A Heart of Blood and Ashes

by Milla Vane

  “And if they aren’t persuaded?”

  Banek shrugged. “They might challenge him, if the matter is one of importance. If it is a lesser matter, they might give him their silence so all will know that he does not speak for them.”

  “Give him their silence? If a Ran speaks for all, that must be a great insult.”

  “Not insult. Punishment. It is the Ran’s honor to hear his people and to speak for them. If he cannot, it makes him not the leader he aspires to be, one who serves all.”

  Her face softened. “That is also what my mother said—that a Syssian queen must serve all. But if a Parsathean king cannot, what must be done then?”

  “He must think carefully over what was said,” Maddek said to her, because this lesson had been taught to him many times. “He might also consult others and seek their wisdom and counsel. Or sometimes he must simply wait until they speak to him again.”

  “Sometimes he must wait a full morning,” Kelir said, grinning.

  Yvenne blinked. “Only a morning? Parsathean disagreements are resolved so quickly?”

  “He refers to this morning’s punishments,” Maddek told her.

  She looked to the other warriors, wide-eyed. “You punished him?”

  Kelir snorted. “Not as well as we thought. Ours was nothing to yours!”

  Full-on laughter from all greeted that statement, yet Yvenne only looked at them with bafflement.

  “Mine?”

  “A full morning!” Ardyl choked out, tears in her eyes as she laughed. “Riding beside him with not a word spoken!”

  Realization filled her gaze as it swept to Maddek. “You thought I punished you?” At his nod, her eyebrows arched. “I would not punish you with silence. If you anger me, I will tell you so.”

  As he ought to have realized. He’d assumed her silence was punishment because that was what he knew, as a Parsathean. Yet he should have remembered how quiet she’d been when his warriors had punished her at the table last eve, and how very lonely she’d appeared before he’d joined her. He ought to have recalled what she’d said before of how agonizing loneliness was. And he should have thought of how he’d yet to hear her make a sound of discomfort, though many times on this journey she’d been in pain.

  Her silence did not mean punishment. It meant she was hurt. All this morning she had been.

  Maddek did not believe it was her shattered knee that had pained her. Often it must have, yet she’d still spoken to him. “So what reason for your silence?”

  A careless shrug lifted her shoulders, yet his question stole the light from her eyes. “I only wished to be left to my own thoughts.”

  Thoughts of what hurt her, no doubt. But also thoughts she clearly had no wish to share. Maddek could allow her that, as there was much he did not wish to share, either. Such as the hot jealousy within him, or the clenching of his chest whenever he recalled Yvenne saying she regretted her choice of husband.

  “I imagine a queen has many clever thoughts to occupy her,” Toric said, blushing more deeply with every word.

  “More clever thoughts than the king she will marry,” Kelir observed, earning a grunt of agreement from Maddek and a laugh from the others. “So your bride will have long silences like Danoh’s.”

  The mention roused the quiet warrior. Frowning, Danoh looked up from her plate. “I do not wish to be left to my thoughts. I hold my tongue out of habit.”

  Kelir appeared chagrined for teasing her. With a nod, he stuffed his mouth full. The others looked everywhere but at Danoh, except for Yvenne, who waited for more explanation.

  When none came forth, she asked for it. “Habit . . . because you hunt so often?”

  Danoh shook her head. “The habit of not saying words best left unspoken.”

  Yvenne’s curiosity sharpened. “Do you often want to?”

  “When I was a girl, quite often. Now the desire is gone but the habit is left.”

  “Until we see your mother again,” Ardyl said dryly. “Then the desire will likely return.”

  Danoh’s grin flashed. “Screaming at her is only habit, too. Once, I believed it would make her hear me. But she only hears my father . . . and that will never change.”

  With a heavy sigh, Banek shook his head. Uncertainty pinched Yvenne’s mouth as she glanced from him to Danoh, clearly wondering what she meant by that but also clearly sensing that tender ground was being tread upon.

  Danoh caught that uncertain glance. “My father was one of the Destroyer’s warlords.”

  And the Destroyer’s armies violated all they defeated. Yet it was the female warriors who’d had to bear more than the pain and humiliation of their rape.

  “I see.” Sympathy and understanding warmed Yvenne’s response. “We cannot always choose our fathers—or heal our mothers.”

  A slight smile curved Danoh’s mouth. “No, we cannot,” she agreed. “And something in my mother was injured more deeply than in others. Most warriors took the half-moon milk afterward. There were some who wanted a child and cared not how it came to be. My mother . . . she would not take the half-moon milk but neither did she want me. So I spent many years wondering why give birth to me if only to hate me and beat me? And I was angry for it.”

  “It was a disgrace,” Banek muttered. “Both what she did to you and how long it took others in your clan to see.”

  “I was almost a hunter’s age before I was taken from her,” she said to Yvenne. “But in those early years, after the Destroyer, many were blinded by grief and pain. How many were lost? How many violated? It must have been difficult to see through that to one young girl.”

  “You are more forgiving than you should be,” the old warrior told her. “You were right to be angry.”

  “And angry I was.” Danoh shrugged. “Until she told me that she gave birth to me because the only way she could make my father pay for what he did to her was by making his child pay.”

  Anger tightened Maddek’s jaw. “Such words should never be spoken.”

  “I’m glad they were spoken,” Danoh replied with an unexpected laugh. “I wanted her to be a mother as yours was. And yours. And yours.” She looked to Kelir and then Toric. “But after she told me that, I knew she would never, and I stopped wishing for what could not be.”

  As every warrior should. Still Maddek shook his head, because it should not have been so.

  “I feel no anger toward her now,” she continued. “I pity her. My mother is a warrior through and through—and she makes use of what she has. But the Destroyer’s warlord did not leave her much.”

  “He did not,” Banek agreed softly.

  “So that is the story of my mother,” Danoh said as she turned again to Yvenne. “And your mother killed the warlord who was my father. So I ask Banek for more tales of her than of any other—and I would rather hear new songs of Queen Vyssen fighting the Destroyer’s armies than another of Ran Bantik.”

  “If there are songs about my mother, I know none of them. And I hope Banek will share them with me one day.”

  “That I will, my lady. Now?”

  “Perhaps another night, as those songs will only be new to me. Not to Danoh.” Yvenne looked to the warrior beside her. “My favorite tale about my mother is not likely one you’ve heard, as it happened after the alliance was formed, after she slew the demon-queen, after she was imprisoned in the tower. The poison weakened her body, and she was weakened further after giving birth to Lazen. Still, whenever my father tried to visit her bed to get more sons upon her, she tried to kill him. So he had her tied down before his visits to the tower.”

  “By your father’s personal guards?” The same who’d helped rape Maddek’s mother.

  Yvenne nodded.

  “We will kill them all,” he vowed softly.

  A pleased smile curved her full mouth before she returned her attention to Danoh. “When Aez
il was born, my mother bled an ocean of blood—and for many days afterward, she did not open her eyes. Even after she awakened, however, it was as if her mind was no longer there. She had to be fed and cleaned and dressed as a babe, and she never spoke or moved from her bed. Still my father tied her, for he feared it was a deception.

  “When Bazir was born, she made no sound, but lay in silent labor until he emerged screaming from between her legs. When Cezan was born, it was the same. Her body labored but she made no sound of pain. Still my father had her tied. But one night, either the guards who secured the knots were careless, or the knots loosened while he rutted. And in the moment when my father spent his seed, when he was most unguarded, my mother grabbed hold of his hair and with her teeth ripped out his throat.”

  Maddek gave an approving grunt and saw his enjoyment in this tale reflected on every other warrior’s expression—and Yvenne’s too. Her face was alight as she continued.

  “She failed to kill him. But he bears a horrid scar. Through three winters and two births, she lay in bed, made no sounds, gave no indication that anything still remained of her mind. Yet every night, she secretly moved about the tower to keep up what little strength was left after the poisoning.” Yvenne sighed. “She claimed it was her speed that failed her. She meant to tear his jugular yet she was too slow, so he pulled his head back just enough to save himself, and her weakened arms could not drag him back down to finish him.”

  “It is still a legendary feat,” Danoh said in awe. “Such patience she had.”

  Yvenne nodded. “She told me his blood was the sweetest she’d ever tasted. His blood and his fear.” She paused to suck the jelly from another leg. “He did not visit her bed again for some time, but he did not need to. I was conceived that night.”

  A product of endless patience and cunning deception, with her mother bathed in her father’s blood. Maddek thought that beginning fit his bride very well. “If ever you are silent longer than a morning, should I fear that you intend to kill me?”

  She laughed at him. “My mother taught me better than that. I would give you no warning at all.”

  He grinned.

  “You jest, my lady,” Ardyl said from the other side of the fire, “but I believe you also speak absolute truth.”

  So did Maddek.

  * * *

  • • •

  When Yvenne left camp to piss, Maddek sent both Danoh and Ardyl with her. Whether magic followed them or Rugusian soldiers did, greater precautions he would take with her every movement.

  He unrolled his furs to make her bed. Only Yvenne would sleep a full night that night and every night following. For the others, a half night’s sleep would be had, with at least three warriors on watch at every moment. But Maddek suspected he would sleep even fewer hours than that.

  Much he had learned about his bride this day. Yet still she hid much behind her walls.

  When she returned to camp, her limp was more pronounced as it often was after a hard day’s ride, yet the remainder of her saddle stiffness appeared to have gone. She looked to his face as she approached her bed. Little could he read in hers.

  Hot frustration poured through his veins again. He strove not to let it command his tongue as he narrowed his eyes upon her and asked in teasing tone, “Do you lie in wait as your mother did?”

  The comparison to her mother pleased her, he saw, though confusion wrinkled her brow. “How do you mean?”

  “Silently. Not once have I heard you make a sound of pain.” His warriors loved to groan, even over a splinter.

  Especially over a splinter. When a wound was worse, hardly any complaint would come at all. But Yvenne was not a warrior yet.

  A faint smile touched her mouth, yet her eyes remained solemn. “A queen does not cry when there is someone to witness her tears.”

  He frowned. No shame could be had in crying. “Why?”

  “Whatever pain a queen suffers, her people suffer worse. And the role of comfort should not fall upon their shoulders, but hers.”

  Far different from the Parsathean role. A Ran spoke for all, so he also spoke for their grief, sometimes only with his tears. “What if it is not to weep in pain, but to scream in pain?”

  “It is the same,” she said. “A queen’s pain is nothing to what her people know.”

  “Even when your knee was shattered, you were silent?” Maddek did not think he could have been.

  “I was.” A shadow passed over her face. “Also to deny their satisfaction.”

  “Whose?” Though he suspected. Only her brothers and father did she know.

  Her silence answered him now. Was she hurt again? Or silent for another reason? It could not be about Maddek’s mother. The injury was too old. Three years, she’d said. The same number of years Queen Vyssen had been dead.

  “Why will you not tell me what happened? What do you conceal?”

  Her eyes hardened. “If you believe I have something to hide, will you trust that what I reveal is truth? You will not. So I cannot see what purpose there would be in telling you when you doubt all that I say. I will gain nothing, yet you will gain another weapon to use against me—one that wounds me deeper than any other.”

  He could make no sense of her. Not of her words and not when she turned from him and began to limp away.

  Maddek caught her arm. “Where do you go?”

  She spoke low enough that the others would not hear but firmly enough that he could not mistake her. “There is but one bed and I will not share yours.”

  Maddek had not forgotten. She would deny his place at her side until her moon night. So this bed he’d made for her alone.

  Though he’d hoped she would change her mind. “There will be no wolves to warm you this night. They must watch over the camp.”

  Her chin lifted. “I will be warm enough by the fire.”

  In her heavy cloak, perhaps she would. Unlike the previous eve, when she’d worn nothing beneath it, now she was also wrapped in her linens and covered by a silk robe. As they neared the Boiling Sea, the spring nights became ever more humid and mild. But if one of them must keep warm by the fire, it would not be his bride.

  “The furs are for your use,” he told her. “I am on watch as well.”

  She turned back toward him, but it was only partial acceptance. “You will need a bed half the night through. Wake me, and I will take my turn at watch while you sleep.”

  “Last eve, you asked me to wake you for another reason.”

  She went still, her gaze locked on his. “To ease your need?”

  Which was suddenly hard upon him. With blood pounding, he snagged the braid at the base of her neck and tugged her closer. She came easily, lips parted, eyes widened. Arousal roughened his voice. “Last eve, you would have taken me into your mouth.”

  With a lift of her chin, she said, “So I would now, if you demand it.”

  If he demanded it. Not if he asked, because she would refuse. But if he demanded, she would comply. And Maddek could not tell if the fire burning in her moonstone gaze was challenge or desire.

  All that he could read clearly from her face was that Yvenne would ease his need if he told her to. She would go to her knees, even if the shattered joint pained her, and not make a sound but for the hiss of her breath.

  So a decision must be made. He could tighten his fist in her hair and guide her down, and know the hot ecstasy of her mouth upon his cock.

  Or he could open his hand.

  Releasing her braid, he cupped her jaw in his palm, rubbed his thumb over the fullness of her bottom lip. “That is not what I would ask of you this eve. Instead I would ease your need.”

  It was a lure to bring her out from behind her walls—a lure that would give him as much pleasure as it did her. But although temptation shone through her gaze, she shook her head. “You have shown me how to ease my own.”

&nb
sp; “Not with your fingers. With my mouth upon your cunt.” No mistaking the emotion that flared through her eyes now. Pure hunger he saw, as fiery as his own. “Beneath our furs, I would taste your lips and every span of your skin until honey dripped between your thighs. Then I would feast upon the sweetness of you far into the night.”

  Her breath stopped and she squeezed her eyes shut. With that moonstone gaze shielded, he could better see her face. The flush upon her cheeks. The moistness of her lips.

  He could see the effort it took her to pull away from him.

  “On my moon night,” she whispered, her face averted, her body tense. “I will be better prepared for you then.”

  Prepared to meet the lust that raged through him? Maddek did not think she could be. With a soft laugh, he let her go.

  “Then take your sleep while you can,” he told her. “You will need it.”

  CHAPTER 19

  YVENNE

  The stars still shone brightly overhead when Yvenne opened her eyes, uncertain what had awakened her until she heard it again. A soft snort, as the horses sometimes made, but this was near her head and accompanied by shuffling and grunting.

  Maddek’s low voice came from just as nearby, but at her other side. “It is only a louth.”

  Rooting in the soil with the short tusks alongside its beak. An odd-looking creature it was, the size of a boar but with its squat body low to the ground, four legs splayed like a newt’s, and with smooth, reptilian skin.

  She turned away from the louth to study Maddek, who sat beside her bed. It was closer to morning than she’d thought; the stars above were bright but they faded to the east. Almost dawn, yet he still seemed to be on watch. At the center of the camp, the fire burned low, flames glinting off the knife he used. So different he looked by firelight, the soft glow making his features seem more harsh, all hardened planes and angles with deep and dark shadows. Yet still so handsome to her eyes.

  For a long breath she watched him, trying to fathom what he was doing—and trying not to recall how many times she’d silently eased her need in these furs the previous night, her mind filled with his roughened voice telling her that he would feast upon her cunt. Then falling asleep lonely, wishing she’d invited him into their bed.