Age of Valor: Blood Purge

by D. E. Morris

  “Helfeirch,” he answered just as softly. “Hunters. They found something.”

  “What?”

  “I couldn't tell.” Returning his attention to Mairead, his intense expression softened. “You're shaking. You don't have to be afraid.”

  “Then why are we hiding?”

  “Instinct.”

  “Your instinct is to hide in a place you have told me three times I do not have to be afraid?”

  He frowned, his gaze wandering over her face. “Maybe I lied a little.” Mairead's eyes widened, making the corners of his mouth twitch into a tiny smile. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to be this close to you.”

  “What?”

  His arms loosened from around her enough so that she could pull away if she wanted to, but she made no move to do so. He lifted a hand, gingerly, to run his fingers over the skin she was so self-conscious about. There was reservation on his face, as though he wanted to touch her but wasn't sure if he should or if she would let him, his movements slow and jerky as his fingers moved closer. When she didn't flinch away from his touch, he exhaled in soft surprise. “You are not ugly,” he promised, his quiet words sure. “I've seen you watching other women here, seen the look you get on your face when you see others taking notice of them. So many times I have wanted to tell you that you have absolutely no idea how beautiful you are.”

  She almost laughed. It was the most ridiculous reaction to have, but a giggle bubbled in her chest that was hard to control and it forced her to look down in the hope of hiding the smile she had to bite down on. For the past five years, not a single man had looked twice at her, not even a man who was desperate to marry. Now, in less than a month, she'd had two attractive men with their arms around her, telling her things she'd only ever thought she'd hear in her dreams. A glimpse of Niam's pin under her cloak sobered her.

  “I didn't mean to embarrass you,” Derog continued, mistaking her reaction for something else, “but if I didn't say it now, I don't know the next time I'd be able to get the courage up to say it.”

  “There is another,” she said softly.

  Derog lifted a brow and looked around. “Where is he? I'll fight him. Right now.”

  Mairead lifted her head, unable to keep her smile from forming. “He is back home in Siness.”

  “Then I have already won, because you are here with me where you plan to stay, and he is not.” His brows lowered. “This is home now...isn't it?”

  She had no answer for him. Up to this moment, it had been easy to lie to him. He was just another villager, another one of Rhiamon's pawns. As the hunters had rushed by, she'd felt his fear, no matter what he said. He had protected her from whatever consequences their being found out there might have wrought. His care for her was genuine, and she believed that. It made lying to him feel wrong and let guilt stay her tongue. Derog took her silence as uncertainty and gave her a patient smile, once more trailing his finger over her skin, playing with stray wisps of hair about her face before he pushed the hood back. His eyes fell to her lips and he leaned down, kissing her before she had time to react or to stop him.

  His breath fanned across her face as his hands gently lifted her chin up toward him. This wasn't what she wanted. As much as she liked Derog, as much as she was even attracted to him, this wasn't what she wanted, but as his lips moved over hers, she responded to his touch. Her first kiss, and it was nothing at all like she had imagined. For a few seconds, though, it didn't matter. Nothing at all seemed to matter, but this man who towered over her, who was strong enough to protect her from anything, and who thought she was beautiful. For so long, all she had wanted was to feel safe, and as his hungry lips bruised hers, she willingly gave herself over to him in exchange for that security.

  He pulled away a fraction, his awkwardness gone as his lips feathered kisses over the undamaged side of her face. Mairead turned her head, conflicted as his fingers tangled in her hair. Her eyes opened, taking in the unobstructed view of the sky just a few feet away. Derog's kisses began traveling down her neck, fingers pulling at her scarf. Mairead's lashes slowly lowered to the spacious ridge before them, covered in a blanket of small purple flowers.

  She turned to stone in his arms.

  Visions of the festival came back to her in violent flashes: the smiling face of the girl before she handed Mairead the flower, the explosion soon after, pain that arched through her entire body, the fear that she was going to die, and the brief, fleeting moment when she wished she had. Her pulse quickened and her breath caught in her chest. If Derog noticed any change in her, he must have credited it to the passion of the moment; he pressed her back against the tree, the rough bark digging through the fabric that separated her skin from its jagged edges and leaving welts, his lips seeking hers again. It was the very thing Mairead needed to bring her back to the present. She gasped in terror and shoved him away with a strength she didn't know she possessed. For a second they simply stared at one another, both of them wide-eyed and shocked.

  “I'm sorry,” he quickly managed, horror creeping onto his face. He stared at the ground, unable to hold her gaze any longer. “Mairead, I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me.”

  She said nothing, feeling the familiar pressure of a panic attack rising in her chest. Any moment now she would scream unless she could get away. She just needed to be alone, to breathe and regroup. Anything she could offer Derog, even a single word, would betray her and she would fall apart. Grasping Niam's pin, she looked at Derog through the haze of tears that had begun to form, then rushed down the path alone before he could stop her.

  A splash of water and a giggle pulled Mairead from drifting in the midday heat and she blinked, brow furrowing. Esther stood in the middle of the river, unsuccessfully trying to hide her laughter behind her hand. Mairead reached up to dry her face with the back of her sleeve, feigning irritation. She bent as if returning to her laundry but quickly splashed water back at the younger girl. She squealed and ducked, her laughter drawing the attention of the other women nearby. They appeared cautious of the break from the monotony of the past few days at first, but soon enough, most of them were splashing about, laughter ringing through the air as it hadn't since the great fire dragon had been spotted in the sky.

  Out of nowhere, a gust of wind whipped across the surface of the river. It caught one of Mairead's gloves just right and blew it across the grass, whipping it away from her as though it were no heavier than a fallen leaf. With a cry of worry, she scrambled to her feet and chased after it, watching helplessly as it blew right into the path of someone she'd been avoiding for the past two days. Derog stopped the glove with his boot and stooped to pick it up, a shy smile on his face when he straightened.

  “I believe this belongs to you.”

  There was still quite a distance between them, great enough that he had to speak loudly and made others turn in curiosity. Self-conscious, she hurried forward to close the gap between them, coming to a stop just a few feet away. “I suppose you could keep it if you liked,” she offered, attempting to keep her tone light.

  He looked over the glove, thoughtful as though considering her words. “It's not really my color.” She laughed quietly, bringing a more genuine smile to his lips. “I miss you.” The admission made her brows elevate, and Derog flinched back, rolling his eyes. “Why did I say that? What is it about you that makes me say and do things before I think about the repercussions? But I said it, and I meant it. I miss seeing you. I know you've been avoiding me and that hurts. I keep trying to tell you that you're safe here, and I think I made you feel like you were anything but.” He shook his head and put a hand over his heart. “Mairead, I can't tell you how incredibly sorry I am. I'm an idiot. Ask anyone. I have great references.” She chuckled again and he took it as a sign of encouragement, moving a step closer. “You make me so nervous that I do and say stupid things. Please forgive me. Let me find a way to make it up to you. I'll do anything.”

  She lifted her head, finally understanding why she lik
ed him so much. There were times he reminded her a great deal of Jaryn, a man who, though he was her king, had always been kind to her and had always done everything he could to protect her. He was someone she knew beyond a doubt that she was safe with. It made her miss him.

  “There is nothing to forgive, Derog, at least not of you. It was incredibly rude of me to leave you the way I did the other night and then to give you the cold shoulder as I have.” Color stained her cheeks and heat rushed to her face. “That was...my first kiss and I felt things I still do not quite understand.” Her brow wrinkled, eyes lowering. With Rhiamon strangely absent, Derog was her only source of information. It would be foolish to turn him away now, especially when there was still so much she needed to find out. Asking around had revealed nothing of what the hunters had supposedly found the other night, and she'd been avoiding asking Derog directly. If she rejected him now, there was little hope in getting anything out of him ever again.

  “You don't have to be embarrassed.” He took another step closer, mere inches between them now. “The outside world and their rules of propriety hold women to ridiculous standards. A man can have as many lovers as he pleases and no one bats an eye, but if a woman is anything less than chaste until her wedding day and then does not remain faithful to her husband, she is a harlot. Not here.” He ran the back of his hand down her cheek, sending shivers through her core. His fingers trailed down her arm and took her hand in his own. Lifting it, his thumb ran over the bare skin of her knuckles. She gasped, realizing her sudden vulnerability. She tried to jerk away, but he held her fast.

  “It's okay,” he told her quietly, holding her terrified stare. “Mairead, you can trust me.” Letting her go, she quickly pulled her hand away, snatching the glove from him when he held it out to her. “I won't tell my mother.”

  “Why not?”

  “I told you that you were safe here and I meant it.”

  His face was open, nothing hidden in his expression. If anything, she could swear there was a sort of desperation he was trying not to reveal, a need for her to believe him. It reminded her of a child urgently seeking the approval of someone they'd always sought out for recognition. Uncomfortable with the rawness of his emotion, Mairead slipped her single glove on. “Why do you all call her 'Mother'?”

  His jaw worked as he wrestled with whatever it was he wanted to say, ultimately settling on something else as a forced smile made its way onto his face. “She takes care of everyone, guides us, raises us to some extent, teaches us what we need to know. She is the mother of our people.” With a sigh and an awkward shrug, he added, “She's also my mother in the literal sense of the word.”

  Mairead's mouth dropped open. “What?” She glanced around, suddenly fearful of being overheard. “Are you serious?” He nodded, his expression pinched as though he was not proud of the fact. “Why would you tell me this?”

  “It's a show of good will. No one else knows that here, absolutely no one. So now, if I can trust you to keep my secret, you can trust me to keep yours.”

  She glanced past him, farther into the village and in the direction of the men's housing. “Does your father live here as well?”

  Derog shrugged, uncaring. “I honestly have no idea. My mother has known many men over her years and has had several children by them. I doubt even she knows who my father is.” He laughed at the way Mairead's brows rose. “Remember, it's different here. That's not to say all relationships are like that. There are just as many in our tribes that find pleasure in a monogamous marriage as do a polyamorous lifestyle.”

  “And in which category do you find yourself?”

  A wide grin split his face. “Whichever category you're in?”

  She couldn't help but laugh, his combination of good looks and awkwardness disarming. With shock, however, all humor was quickly dispelled when she realized Rhiamon was walking in their direction. It was the first any of them had seen of her since the night Lilia had gone, and everyone was staring at her. She only had eyes for the two of them, though, her expression unreadable and placid as her sure steps brought her closer.

  “Mother,” Derog breathed, relief prompting him to wrap his arms around her. She looked small in his arms, breakable. She gave into a sweet smile as she returned his embrace. “Where have you been?” he asked. “We've been worried.”

  “All is well,” she promised, letting him go. She looked past him to Mairead, then glanced back at her son. An eyebrow lifted and one corner of her lips curled upward ever so slightly. “Am I interrupting?”

  “Of course not,” Mairead demurred, tucking her bare hand behind her gloved one and bowing her head. “It is good to see you again.”

  “Tell me what I have missed,” Rhiamon asked of her son.

  Derog scowled. “There isn't much to tell. I do have something to show you, though. Come with me.” He gave Mairead half a smile, a look in his eyes that told her he didn't want her to go, but she turned for the river anyway. She was only a step away when Rhiamon said her name, making her stop and look over her shoulder to the pair once more.

  “I would like for you to accompany us.” the older woman said.

  Mairead glanced down at her hands, wondering just how long she could keep herself covered. When she lifted her eyes, she sought Derog's face without a second thought, but he was already a step ahead of her. “Just one moment, Mother.” He made no excuse or gave any explanation, only jogged past Mairead and back to the riverbed where she'd left her other glove, returning as quickly as he'd left. When he handed it to her, Rhiamon watched them carefully. Derog either didn't care or wasn't thinking and let his thumb slide over Mairead's hand in a quick caress before letting go of the glove and returning to Rhiamon's side. Flustered, Mairead slipped the glove on, then fell into step behind the pair.

  The villagers rushed to greet Rhiamon when they saw her, making the journey to wherever Derog was leading them a slow one. She was tolerant and kind, taking time especially for the youngest of them. If she wondered where the children were, she kept her thoughts to herself. As few words as possible were spared without seeming curt before she moved on, though it was clear she was needed elsewhere and most were willing to let her go after a few moments.

  Men and women covered in crimson tattoos greeted them in a corner of the village that Mairead never went near. This was the place where the hunters lived, the one area she actively avoided, and it was where Derog was leading them now. He fell back to walk beside Mairead, close enough so that their arms touched, while Rhiamon took the lead. A small round dais was surrounded by faces she had never seen before, some men and women. Many of them were elves with gray skin that looked like leather, their pointed ears long and sticking nearly straight out from the sides of their heads. Wherever they had come from must have been rainy; all of them were soaking wet. Upon the dais were two short arrows, both of them covered in old blood and one of them charred nearly to cinders. Rhiamon picked up the one that was more intact and looked it over.

  “Both were treated with monkshood before they were used on the Elemental,” said one of the gray elves. “I was able to shoot him once, someone else got him one more time before he shifted.”

  Rhiamon fixed the elf with a cold glare. “But he shifted.”

  “Not for long,” he argued. “You couldn't see it from here, but he couldn't hold his form for more than a few minutes. He flew away from the village and before he was too far out, he lost his hold on his shape and shifted back. He fell to the earth in his human form. There's no way he could have survived.”

  The arrow in Rhiamon's fingers wobbled as though she was about to snap it in half. “You did not check to see?”

  The hunters all shuffled, glancing at one another. “We looked for a full day. We even scoured the river and the lake, but we never found his body, only the arrows.”

  Seething but careful to contain her anger, Rhiamon set the arrow back on the dais. In one swift motion, she pulled a small dagger from a sheath on her belt and flung it through the a
ir, sinking it into the elf's heart. Mairead covered her mouth with her hands, trying to stifle her gasp. The others seemed to know if they gave any sort of reaction, it would only gain them attention they did not want.

  “Find me his body,” Rhiamon commanded. No one moved to see if the fallen elf was alive or to help him. As Rhiamon swept her unforgiving gaze over the group, they drew back as one. “Where is Eira?”

  “She's erasing memories,” someone from the crowd said. “The entire village has to be wiped this time. It will take a few days.”

  “Better that than have to move again,” Rhiamon murmured. She turned around with eyes only for Derog. “You will take a party out to find the Elemental. Recover his body and bring it back here.”

  “And if he is alive?”

  “Kill him.”

  Mairead desperately wanted to look up at Derog to see his reaction to the order, but Rhiamon turned her attention to her next, making the younger woman freeze on the spot. “Come with me.” She had nothing more to say to her hunters and turned her back on them, extending a hand to Mairead as an invitation to join her on the walk back to the village. Mairead swallowed the acidic lump in her throat, feeling as though she had no other choice, and fell into step beside Rhiamon. Just before they turned a bend that would take the hunters from their line of sight, Mairead glanced behind her. She saw Derog take his cloak off in preparation for travel and the task set before him, finally seeing his bare arms. She nearly cried out when she saw the crimson tattoos that crawled their way up his skin.

  “I have something I want to show you,” Rhiamon told her. They entered back into the village, her demeanor and voice returning to the gentility with which Mairead was much more familiar, but she barely heard the older woman. She couldn't focus. Her heart was broken overseeing the marks so neatly etched into Derog's arms that boasted of his kills. She hadn't seen how many had been Gaels and how many had been dragons, but it didn't matter. He knew what she was. He had kissed her and promised her safety, yet he murdered her kind. She wanted to jump into the river and wash every trace of him off of her, she'd never felt so dirty. Mostly, she wanted to be sick.