Crystal Moon

by Elysa Hendricks

  mountain trail.

  ***

  The hours passed slowly into night.

  Other than her visits to Graham, there was little to occupy

  Sianna’s time. A grumpy, difficult patient, he allowed her

  attentions, did the exercises she prescribed, then demanded to

  be left alone. She tried not to be hurt when he permitted Katya

  to spend time at his side. She should be thanking the Eternal

  One for his wisdom in bringing these two lost souls together

  rather than feeling jealous of their growing love.

  The infirmary emptied of patients. Zoa, her lungs healed,

  scampered and played with the other children. Their laughter

  cut like sunshine through the thick air of tension in the castle.

  People stopped at their chores and smiled when a group of

  children passed at their games. Though anyone in the castle

  would welcome Sianna and include her in their activities, she

  found herself discontent with their company.

  Night birds dipped and swayed through the dark sky, their

  high chirps like the tinkle of crystal bells. Few insects flew in

  the snow-scented harvest air. Soon the birds would flock to

  their hidden caves and sleep through the coming winter.

  Sianna sighed, her warm breath fogging the air in front of

  her, and wished she could do the same until Kyne returned, but

  sleep eluded her. She leaned forward against the cold, damp

  stone wall and gazed sightlessly into the night. Long ago the

  joining moons had set. Night lay over the mountains like dirt

  covering a grave. No glimmer of light came from beyond the

  castle’s walls.

  Her longing and worry for Kyne kept her from sleep. Eager

  for dreams of his embrace yet fearful of nightmares of his

  death, she shunned his bed. Instead she walked the battlements,

  eyes searching the gloom for a sign of his return. Her heart

  reached out to him, but like a pebble tossed into a bottomless

  well it fell endlessly. Still, she tried again. Was he dead? No.

  She knew the emptiness within her would be different—deeper,

  darker—if he were. For now her ka waited in limbo.

  Lost in thought she jumped when a strong, warm arm

  wrapped around her waist from behind and tugged her back.

  “I’d advise you not to lean on the stone.” A voice whispered

  in her ear. Breath stirred the fine hairs on her cheek.

  Katya spun her around and pulled her away from the edge

  of the battlement. She kicked the low wall where Sianna had

  rested her arms. A portion crumbled and tumbled into space.

  Moments later a dull thunk echoed in the night. “Castle Vareck

  is in need of some repairs.”

  Sianna stared at the ragged gap in the battlement and dark

  emptiness beyond and shuddered. She touched her fingers to

  Katya’s hand. “Thank you. You saved my life.”

  Katya’s arm tensed. Her muddled emotions flowed over

  Sianna, none clear enough to decipher.

  “Why do you haunt the night when a warm bed waits in

  Kyne’s chamber?”

  “Because that bed is empty.” The admission slipped past

  Sianna’s cold lips.

  “You love him, don’t you?” Tentative belief sounded in

  Katya’s voice.

  “Yes. More than my life.”

  “Did you love Aubin?” Katya’s tone hardened.

  “I never knew him. Until you abducted me, I’d never even

  heard his name. I was not his lover nor his betrayer.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Sianna DiSanti, daughter of Endric DiSanti.”

  Katya threw up her hands. “You befuddle me. You are not

  what I expected of the spawn of DiSanti. If you tell me you are

  not kin to him I will believe you. Kyne will believe you. Deny

  DiSanti! Save yourself from judgement.” Katya’s voice grew

  to a shout.

  “I cannot. For all his sins, he is my father. His blood flows

  in my veins.”

  “Cannot? Or will not? You are a stubborn woman. Suit

  yourself, but DiSanti does not deserve your loyalty.”

  “Perhaps not. But he gave me life, and for that I cannot

  deny him.”

  Snow started falling. A fat white flake landed on Sianna’s

  face and melted. Like a tear it ran down her cheek. She shivered.

  Katya reached out and touched her arm. “By the moons!

  You are frozen. Why do you wander the battlements dressed in

  your night clothes? Do you court lung sickness?” She shrugged

  out of her heavy woolie coat and draped it over Sianna’s

  shoulders.

  White speckled the darkness beyond the battlement, drifting

  softly to cover the ground.

  Sianna smiled at the motherly concern in Katya’s young

  voice. The coat warmed her flesh, and Katya’s caring blew a

  breath of summer across her chilled soul. But only Kyne’s safe

  return could coax the bud to flower.

  “I’ll walk you to your chamber.” Katya tugged at Sianna’s

  arm. “Kyne will not return at least until morn. No one wanders

  Azul Mountain trails at night.”

  ***

  One misstep, and the journey would end.

  Like a heavy shroud, darkness blocked Kyne’s progress

  along the mountain trail. Hakan picked his way behind Kyne.

  His hooves crunched the frost covered ground, the sound as

  harsh as the rasp of breath from the woman draped over his

  back.

  “Hold on, Lisha. We are almost there.” Kyne spoke, but he

  knew the woman was beyond hearing. Unconscious, she didn’t

  respond. “Sianna will heal you,” he whispered his hope.

  He pushed away the thought of others that could no longer

  benefit from Sianna’s healing touch—Je’al among them—and

  crushed the seed of grief. He would mourn later.

  The trap had sprung true and well. DiSanti’s small guard

  had fallen quickly before Kyne’s larger troop, but just when

  victory lay within their grasp, the prey had escaped.

  Separated from his men, his sword shattered by another

  opponent’s blow, Kyne faced DiSanti alone and unarmed.

  Gleefully, DiSanti toyed with Kyne, making him dance to the

  tune of his sword.

  “I know you, Rul Cathor. Outlaws indeed. I should have

  guessed this was naught but a trap. Do you even have my

  daughter?”

  “Of course.” Kyne laughed. “How badly do you want her

  back? Her marriage to Prince Timon will solidify your hold on

  the throne. What do you offer in exchange for her life?” The

  words tasted foul on Kyne’s lips. He stalled, trying to distract

  his opponent. He needed time for his men to reach him.

  “Where is she? Tell me, or I’ll kill you now!” DiSanti feinted

  to the right.

  “You can try.” Kyne danced left. The blade flickered inches

  from his eyes.

  DiSanti seemed to study the length of his sword. “Your

  father died on this blade. He begged for his life,” he taunted. “I

  granted his wish, long enough for him to watch me ride his

  wife, then slit her throat and listen to her moans of pleasure

  turn to strangling as her life’s blood stained the ground at his

  feet.”

>   “My father would never beg!” Enraged, Kyne lunged.

  DiSanti danced out of reach. “Temper. Temper. Remember

  your lessons, pup. A swordsman must always remain in control.”

  His blade flashed, slicing Kyne’s left arm from shoulder to elbow.

  Pain cooled his rage. He eyed DiSanti’s stance, the graceful

  movement of his sword. If he’d had his sword, he and DiSanti

  would be evenly matched. Without it he was a cornered rodent

  to DiSanti’s lyon.

  “Aubin also tasted of my blade. I used it to carve him as I

  would a plump hen for my dinner.”

  “You killed him for the crime of loving your daughter.”

  DiSanti’s eyes glittered with madness. His sword swayed

  erratically. “I killed him for being Cathor spawn. Slaughtered

  him like I would a shoat for stealing what was mine!” He lunged

  again.

  Clutching his injured arm, Kyne fell back from DiSanti’s

  attack. A quick glance told him his men were still too far away

  to hear his call. He stumbled on the rough ground, fell and

  rolled. DiSanti pressed forward. His blade nicked Kyne’s cheek.

  “My blade is thirsty for more Cathor blood. First it will

  drink yours. Then your sister’s and any who would side with

  you against me.”

  The other sounds of battle died away. DiSanti glanced over

  his shoulder and went still for a moment.

  Two men raced toward them. At this distance Kyne could

  not tell whose men.

  “Your men are defeated, DiSanti. It’s over. Surrender to

  me, and I promise you a fair trial. Or my men will strike you

  down where you stand.” Honor demanded Kyne speak the

  words, but he threw them like arrows at DiSanti’s pride.

  DiSanti growled. “But they’ll not reach us before I kill you.

  Be still, Cathor and I promise to kill you quickly. Trouble me

  more, and I’ll fillet you like a fish.”

  “Come then and do so.” A cool battle calm took hold of

  Kyne. His heels hung over the edge of a cliff. One step more,

  and he’d fall to his death and save DiSanti the trouble.

  “With pleasure.” He started to lunge.

  “Face me, you coward!” Lisha shouted. Sword flashing,

  she attacked.

  DiSanti whirled and blocked her blow. Swords clashed.

  “You!” With a howl of unholy rage, DiSanti struck out and

  knocked her arm wide. His blade slashed down her throat and

  across her chest.

  Surprise registered on her face. Then blood welled. Over

  DiSanti’s shoulder her eyes met Kyne’s in a mute plea. The

  sword dropped from her fingers.

  DiSanti raised his sword and lunged.

  Kyne sprang forward. Too late. From the left a man jumped

  between Lisha and DiSanti. DiSanti’s sword skewered him.

  Leaving the sword, DiSanti jumped back. “Tell Prince Timon

  his mother and sister shall pay for his betrayal,” he shouted,

  then turned and fled.

  Kyne let him go as he caught Je’al in his arms. He gently

  eased Je’al down and tested the depth of the sword in his chest.

  Je’al blinked owlishly and gave a crooked grin. “It doesn’t

  hurt as much as I feared.” Blood gushed from his mouth. He

  coughed and slumped into death, eyes wide and unseeing.

  Like Aubin, Je’al died, a smile on his lips, in Kyne’s arms.

  Hatred burst anew in Kyne’s heart. He would see DiSanti die

  by inches and snuff the DiSanti name from the world.

  Next to Kyne, Lisha’s eyes rolled back in her head, and

  she crumpled to the ground. Crimson stained her once white

  shirt from shoulder to waist. He pressed his hand to the bleeding

  wound. Warm and red, blood seeped up through his fingers to

  mingle with Je’al’s and his own dripping from his arm.

  A group of his men approached silently.

  Hamon knelt beside Kyne. “We’ve a need to stop the

  bleeding.” He touched Kyne’s injured arm.

  Kyne jerked away. “Your shirt, Hamon. Press it to her

  wound.”

  Hamon shook his head. “She’s all but gone, my lord.”

  “She will not die.”

  Through clenched teeth Kyne hissed orders at his men while

  he tightly bound Lisha’s chest with strips of cloth.

  Now her only chance of survival lay up a treacherous

  mountain trail. Caution told him that to attempt the climb at

  night would result in his death, but to wait would doom the

  woman. Blood drained from her body despite all efforts to

  stanch its flow. First light would see her dead.

  So Kyne put Hamon in charge, sent them on to Prince

  Timon and began the ascent. DiSanti’s death would have to

  wait until another day. Kyne could only pray that DiSanti realized

  he’d been lured out of the palace and betrayed, and would not

  attempt to return there until he’d gathered his forces.

  Sianna’s final words haunted Kyne. What foreknowledge

  of events did she have? What were these women to each other?

  In what way other than as a brave comrade in arms was this

  woman important to him? He’d never seen Lisha before, and

  she claimed no political connections. Was he foolish to risk

  both their lives on the chance Sianna could save Lisha’s?

  Fifteen

  An unborn scream on her dry lips, Sianna bolted upright in

  bed. In the darkness, icy sweat beaded her brow and slithered

  down her back. She pressed a palm to her chest to calm her

  racing heart and looked around. Other than the crackle of the

  fire and Warda’s whiffling snores, the chamber lay still and

  quiet. Yet something woke her. Evil stalked the night and

  threatened all she held dear.

  Closing her eyes, she mentally sought out those she loved:

  Katya, sleeping peacefully; Graham, stirring in restless

  discomfort. Zoa. Etam. Betha. All were well. She tried to sense

  Laila, but could feel nothing of her sister.

  Dread lodged inside Sianna as she reached out for Kyne

  and prayed for the power to break through the barrier between

  them.

  Physical pain slammed into her, but she knew his injury

  was—at least in his own mind—minor. Like angry waves

  against a rocky shore his confused emotions battered her.

  Determination set his course.

  He was returning and would arrive soon. She scrambled

  from the bed, hastily flung on her clothing, then paused as another

  emotion struck her. Grief. For whom did Kyne grieve?

  Seeking to strengthen the bond between them, she touched

  his thoughts. Faces and images flickered in her mind, none clear.

  She could not sort his jumbled emotions. He lived. It was enough.

  For now.

  Moving quietly through the dimly lit corridors of the castle,

  she woke Althea and together they readied the infirmary.

  “Who is there?” Graham’s voice came from Althea’s

  chamber.

  Sianna hadn’t yet moved him back to his own quarters.

  With most of the men gone, the few left at the castle were too

  busy to take the time to carry Graham up the steep stairs.

  Besides, they feared the bite of his sharp tongue. The stronger

  he became the more he
chafed at his inactivity and helplessness.

  Only Katya had the fortitude to face the sardak in his cave. He

  didn’t thank her for it, but neither did he chase her away.

  She stepped into the doorway. “Kyne is returning. There

  are injuries. I am preparing.”

  Graham leaned over and lit a lamp. In its glow, Sianna saw

  Katya stretched out on a pallet near his bed.

  “Are you sure? Kyne must be desperate to risk climbing

  the mountain trail in the dark.” He ignored the woman sleeping

  at his side. “Who is injured?”

  “I am unsure, but they will be here before morning.”

  Katya sat up and blinked. “Kyne is hurt?”

  “Yes, but I don’t believe seriously.”

  “I’ll help you prepare.” In the small chamber, Katya’s hip

  bumped Graham’s bare shoulder as she stood. She stumbled.

  Before she tumbled across his lap, he caught her shoulders.

  For a minute she rested in his strong grip, their lips nearly

  touching.

  A sensual cloud of repressed longing heated the air in the

  tiny chamber. Sianna caught her breath.

  Color flared in Katya’s cheeks, and she scrambled upright.

  Head bowed she mumbled something incoherent and hurried

  out.

  Graham grinned and, arms folded over his broad chest,

  relaxed back against the wall. “The little pika grows wary of

  the kite.”

  “A wise mouse knows to flee from a bird of prey before

  she’s caught in his talons.”

  With a thoughtful frown, Graham flexed his battle-scarred

  fingers. “My talons will never pierce her soft skin.”

  “It’s not her flesh she fears will be torn asunder, rather her

  tender heart.” She wrapped one of his large hands inside her

  own smaller ones. “Hold it with care.”

  He touched her cheek. “How is it one so young is so wise?”

  The warmth of his touch and the depth of his affection for

  her eased the chill of fear in Sianna’s heart. Among this small

  band of desperate rebels she’d found the home and the family

  her father had long denied her. Praying silently that her father

  wouldn’t destroy them, she followed Katya to the infirmary to

  await Kyne.

  Near dawn a sentry called out Kyne’s arrival. Dread lodged

  in Sianna’s throat at the sight emerging from the mist; a blood-

  splattered man leading a quinar with a limp form draped over