by Nicole René
“Lady Chief, I-I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean to...” she trailed off, shame compressing her face when Leawyn waved her off, looking down.
“It’s okay, Namoriee,” she said softly, her voice tinged with hurt.
“Leawyn…” Namoriee stopped, at a loss for words. Leawyn took a moment to gather herself before looking up at Namoriee and giving her a small smile, motioning her to sit back down on the bed with her, which she did, her face still sullen with her guilt.
“A long time ago,” she began, “someone told me not to be so quick to judge my husband. That there were many things I didn’t know about him.”
Leawyn swiped a loose tendril away from Namoriee’s face and tucked it gently behind her ear.
“What they said was true. There are many things I don’t know, or like, about my husband. Then again, there are flashes of the man deep inside I know I’m lucky to get a glimpse of. Of the man, I think even he fears, because of how good he can be.”
Leawyn looked away from Namoriee, her gaze wistful as she gazed out the window.
“Those flashes give me hope that perhaps...we can learn to treat each other kindly. That maybe one day...I will not look to the morrow with a deep, painful longing of a different life.”
She stared out the window for a moment more. “Tyronian said that to me.” She smiled at Namoriee gently.
“You’re right, he is good. You’ll be lucky to have him, as I have no doubt that soon you will be my cousin as well.”
Namoriee shook her head, looking down at her hands she wrung together nervously. “I will not. I don’t deserve him,” she whispered, her voice a mixture of sadness, pain, and resignation.
Leawyn frowned, her brows knitting together in confusion. “Why would you say such a thing? I’ve seen the way he looks at you, my friend. It’s the same way Xavier looks at me. He’s but a wolf dying to devour his prey,” she teased Namoriee, who immediately looked even more uncomfortable.
“He does not. Even if what you say is true, I will not be married to him. I don’t want to be married.”
Leawyn pressed her lips together, not wanting to upset the girl even further, as she was fully aware that if Tyronian decided to make Namoriee his, he would see it so whether she wanted it or not. But Leawyn didn’t tell her this, and instead chose to let Namoriee live in her naiveté a bit longer and get back to the task at hand. Which was to find out who raised a hand to her sweet handmaiden?
“Who hit you, Namoriee? You must tell me.” When she looked to protest, Leawyn straightened her spine and stared at the girl with steel in her eyes.
“As your lady chief, I command it.”
Namoriee sucked in a sharp breath, staring at Leawyn in shock. This was the first time Leawyn had ever used her title against her, to command her as the slave she was.
Leawyn fought desperately with herself to stay strong. She didn’t like the look Namoriee was giving her, but she reminded herself she was doing this for her own good, as it was the only way she would get the answers she sought.
“It was—”
The hut door flew open, banging against the wall with great force. Both Leawyn and Namoriee jumped, startled. Namoriee paled as she watched Tyronian march up to her, a murderous expression on his face. She jumped up from Leawyn’s bed and hastily backed up, lifting a shaky hand, trying to halt Tyronian’s advances. Her back met the wall at the same moment his chest met her palm.
Tyronian moved fast as lightning, lifting Namoriee up in his arms effortlessly and bringing her close to his face even as she struggled.
“You will show me who did this to you, and you will do it now,” Tyronian growled down furiously in Namoriee’s face. Leawyn, sensing this situation was rapidly becoming dangerous, grabbed her robe and hastily threw it on.
“Tyronian...” Leawyn warned, now standing to the side of him and looking between him and Namoriee nervously.
“This does not concern you, Cousin,” Tyronian snapped, not sparing Leawyn a glance and keeping his cold blue eyes on Namoriee’s.
Namoriee looked over Tyronian’s shoulder to meet her stare before a shake brought her eyes quickly back to his.
“Show me, and after, we’ll have a talk about why I had to hear about your attack from a fellow warrior and was not notified by you personally.”
Namoriee glared up at him mutinously. “What happens to me is not your concern,” she snapped, and Leawyn had to hold in her groan at the words.
That was, probably, not the best thing to say to him. Judging by the sudden feral stillness that surrounded Tyronian, Leawyn was right.
“You are mine, Namoriee,” Tyronian said, his voice soft with menace. “Everything that happens to you is my concern.”
Namoriee’s eyes matched Leawyn’s wide-eyed ones, but before they both could really say anything, Tyronian swung Namoriee around in his arms and stalked back to the door. Leawyn followed them with her eyes, turning her body as Tyronian passed her. He was not even remotely fazed by her struggles to free herself.
“Where are you taking her?” she sputtered, wide-eyed. Tyronian paused only long enough to switch the girl’s weight so he could pull open the hut door.
“Namoriee has someone to show me, and then she’s going back with me to my hut. Don’t expect her again today,” he said curtly, ducking under the hut’s door and stepping outside.
Namoriee’s petulant shout of “No!” was cut off by the door slamming.
It wasn’t until after they left that Leawyn realized a very important detail.
“She never did tell me who it was.”
Months later.
Leawyn groaned when another heave constricted her body, only for nothing to come out of her stomach. She had been feeling sick for an hour now, and it was with the worst possible timing.
Ever since Hiinex’s assassination, Xavier had been busy with meetings with the elder council members and other warriors of the three main tribes. In fact, the only time she really saw Xavier for long periods of time was late at night when he woke her body up with pleasure.
Today was also the day half the village was to pack up and get ready to travel to the sacred grounds for the warrior games.
The warrior games were an event where tribes gathered together and fought each other for sport. They were designed for the leaders to pick which child would officially start his training as a warrior. Each tribe hand-selected and volunteered warriors who would compete against each other, and in the final round, fight. Whatever boy was left undefeated from their tribe was to be the warrior who began training.
The games were also for the seasoned warriors to compete against each other and show off their skill. All in all, it was a friendly activity for the tribes to unite, and ensure there would be no revolts.
This tradition only happened once every five winters, and it was the most treasured tradition of their people. Leawyn could not afford to be ill, as it was necessary for her to be present with Xavier as the wife of the Chief.
The hut door opening forced Leawyn to push to her feet and straighten out her appearance behind the safety of her screen divider.
“Lady Chief, are you ready? We are to head out now,” Namoriee’s voice called out to her. Despite Leawyn’s best efforts, Namoriee remained tight-lipped about what happened between her and Tyronian. She never gave any details away, and after awhile Leawyn stopped pressing her.
But whatever did happen between them changed Namoriee. There was a seriousness in her brown eyes that had not been there before. Some promise or understanding had happened, and Leawyn wasn’t quite sure it was shared mutually.
“Yes, go ahead and take my bag to the cart. I’ll be out in a moment,” Leawyn called out.
“You will be riding Tasselfell today. The chief will be riding up ahead with the others.” Since Deydrey was pregnant, Leawyn was unable to ride her. Usually, she would be stuck riding with her husband atop Killix.
“Thank you, Namoriee, I’ll be out there in a moment.”
She l
istened to the sound of Namoriee gathering her pack before the silence assured her she had left.
Leawyn sighed in relief, pressing a shaky hand to her forehead. She just hoped she would be able to handle the six-day ride well enough to stay on her horse.
It was day two in their journey when Leawyn started to admit something was seriously wrong. It felt like a herd of horses were running on her skull, and her body felt like a dead weight. The newest development: her vision was spinning.
Leawyn gasped, pulling Tasselfell up short with a startled jerk of his reins, which he did not like, and he showed it as he snorted angrily and kicked out his hind legs.
But Leawyn didn’t care because her vision was spinning.
Quickly, and without any finesse, Leawyn slid off Tasselfell’s back so her feet met the ground. She stumbled forward, knocking into a Siraces villager.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, disoriented, stumbling away from the woman she bumped into. She caught a glimpse of the angered expression on the woman’s face before it morphed into a more alarmed one.
“Lady Leawyn?”
Whispers and words of alarm spread like wildfire around Leawyn, when more and more of the villagers who were walking alongside and in front of her became aware of her strange behavior.
Leawyn squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head a bit to get rid of the black dots quickly overcoming her line of sight.
She was going to faint, she realized too late. Xavier is going to be upset.
And with that last thought, Leawyn collapsed in a heap on the ground, the various cries of alarm going unheard as she slipped into unconsciousness.
There were hushed voices whispering all around, the tones both urgent and calm, that floated into Leawyn’s consciousness.
“It’s been more than a day...”
“Why hasn’t she awoken?”
“We need to move. We’re already behind the other tribes...”
“I am not leaving until I know what is wrong. Why isn’t she waking up? You’re the healer; you’re supposed to fix her!”
“Xavier, calm your—”
“Don’t tell me to be calm! Why hasn’t she wakened?”
“Chief Xavier, I assure you—”
“You assure me nothing! Do your job, or I’ll find someone else who can!”
Heavy footsteps faded away, then a crashing sound followed as if something had fallen or been knocked over, before the room was silent once more for a few moments. The whispering continued.
“Why hasn’t she woken up yet?”
“Why are we whispering? Don’t we want her to wake up?”
A soft smacking sounded and a yelp of “Hey!” quickly followed. She heard a grumbling that sounded like, “It’s a valid question.”
“As I’ve told the chief, with Leawyn unconscious, it is hard for me to determine anything substantial. But it is my belief Lady Leawyn needs rest, and her body made it so.”
“So, basically, she’s been having too much sex?”
There was a feminine gasp before a soft thump could be heard with a muffled “ompf,” followed by a drawn-out groan.
“Be that as it may, we must leave the lady to her rest. I will linger until nightfall and until my chief retires, should she awaken before then.”
There were murmured agreements before the sounds of shuffling feet as they walked away. The sound of a chair being dragged on the floor met Leawyn’s ears, before a soft, withered hand rested on her forehead and whispered softly to her. “Rest, Lady Leawyn. You shall get respite for another day.”
Sighing, Leawyn slipped back into peaceful unconsciousness.
Xavier sat across the room, his elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped in front of him. His eyes were fixed on his wife sleeping on the pallet of furs. When word reached him that Leawyn had fallen off her horse and was swept with a dark spirit, he immediately left the council of chiefs and rushed off to see to his wife.
A healer was already seeing to Leawyn when he arrived at the tent that had been hastily put together for them. Unfortunately, as Leawyn was still unconscious, the healer couldn’t inform him of much.
That was midday, and the sun had long past set. Yet Leawyn still did not wake.
His brows furrowed, the only significant sign of his worry. He already lingered too long. The other tribes had a two-day head start, and they were due to participate in the warrior games in a day’s time.
Xavier couldn’t afford for the Izayges to stay any longer.
Sighing, he pushed himself to his feet, walked over to the small table positioned off to the side, and went about removing his armor until he stood in only his breeches. His sword and daggers made soft thuds onto the wood as he placed them onto the tabletop. He made sure almost everything was off his person before he made his way to the bed his wife slept in.
He never took his eyes off her as he bent, placing the unsheathed dagger on the floor beside him before he slowly sat down, as to not jostle Leawyn.
He lay on his side, gathering Leawyn to cradle her against his chest with one arm while he lifted the fur pallets to cover them both with the other. Once settled, Xavier reached over to the side of the bed and grabbed the dagger once again to place it under his pillow.
He fell asleep like that, wrapped around his wife protectively as he gripped the hilt of the deadly dagger under his pillow with his fist.
Protective.
Dangerous.
Ready.
“Are you certain this will work?”
Xavier looked over at Yoro, his eyes shooting around to the other men who surrounded him. The men consisted of the Asori and Siraces tribe leaders and their high-ranked and best warriors. Xavier had his tribe had somehow managed to arrive at the sacred grounds before the warrior choosing which is set to take place tomorrow.
At first, Xavier had been worried about traveling the way they did to ensure that they would make it on time, but Leawyn had assured him that the healer said she was fine, and that her fainting spell was only due to the heat.
He wasn’t sure he believed that.
The fact that she didn’t quite meet his eye, or that she seemed flustered when he first asked her what the healer said was wrong, made him suspicious and believe that she wasn’t telling him everything. But, because he knew that they couldn’t afford any more delay, he let it go.
Tyronian and Tristan stood to the side of him with Xavier’s own high-ranking warriors standing behind them. They were all looking at him with tense expressions. Their eyes were hard and focused, their attention completely on him.
“Yes,” Xavier said confidently. “If not tonight, then soon.”
“What makes you so sure, Chief Xavier?”
Xavier turned his attention to the Siraces warrior who spoke, stepping forward a bit with his question.
“This is the perfect time,” Xavier explained.
“We’re all converged into one space. All the tribe’s best warriors are here, leaving the unseasoned warriors to guard our villages. Not to mention all the women, children, and elderly. But more than that, it’s our sons who are the prime target,” he said, meeting the eyes of every man.
“Our future generation of warriors, of all tribes, all here in one spot. Tell me, what were to happen if they were killed?” He paused, seeing the comprehension dawn on the hardened faces around him.
“We would be the only warriors left,” Yoro said gravely, his tone matching his expression.
Xavier nodded slowly. “It’s the perfect plan, and the perfect time to strike. It’s what I would do,” he admitted, and all around him murmurs broke out.
“But if you know this, then why did we come? We gave them exactly what they wanted!”
Murmurs of agreement sounded around Xavier, and he felt the air around his warriors’ tense and shift closer to him, their loyalty clear. They did not appreciate their leader being questioned.
“Because,” Xavier spoke, instantly quieting the murmurs, “we have the advantage.”
&nbs
p; “And what advantage is that?” Kisias asked, and Xavier turned his attention to him. The sinister expression and the smirk that quirked Xavier’s lips made all the men pause, shifting restlessly.
“They think we’re unaware of what their plan is, but they’re wrong,” Xavier growled, his eyes flashing with the bloodlust and anger that had been simmering in him for the last six months.
This army had been the dark clouds of a looming storm, dark, angry rain clouds that consumed the sky as lighting struck in an ominous warning of the destruction to come. The attack at the lake, the head delivered to Xavier, Leawyn’s attack—it was all just the beginning. A warm up. It was the monsoon that came just before the hurricane that destroyed everything it touched.
“We’ll be waiting, and we’ll be ready. We will wipe the victorious smiles—victory they do not have a right to—off their faces. Our swords will be stained with their blood as we smile down at their severed heads,” Xavier growled in fury, turning around to meet the gazes of all the warriors around him. He saw the same bloodlust in their eyes he felt as he called to the warrior within them. They all had the urge to spill blood—the blood of anyone who dared to question the ferocity of the Samaritan men. Who dared to challenge them and try to destroy their home?
“They want to destroy us, take what is ours,” Xavier’s voice grew louder as the air around them crackled with energy, each word he spoke bringing a spark to flame. “They will kill our daughters, our sons, our people. They want a day where Samaritans will no longer lay claim to this land. They want to take what is ours. Do we let them?” Xavier shouted at the men.
“No!” they cried back.
“They want to destroy us. Do we let them?”
“No!” the men cried back louder, fists raising in the air with their passion. Every face clouded with determination of victory, victory against the men who dared to challenge them and threaten their way of life and land.
“They think they can beat us, that they can kill us. We are Samaritans; we do not bow down to anyone!” Xavier slammed his fist against his chest, and all around him the warriors did the same. Creating a cadence, their fists represented an audible pulse of their hearts.