by Nicole René
Xavier brushed his thumb against her burn, making her yelp and flinch away from him. He ignored her, and did it again, this time with more pressure.
“Xavier!” Leawyn yelped again, the pain stabbing. She pushed against his chest, trying to get him off of her.
“This mark…this pain,” he said softly, staring down at the raised, angry flesh of her hip. Blood seeped through the skin that had scabbed over, reopened from the movement of their joining. “It belongs to me, just like you do,” he whispered, looking up at her when he pushed against the burn again, making her cry out.
“You might hate me, Leawyn, and I don’t blame you if you do.” She sobbed, still fruitlessly trying to push him away. “But this?” Xavier grabbed her hair and made her look down at his hand, pushing down on the burn again, irritating it further. “I own you. You’re mine.”
She cried again in pain, and he bent his head and kissed the irritated, heated skin.
“I need you.”
“Why?” Leawyn sobbed. Big, fat tears rolled down her cheeks as her anguished eyes met his own empty ones. “Why, Xavier?” she gasped out, her body trembling violently. “Why me?”
“Because,” he said, his voice almost inaudible and thick with emotion, making him sound less like the fierce warrior he was.
“You make me feel again.”
With his admission, Leawyn stopped pushing against his shoulders, shocked. Xavier closed his eyes and rested his head on her flat stomach, snaking his arm around and under her, nuzzling into her.
Her tears still ran unchecked down her cheeks as she stared down at him. In that moment, Xavier looked like a child to her. He looked like a lost boy confined in a hardened man’s body. Slowly, as if unsure of the movement, Leawyn brought her hand up so it rested upon his shoulders.
“This has to stop,” she whispered, defeat heavy in the words.
Xavier slowly looked up at her, and she met his eyes. What she saw in them took her breath away.
Pain.
Regret.
Anger.
Hope.
Need.
Xavier’s eyes were like her own; the only noticeable difference was the color. She knew they were both lost in a deep sea of the unknown, and the more they swam, the deeper they went. The more they fought and resisted the waves, the quicker they sank.
Unwilling as she was, she knew their lifeboat was acceptance and each other.
“Xavier.” Leawyn lifted his chin with her slender fingers so he had to see her, to hear the gravity of what she had to say. It was the same thing he had done to her on multiple occasions.
“This has to stop.” Her voice hitched on the last word as her eyes once again rapidly filled with tears. “You win; I have no one,” Leawyn cried, the first tear spilling down her cheek. “I’m alone.”
Dropping her grip on his chin, she bowed her head, body shuddering as she sobbed. The sound was heavy and grief-filled as each sob tore from her throat.
She was startled when he gently cupped her cheeks, bringing his face close to hers. He studied her vividly, watching every tear that slid down her fair skin and taking her in.
“You’re not alone,” Xavier whispered thickly. “You are the most beautiful flower, Leawyn. Don’t let people crush you. Even if it’s me.”
Then, he kissed her.
The sound of horses and loud voices of men woke her up.
Still in the firm grips of sleep, it took a moment for Leawyn to realize Xavier was no longer in bed with her. Leaning up on her right elbow, she looked over her shoulder to Xavier’s side of the bed. The sheets were still rumpled. She placed a hand on the pallet and frowned.
It was still warm.
Leawyn squinted up at the small window inside her hut, the midday’s sunlight bright in her eyes.
Xavier slept in?
For the sake of her own sanity, Leawyn decided she didn’t want to think too much about it and flopped back on the bed. She winced at the flare of pain that shot from her hip at her sudden movement. She glanced down at the raised mark, studying it for the first time.
If it wasn’t on her own body, and if she didn’t feel the absolute pain of the symbol being branded into her skin, she would think the mark was quite beautiful. It was a woman’s face, with long, flowing hair that morphed into the mane of a horse. It was Saviero and his love.
The mark of Xavier’s forefathers. Of his ownership.
Leawyn’s hands hovered above the raised skin as she thought about the night before.
After Xavier kissed her, he had laid her down as if she were a child being put to bed. He had touched her with a care and gentleness that she didn’t know he was capable of. He had rubbed the cooling salve on her hip with gentle fingers until the entirety of it was covered. Once he was done, he gathered her up into his arms and went to sleep.
Before she could give any more thought to it, the wooden door opened and in walked Namoriee, her thin arms piled high with new clothes. Leawyn raised a brow as one by one, the village women, Tamanina and Thaarima, followed behind her.
Tamanina and her twin sister were carrying a large wooden tub, and their daughters, Tanessa and Talma, each carried large pails of water collected from the river.
Namoriee dumped the load of garments onto Leawyn’s bed with a relieved sigh.
“Namoriee,” Leawyn picked up the garment closest to her and raised it to eye level, “what are these?”
“Those, Lady Chief,” Leawyn’s brow arched higher when Namoriee snatched the garment out of her hands and tossed it back on the bed, “are your new dress clothes.”
“Yes, I can see that,” Leawyn said dryly. “But why do I have new clothes?” She peered to the side of Namoriee, watching Tanessa and Talma dump the water into the waiting bath as their mothers went about throwing in lavender. “And why are they preparing a bath?” She wrinkled her nose in her confusion. She watched the women leave the hut after the bath was prepared, then turned her attention back to Namoriee.
“Chief Xavier gave me the order to fetch you a bath and deliver these clothes this morning,” Namoriee shrugged in answer. “And,” she reached over and tugged the sheet Leawyn was using to cover herself, ignoring her squeak of surprise, “what Chief says, I do.”
Namoriee scanned down Leawyn’s body, taking in the fresh bruises on her throat and hips, as well as the scattering of the ones more faded with time. Her grin faded.
“Lady Chief…” Namoriee trailed off sadly, and Leawyn’s heart constricted when she saw the young girl’s eyes attempt to blink back tears.
“Oh, Namoriee,” she soothed, wrapping the sixteen-year-old in her embrace when she fell into her crying. “Don’t cry, I’m okay.” She cupped Namoriee’s cheeks as the girl pulled back to look at her.
“How could you be?” She sniffled. “When I heard Chief Xavier would marry, I was afraid for his bride, knowing how the chief is. I just didn’t think it would be anything like this.” Namoriee’s eyes filled with tears anew. “I’m so ashamed, and I’m eternally sorry I left you last night when you needed me. I’m so sorry.” She sobbed, throwing herself back into Leawyn’s arms and clutching her tightly.
Leawyn sighed. “Look at me, Namoriee,” she said, rubbing her back. “Namoriee, look at me,” she said more firmly, leaning back to catch Namoriee’s eyes as she guided her chin up. “You have nothing to be sorry for, you hear me?” She smoothed Namoriee’s dark hair away from her face. “You did what you were ordered to do by your chief. If anything, it was wrong of me to cling to you so.”
* * *
“Do you think you could ever forgive me?” Namoriee choked out, dejectedly.
Leawyn smiled gently, wiping a tear away with her thumb. “There’s nothing to forgive. Okay?”
Namoriee smiled weakly and nodded. “Okay.”
“Good,” Leawyn said. She hugged the girl, rubbing her back twice before letting her go. “Now,” she said cheerfully as Namoriee shyly stood, brushing the rest of her tears away from her face. “Why do you think Xavier or
dered this?” She once again examined the various clothes scattered atop her bed.
Namoriee snaked an arm around Leawyn’s back, supporting her as they made their way to the tub. Though it ached to walk, it wasn’t nearly as painful as it was before. Whatever salve Xavier put on the burn had numbed it greatly.
“It might have something to do with all the tribesmen pouring into our village,” Namoriee commented casually, helping Leawyn ease into the lukewarm water. Leawyn grew tense, her eyes flying up to meet Namoriee’s startled gaze.
“Tribesmen? When?” Leawyn asked with urgency.
“They’ve been pouring in the last two nights. Men from all our tribes, and some from tribes I don’t know.” Namoriee picked up the soap-soaked cloth and lightly started to scrub Leawyn’s shoulders. “The only tribe that’s missing is the Rhoxolani. Though, I’m sure it’s just taking them longer to arrive since they have a greater distance to travel.”
Leawyn looked down at her hands, clenching them together. “No,” she said. “I don’t think they will come.”
Namoriee paused, glancing down at Leawyn, slowly dipping the rag back into the water. “Why not, Lady Chief?” she asked hesitantly.
“Because,” Leawyn replied, turning to look at Namoriee over her shoulder with a haunted look in her eyes.
“They’re dead.”
Xavier restrained himself from pinching his brow against the headache that was slowly but surely forming. His emotionless mask was in place. It hid his frustration from the tribe leaders of Siraces and Asori who stood in front of him.
“What makes you so sure this army means to attack us?”
Xavier heard Tyronian snort beside him.
“Besides the fact they demolished the Rhoxolani tribe, you mean?” Tristan asked coolly.
“Could have been a message to Boers. He always was an uncaring fool,” Kisias, Chief of the Siraces, scoffed. “They were worthless anyways. If anything, it did us a favor.”
Kisias and Yoro laughed at their joke, while Tyronian and Tristan each flexed their hands into tight fists. Xavier felt his blood boil.
“That is enough!” Xavier launched himself up and slammed his fist down on the table with a loud bang, making the various objects on top jump from the force of the blow. Yoro and Kisias quieted instantly. “How dare you,” he hissed, fury and disgust coiling inside of him. “This is the Rhoxolani we’re talking about.” Xavier’s heated gaze met both Kisias’s and Yoro’s. “They were a part of us!” His fist slammed the table again and caused Kisias and Yoro to jump.
“That tribe is where my wife was born,” he said. His anger mounted with each word he spoke. “The Rhoxolani were her kin, and now she’s the only one!” He picked up a goblet and threw it at the wall, shattering it to pieces. Kisias and Yoro jumped out of the way. “Yet you laugh at the fact a whole century of our people, our history, are gone, never to be reborn!”
Yoro and Kisias glanced at each other wearily. Xavier’s fury was almost tangible as it poured out of him. He marched up to them, and Tyronian and Tristan stepped forward when both Yoro and Kisias reached for the hilts of their swords. They did the same, ready to back up Xavier.
“Mark my words, this army will attack Siraces and Asori,” Xavier said, crowding into their space until he was nose to nose with the two chiefs. “And when they do, and we hear the screams of your women and children being slaughtered, I will look upon the horizon and laugh as you are doing now.” He smiled grimly, his eyes cold as he backed away from Kisias and Yoro and their fury.
“Don’t expect the Izayges to fight your battles and save you.” With that said, Xavier stormed out of the tent.
Tyronian, Tristan, Yoro, and Kisias all stared after Xavier, the tension still lingering between them. Slowly, Yoro and Kisias turned toward Tristan and Tyronian, loosening their grips on their swords as they did.
“Good to see Xavier still has his temper,” Kisias said dryly.
“I can agree with Xavier over the fact it was wrong for us to laugh at the misfortune of Boers and the Rhoxolani, and for that I’m sorry,” Yoro said.
Kisias nodded. “Yes. Me as well. It was wrong of us.”
“Does this mean you will fight?” Tyronian asked.
Kisias and Yoro shared a glance. “No, we will not fight,” Kisias said eventually. “I cannot risk my people’s safety. We haven’t been at war for many winters. I would rather not have to go to war in this one. Especially since this army does not seem a threat to us.”
“I as well. I’m sorry,” Yoro said, shaking his head.
“They ambushed my brother, and wiped out Rhoxolani.” Tristan gritted his teeth, his leather wrist guards stretching was the only inclination at how tightly his fists were clenched. “How much proof do you need?”
“Yes, but both of those things have a direct connection to Izayges, not to our tribes,” Yoro argued.
“And to Xavier,” Kisias added. “With as many battles as he has fought, it would not surprise me if he were to make an enemy with a vendetta against him.” He looked at Tyronian and Tristan, his face showing his sympathy. “It is not our fight.”
Tyronian chuckled, shaking his head. Walking up to Kisias, he placed a hand on his shoulder. “I understand,” he said reassuringly.
“What?” Tristan growled, taking a tense step toward his cousin. “Tyronian—”
“No, Tristan,” Tyronian cut him off, glancing at him briefly before wrapping an arm around Kisias, clapping him on the shoulder and squeezing good naturedly.
“As Chief of the Siraces, Kisias has to do right by his tribe.” Tyronian grinned at Kisias. “Right?”
“Right. I’m glad to hear you understand, Tyronian.” Kisias grinned back.
Tyronian laughed heartily. “Oh, I understand.” Quicker than Kisias could see, he slammed him face-first into the table.
“I understand you’re a gutless fool,” Tyronian hissed furiously.
Yoro shouted in alarm, moving to help Kisias, with his sword drawn. Before he could take a step, however, Tristan was ready.
Tristan kicked out, catching Yoro in the stomach. The chief doubled over, breathless. The young warrior bent down, his elbow catching Yoro in the nose while his hand gripped the man’s wrist and jerked it forward. Yoro cried out in pain and dropped his sword. Tristan twirled on his knees, catching Yoro’s sword and pulling out his own simultaneously as he stood and faced the chief.
Yoro’s head was trapped in a scissor as Tristan glared down at him, holding the two swords to his neck.
“Now,” Tyronian said, keeping Kisias’s face flush against the wood as he struggled. “You forget my mother was the daughter of the chief before you. Do you know what that means?” Tyronian asked conversationally.
Kisias growled up at Tyronian, bracing his arms to push himself up. Tyronian jerked him against the table again, grinding his face deeper into the wood.
“Do you?” Tyronian yelled. He suddenly pulled Kisias up, spinning him around. He slammed his back onto the table, holding a dagger to his throat.
“It means, I can kill you right now,” Tyronian said darkly, jerking Kisias up by his hair so the dagger nicked his flesh. “I can kill you now and become the Chief of Siraces, for it is my birthright,” he said softly, his voice feral.
Tristan raised his two swords higher in warning when Yoro went to move forward.
“But you see, I don’t really want to do that,” Tyronian said conversationally. “It’s too early for killing, and I’m feeling particularly nice, ‘cause I’m usually a nice guy.” He shrugged, his tone modest.
“You dare threaten me?” Kisias shouted in rage.
“Threaten you?” Tyronian said in surprise. “Tristan, you hear that? Kisias thinks I threatened him.” He chuckled in amusement.
Tristan grinned. “I heard. It was very rude of him.”
“I think I’m quite insulted.” Tyronian pouted. “Let’s get one thing clear, Kisias.” He took the knife away and pulled his fist back. He struck out and con
nected to Kisias’s face. It made a sickening crunch as his nose broke from the impact. Not stopping there, Tyronian pulled Kisias up again and slammed his fist into his face twice more in quick succession.
The force behind the last punch was so powerful, Kisias toppled over the table and brought it down with him.
“Stop!” Yoro yelled out, shooting forward again. He stumbled back when Tristan used the toe of his boot against his chest to shove him back.
“Shut up,” Tristan growled in warning.
Tyronian calmly walked around the fallen table to stand in front of Kisias. Kisias moaned in pain and flopped over on his back, holding his nose. Reaching down to grip the front of Kisias’s leather armor, Tyronian jerked him up.
Then he leaned down and got right into the chief’s face. “I don’t threaten— I make promises.” Tyronian’s grin was all teeth as he tilted his head. “Want to guess what the promise is?”
“I’ll fight,” Kisias moaned. “I’ll fight with the Izayges.”
“That’s great!” Tyronian exclaimed happily. “You hear that, Tristan? Good ol’ Kisias changed his mind.” He glanced over his shoulder at Tristan.
“That’s great news. Yoro here said the same.” Tristan nudged Yoro’s chin up with the tip of one of the blades. “Isn’t that right, Yoro?”
“Yes,” Yoro gulped, glancing down at the sword as sweat ran down his temples. “Asori will fight with you.”
* * *
“This is great. I knew you two would make the right decision.” Tyronian beamed, clasping Kisias’s shoulders with both hands and tugging him up. “Now, I don’t need to tell you what happens if you decide to change your mind, do I, Kisias?”
Kisias shook his head, blood running down the length of his face.
“Good,” Tyronian grinned at him a moment before slamming his forehead into Kisias’s with a crack. He dropped his hands and watched the chief slump to the floor. “Nice chat.” Tyronian stepped over Kisias’s body and out the door.
Tristan slowly backed away, holding the two swords steady, still pointing them at Yoro. When he was just outside the door, he dropped his hand and tossed Yoro’s sword on the ground. He saluted them as he ducked down and exited the tent, leaving bloody and frightened chiefs inside.