beneath the darkness of others. A darkness that should have made all such gifts impossible, though instead, it had given her the capacity for more than Darry could possibly fathom.
“Akasha?”
Darry’s hand tightened in Jessa’s hair and Jessa caught her breath as Darry pulled her head back, ever so slowly, to expose Jessa’s throat. Jessa grabbed at Darry’s shirt as Darry leaned in, and the material slid along Darry’s back. Darry tasted the skin of her lover’s neck, her teeth grazing along the tender flesh, the pounding rush of Jessa’s blood just below the skin. So tenuous, all of it,
so utterly vulnerable.
Darry closed her eyes and savored the intense tremor in Jessa’s body.
Jessa let out a startled cry at the touch of her bite, and her hands dug at Darry’s shoulders as she tried to pull closer. Darry sucked the flesh as her tongue replaced her teeth, and her left hand slipped between them. She undid the buttons of Jessa’s shirt, slowly, blindly, unwilling to abandon her desire. She felt Jessa’s nails upon the back of her neck, and Darry turned them both to the side, a rumble of hunger moving hard along her throat. The muscles in Jessa’s legs let go instantly, and she tipped within Darry’s arms as Darry opened her mouth upon Jessa’s exposed breast.
Jessa’s tremble had turned into something deeper and altogether more violent as Darry undid the buttons of Jessa’s trousers, certain of what she would take and loving in what she would give. Her touch slid beneath her lover’s clothes.
Darry felt little of the Vhaelin in that moment, but she felt the influence and sovereignty of her own blood as Jessa jerked in her arms and pulled at her. The grass enveloped them as they sank in its thickness and Darry kissed her.
Jessa pulled her mouth free. “Salla.” Her shoulders shook as her emotions overwhelmed her. “Salla tuah de Akasha…”
Darry took her time as she removed her lover’s clothing, Jessa’s left hand refusing to let go of Darry’s shirt. She was blatantly helpless against Darry’s actions despite where they were, the temple of her own gods suddenly silent as Jessa gave herself over.
Darry took hold of Jessa’s wrists and claimed her body, her hips pushing smoothly between Jessa’s legs and pressing against her. She pinned Jessa’s hands to the earth and looked down at her amidst the fall of her hair. Jessa returned her gaze, her eyes bright and full with tears. Darry leaned down, her lips but a breath away from Jessa’s mouth. Her voice, when it came, was barely there at all. “My sweet Jessa…my love.”
