Goldenmark

by Jean Lowe Carlson

  Grump shrugged, but his clever smile told all. He knew exactly what he’d brought to bargain with, but wasn’t telling.

  “Even if you have the strongest Ghenje strategy ever, Grump, I doubt she’ll come back to aid Arlen.” Dherran spoke. “Delennia seemed certain she wants nothing to do with him, or us.”

  “You underestimate the power of the past, Dherran, and of the future.” Grump popped a blush cherry into his mouth and chewed, his gaze gone thoughtful. “Arlen's an old fighter. He's looking for someone to take his place, to defend the Alrashemni. He’s training you for a reason – as his replacement. But the past never dies, and us old fighters have more of it than most. The strings that connect the past to the future gather in our hands tonight, and Delennia knows that. Thus, she’s curious.”

  “Curious about what life could look like if the war ended?” Khenria swished water over her shoulders with a cloth. “If we had peace between Alrou-Mendera and Valenghia?”

  “Indeed,” Grump nodded, his dark eyes sharp. “But it’s a peace we can’t get without a fight. Especially with Lhaurent den’Karthus now commanding the game, along with the Valenghian Vhinesse. Two rotten peas in a pod; one of which, Delennia hates with a passion, and the other, that she could be convinced to hate also – with the right motivation.”

  Dherran bristled, his rage rising to the surface. “I want peace as much as the next man, and I’m willing to fight for that, but where does it end? I’ll be Arlen’s new commander for the Alrashemni if that’s what he believes I can be – but even so, I’ll be damn careful what I'm fighting for.”

  “And what are you fighting for, Dherran?” Grump’s gaze was keen, something knowing sliding through it. A long moment stretched in the fire-lit room. Khenria dunked under the water again and Dherran looked around, seeing her rise to scrub water from her face by the firelight. She was beautiful: fierce, intense, and everything in Dherran’s life that was worth fighting for.

  “Once, I would have said revenge,” Dherran murmured, watching her. “But now...”

  A slow smile spread over Grump’s face. Reaching out, he set a hand to Dherran’s shoulder and squeezed. “Dherran, my boy, you are wiser than any of us old men. Only the old and brittle fight for revenge – the idealists of the world fight with what you’ve got: heart.” With a deep sigh, Grump continued, “I need to retire. We have a big day ahead. Khenria!”

  “Hmm?” She looked around from the tub, eyebrows raised.

  “I need to speak with you a bit before we retire.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “Indeed.” Grump rose from the table with a long stretch.

  “What about Delennia?” Dherran eyed him. “Do you really think she’ll make contact again before morning?”

  “I know she will.” Grump's eyes twinkled mischievously as he turned toward the pass-through, then stepped out, closing the door behind him. Dherran heard the sound of Khenria rising from the bath, splattering the hearth-stones with wet as she stepped out. He turned to look just as she slipped into a soft crimson robe from a stand near the tub and cinched the sash. Dherran stood and went to her; netted her loosely in his arms, but she was strangely rigid tonight, her muscles taught and her pretty mouth in a line.

  “Are you alright?” Dherran asked, bending to kiss her.

  “I just feel... strange here.” Khenria's dark gaze pierced like talons as she gazed around the room. “Like I know this place. I thought it was just the sensation of being watched from the walls, but it’s not that. It’s like – I’ve been here before, and that feeling I have inside me, Dherran. The simmering heat, the crawling prickling that snapped out from me when I was captive as a young girl. It’s been rippling all over my skin since we arrived in the catacombs, but when we came into the manor proper, it’s like fire-ants under my skin. Like... flames. Breathing through me, just under the surface.” Taking a deep breath, she forced a small smile. “But that’s crazy. Maybe I’m just tired. I need to go talk with Grump. I’ll be back in a little while.”

  Standing on her tiptoes, she stretched up and kissed Dherran on the mouth, letting it linger. He drew in her scent, in the smoothness of her body under his hands, gripping the silk over her hips. She made a little sound, then pulled away, a dark light in her eyes that promised more. Turning, she moved to the pass-through and slipped out, shutting it softly behind her.

  Simmering with lust, a small smile upon his lips, Dherran stepped to the bath. Sticking his fingers in, he found the water still hot enough for soaking. Stripping away his garments, he slid in, currying water through his hair and sighing back against the angled rim. The water was perfumed with jasoune bloom and sandalwood, and it made his mind drift. Old memories surfaced behind his closed eyelids: Suchinne sparring with him at staves, her dark eyes round as saucers when he stepped in to kiss her for the first time. How her tiny body yielded to his, his hands palming her waist and wrapping around her bird-fine ribs. Her lips so gentle...

  Dherran startled at a press of lips upon his. But he smiled beneath those lips, knowing whom they belonged to. Not Suchinne, but a lithe hawk of a woman who’d captured his heart in her talons. Opening his mouth, Dherran deepened their kiss, breathing in Khenria’s honey-sweet musk by the crackle of the fire. She kissed him back, slow and deep. Not touching him, just the linger of lips, sliding her tongue into his ready mouth. It was deep, satisfying, and when at last he pulled back with a sigh, he heard a low sound of delight issue from her throat.

  “That was nice, Kingsman. You kiss almost as well as you fight.”

  Dherran’s hand shot out from beneath the water as he growled, seizing the woman who had kissed him by the throat. Blinking his eyes open, he stared into the clear gaze of Delennia Oblitenne rather than Khenria, wearing her peacock blue robe where she leaned over the tub, her hands upon the sides.

  “Have a care whom you steal kisses from, woman!” Dherran growled, seething. His hand squeezed her neck so hard her face mottled. A small smile curled her lips, not cruel, but knowing. Seeing that she made no move for a blade under her silk, her hands quiet upon the edges of the tub, Dherran gradually released his grip.

  “You have some strength in you.” Delennia kept her smile, reaching up to rub her neck.

  “Careful how you test it,” Dherran growled.

  “Do you find me so unenjoyable?”

  “I've seen everything I need to see.”

  The smile was wiped from her exquisite face, her silver brows pinching into a line. “I've heard tales from my spies in Alrou-Mendera about a golden-maned Kingsman, you know. Stout as a boar, who fights with a glorious passion in the summer-rings. He wins and wins, despite his temper and an untamable death-wish, inciting riots wherever he goes. Do you wish to incite my ire, too?”

  “Fuck off.” Dherran rose and stepped from the bath, claiming a towel from the wrought-iron rack.

  “But I've come to negotiate, Kingsman. Isn't that what you and Grunnach want? My help with Arlen’s predicament?” Delennia stepped behind Dherran, her hands sliding over his hipbones as he tucked the towel in around them.

  “Don't touch me,” Dherran growled. Under those clever, knowing hands, he felt that seeping pleasure again; like a white mist curling through his body, down into his groin and up into his heart. He found himself stalled, unable to push her away. Delennia stepped close, kissing his well-muscled back, her lips smoothing over every rope and furrow as her hands slid over his abdomen.

  “I'll not trade sex for an army,” Dherran strangled.

  “Are you sure?” Delennia’s hands slid lower, beneath the towel. Dherran's breath was fast. His head tipped back at her expert touch. He shivered as he felt his rage try to rise and found it sluiced back. That white mist surged through him again – washing away his will to fight her offer. His breath caught as her hands slid in, grasping him. Dherran’s fingers let the towel fall and she stepped close, brushing her delicious curves over his back as she stroked him, slow and firm.

  “Fuck Aeo
n—!” Dherran strangled, his voice husky.

  “I would like to negotiate my return to the Bitterlance. I have three demands,” Delennia whispered in Dherran's ear.

  “Define your terms.” Dherran grit his teeth, fighting her touch with thoughts of cold snowbanks and ugly hags.

  “First, you will secure an audience with my sister the Vhinesse, on my behalf.”

  “How – do we get an audience with the Vhinesse?” Dherran let out an involuntary groan.

  “You've got a clever little rat for a friend,” Delennia cooed in Dherran's ear. “Figure it out.”

  Delennia was firming her speed, coaxing him, flooding him with her white waves. She released her grip and Dherran spasmed. Clamping her hands over his hip-creases, she held firm, feeling him gasp before she chuckled in his ear, her hands resuming their play. “Second, at this audience, you will bargain for me to officially resume House Oblitenne's standing army. As well as the standing armies of House Jhudisse, House Fhouriquet, and House Salvea, my strongest allies, so I may bring them to mass in force for Arlen’s support.”

  “And third?” Dherran choked, her hands working him just fast enough that he couldn't catch his breath.

  “Fuck me. Now.”

  Delennia’s hands released Dherran as she stepped to his front. Sliding up her silk robe, she moved back, her bare ass to his groin. Bracing one hand on his hips and one on the tub’s rim, she pressed back. Suddenly, every control that Dherran had worked so hard for over decades was on the brink of shattering. He fought to think. Fought to become utter stillness, ultimate control – and not shove himself to the hilt in Delennia’s firm flesh. He could feel her mist-wreathed magic, pulling him. Moving through his body like an evil rip tide, demanding that he consummate his promise to her. Suddenly, with a ragged in-breath, Dherran knew it was wrong.

  “No.” Dherran’s voice was a low growl as he placed his hands firmly on her hips and pushed himself away. “No one controls my passions, nor their outcome. No one but me.”

  Something snapped. As if Dherran had ripped apart Delennia’s white seductions with his pronouncement, he was suddenly hit with a physical recoil. Stumbling backward, he ended up sitting upon his bare ass on the hearth-stones near the tub. With a quick breath, Delennia looked around, her eyes wide. Rising and letting her robe fall back into place, she turned, staring down at him, her pale eyes incredulous.

  “So that’s what Grunnach came to bargain with... jinne wyrdi!”

  Regaining his breath, Dherran pushed to standing, swiping his towel off the floor and tucking it around his hips, securely. “I’m not your fuck-boy. I don’t care who you are, or how many armies you can muster, or what kind of vile wyrria you have. If Grump thinks I’ll sell my body for your help, he’s dead wrong. You can show yourself out.”

  Dherran turned away, breathing hard. He could still feel her vile mist flowing over him, trying to get in, but he’d closed that door – his heart unassailable stone now. He heard Delennia give a low chuckle, then begin to laugh. Rather than seduction, her laugh held astonishment, as if she found something vastly funny. As Dherran turned to eyeball her, he found she had taken up a seat at the dining table.

  “Well, Kingsman!” Delennia wiped a tear of mirth from her eye as she poured herself a goblet of wine. “You certainly know how to surprise a woman!”

  “What’s so funny?” Dherran snarled, one hand over the fold of his towel.

  “Sit.” She waved at an empty chair. “I won’t molest you again. I swear upon my House. You and I have much to discuss.”

  “Negotiations are over.” Dherran didn’t budge.

  “On the contrary. They’ve just begun.” Delennia eyed him, not lecherously this time, but like Arlen often eyed Dherran – with shrewd thoughtfulness. “I was wondering what it was that I felt from you in the fight-ring, and now I know. So. Arlen is training you, is he? Grooming you as his replacement to lead the Alrashemni, no doubt.”

  “What are you talking about?” Dherran growled. Grump had shocked him once already tonight with his talk of Arlen grooming Dherran to lead, and this was another piece of the puzzle. One he knew nothing about, but which needed filling in.

  Delennia poured another goblet of wine, slid it over to the waiting space at the table, and lifted her silver eyebrows. Dherran gave a harsh sigh then acquiesced, moving forward to don a crimson robe from the stand rather than just a towel, cinching it well closed before sitting. “The thing you said Grump came to bargain with – jinne wyrdi – what is that? And what does it have to do with me?”

  Delennia chuckled again, sounding very like Arlen. “You’re a boorish brute, but I know it when I feel it. Tell me, do you know what Children of the Sands are?”

  Dherran lifted an eyebrow. Taking a swig of his wine, he said nothing.

  “Passionate.” Delennia gestured with her goblet at him. “They have a strength not of the body, though you have that, nor necessarily strength of will. It’s strength of heart that they possess. That you possess. Arlen knows this. Somehow, he figured it out about you, and that’s why he chose to train such a callous lout as yourself to become his champion.”

  “What do you mean?” Dherran was listening now, the wine and his interest in the conversation calming his fury.

  “You know that Arlen couldn’t resist my sister the Vhinesse, when she came for him,” Delennia eyed Dherran acutely. “He betrayed our forces in the very moment we had that bitch surrounded, penned in her throne room during our coup on the White Palace eighteen years ago. With her magic, she called him close enough to touch him – and when she did, it was all over. Arlen turned on his allies to protect the Vhinesse. He was a demon, fighting against our own soldiers, and against me. We lost that day because of it – Purloch, Grunnach, myself – all of us sent running for our lives for the next eighteen years. After my sister grew bored with Arlen’s punishment and he was finally released from her falconry, he retreated back to Alrou-Mendera in shame. He’s been there, hiding, ever since.”

  Dherran watched Delennia, seeing something new in the woman: a stalwart commander, recounting her tale of hardship with calm strength. A vicious bitch but a strong leader. Her pale eyes burned, not because her beloved had fucked her sister, but because he had broken during battle.

  Delennia took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Dherran lifted his eyebrows, surprised that her Khehemni training held the same practice for emotional control as his Alrashemni training. She set her fingers to the table-top. “Dherran. We have a weighted dice in the pocket. Grunnach knew it, that’s why he brought you to me. He knew, as did Arlen, that you have a strong enough wyrria to resist my sister the Vhinesse. To bring her down.”

  “What are you talking about?” Dherran breathed, though something inside him stirred.

  “I’m talking about heart magic, Dherran,” Delennia held his gaze with impeccable strength. “Jinne wyrdi. The magic of the ancient Djinni of the southern deserts. Elemental beings who long ago would take women who wandered out into the dunes, blessing upon them children who could change the outcome of events. Children of the Sands. Who held jinne wyrdi and passed it down their bloodlines through the ages.”

  “You’re saying that I’m one of these... children?” Dherran murmured, incredulous, his wine forgotten.

  A small smile lifted Delennia’s lips, though her eyes were hard. “I’m saying that someone far back down your bloodline was taken by a Djinn, and bore a child who had the power to change any future. Jinne wyrdi, or jinnic wyrria, is the magic of the pure heart. A heart that knows what it wants, a heart so passionate that it will hold onto its convictions and desires during any circumstance. And change that outcome. Have you ever asked yourself why you win, fight after fight, when the populace hate you? When they’d rather see you fall and run you out of town? It’s not your will, Dherran, and it’s not impeccable battle-skills: it’s your heart. Your passion. When you use it – it undoes all opposition to your desire. I didn't let you win against me in the ring, Dherran
. I never let a man win. Once I touch my opponents, they loose their will to fight me and become sloppy, but you resisted that. And just now, you resisted my sex, which no one has ever done. Arlen and Grunnach sent you to me, because they know your magic is one of the only things that can truly counter the wyrria my ancient line possesses. Heart magic is one of the few things that can bring my sister the Vhinesse down.”

  Delennia Oblitenne sat back, swirling her wine and staring at him. And for his part, Dherran gaped at her, knowing he looked the fool and unable to do anything about it.

  CHAPTER 11 – ELOHL

  Elohl kept his ears open during the Vhinesse’s war-conference and his mouth shut – Fenton doing the same upon the other side of the Vhinesse’s gilded chair.

  Vhinesse Aelennia Oblitenne sat in a modest throne of gilded vines today, at a round table of white marble cluttered with documents in the center of the lofty war-room. The sun had long since set, and only stars could be seen through the vaulted windows that circled the round hall on one side. Glass flutes flickered with burning oil at every column, Generals and Captains in the crimson and black livery of the Red Valor giving reports by turns. The war-council tonight included not only Valenghians with their silver hair and handsomely arrogant features, but also sword-slim Cennetians with russet-blonde manes and fiery green eyes, and tall Praoughians with sleek flaxen locks, their cobalt gazes pinched in frowns.

  Elohl took in the conversation with an impassive face, committing names and stations to memory as information came tumbling out about the Valenghian-Menderian war. His mind was clear. Day by day, Elohl’s thoughts had become less enslaved to the Vhinesse’s white mist – Fenton sparking Elohl’s will with talk of Ghrenna and shocks of wyrria each night for the past three days.

  Now, Elohl was able to hold onto his memories in the Vhinesse’s presence, her touch producing no effect. Elohl had given Fenton a signal they’d arranged, touching his pinky to his thumb to let Fenton know he was in control of his faculties as they’d moved out of the Falconry this morning. Fenton’s mouth had quirked, though he kept looking straight ahead as they’d stepped into the corridor.