The Beginning of Everything (The Rising Book 1)

by Kristen Ashley

  They then pounded them down as one in the dirt at their right sides, and at each end, a flash of coral and purple sparks rose up high, glinting over the end of their staffs into the air, this to another, deeper gasp of the crowd.

  “To the left!” Mother commanded.

  Staffs lifted, every horse as one took one step to left, the riders circled their staffs over their heads and then pounded them in a shower of sparks to the dirt at their left.

  “To the right!”

  And again, this same routine, this time to the right.

  “Staff rest, Nadirii!” Mother ordered.

  All the staffs were lifted, twirled in a blur overhead, and again, and again. Then, in unison, elbows bent, and the staffs were twirled over the hind end of the horses again and again. And then as one they were brought to the left side and twirled again and again, and finally over the head where this was repeated to the right.

  And simultaneously they were all re-sheathed, the collective crack of staff into scabbard breaking through the air.

  “Bows to the left!” Julia yelled.

  The entire left side of two-hundred and fifty Nadirii tore their bows off their backs.

  “Take aim!” Julia shouted.

  With precise movements timed to be performed as one, each of the left side of the Nadirii pulled an arrow out of her quiver, also at their backs, and fed the nock to the string.

  The bows were lifted, aimed to the sky to the left.

  “Fire!” Lucinda bellowed.

  Another collective gasp sounded as the arrows soared into the air.

  But it was calls of shock and cries of wonder when they exploded into bright, giant blooms of coral and purple sparks lighting up the night.

  “Bows to the right!” Agnes yelled.

  The right side of the formation responded.

  “Take aim!” Agnes shouted.

  They took aim.

  “Fire!” Melisse roared.

  And more arrows went soaring to the heavens before great starbursts formed.

  “Fire at will!” my mother thundered.

  The Sisterhood complied, and the sky lit up in flashes of orange, coral, white, gold, amethyst and violet light.

  The oos and ahs of the crowd layered over each other and didn’t quite silence when Lucinda yelled, “To the left!” at the same time Agnes shouted, “To the right!” and the display overhead ceased as horse and rider of each company took five steps as ordered, opening a column in the middle of the formation.

  The Sisterhood replaced their bows at their backs.

  It was time.

  Diana was ready.

  As was I.

  Collectively, the Sisterhood cried, “Nadirii!” ending this with our shrill war cry.

  And Serena and I burst forth down the back of the line.

  We turned at the open column in the middle and rode down, side by side.

  I didn’t have the chance to see who was on the podium, but even if I had, I did not have that in my head.

  As we raced straight to our mother, sitting proud on her white steed in front of us, I thought nothing. I was nothing.

  But the Sisterhood.

  And my mother’s daughter.

  So when we made it nearly to her, we cut our reins and Serena went right.

  I went left.

  We speeded around the edge of the coliseum.

  Moments before we would meet at the back, we pulled our staffs.

  As we passed, one armed, we clacked our staffs violently at the front, the noise resounding through the arena, before we whipped our staffs around the smalls of our back, and traded them, staff for staff, at our backs.

  I pressed over Diana’s neck, the wind in my hair making it wing down my back, my thighs relaxed giving Diana her head, and I rode her at breakneck speed. When Serena and I met at the podium, right before our mother, we clacked our staffs at the front and returned each other’s staffs at our backs.

  And another race around the edge of the arena, holstering our staffs, but pulling forth our bows.

  I reined Diana in slightly as we were about to make the turn down the middle then quickly looped my reins around the saddle horn.

  All that I had just done was executed after a lifetime of training and was as natural as breathing.

  This would take focus.

  I closed my eyes.

  Drew in a deep breath.

  And when I opened my eyes, I pressed into my steed with my right knee and made the turn a half second after Serena, reaching to my quiver.

  Serena let fly first, an arrow straight into the dirt before us

  I aimed, let loose, and my arrowhead split her shaft down the middle.

  Vaguely, I heard the simultaneous gasp from onlookers, but I’d already reached to my quiver, fed nock to bow, and let fly.

  Serena’s arrow split my shaft.

  And again.

  And again.

  Digging my knees into Diana, we halted on a rear of our horses ten feet from our mother and Serena and I…one, the other, then the first, and the other, the movement of our arms but blurs, our aim always true, we embedded all the arrows in our quivers one on top of the other in the dirt a foot before my mother’s unmoving steed.

  I noticed when we stopped that the crowd was dead silent.

  I replaced my bow to its hook on my back and again took up the reins.

  So did Serena.

  Then I clicked my tongue against the sides of my teeth.

  As did Serena.

  And Diana lowered her majestic neck as she gracefully fell to her cannons and knees before my mother.

  I bowed my head too.

  As did Serena.

  Serena and her horse came up first.

  Diana came up as well.

  And as Serena screamed, “Nadirii!” Diana and I sprang forth, cutting left in front of Mother, down the front of the formation, the left flank, the back, the right flank…

  But up the front, I pulled my feet from the stirrups, put the reins in my teeth, yanked my bow from my back, pushed up on one hand in the saddle, jerked up my knees, found my balance on my feet atop Diana, and stood.

  Serena shouted, “Standards!”

  And every Nadirii pulled her staff, thrust it high, and from it exploded proud coral or purple standards with a white oak leaf emblazoned on it.

  And as I neared my mother, she tossed up her own quiver.

  I caught it, yanked left with my teeth on the reins, tore down the middle of the formation while grasping the five arrows in Mother’s quiver. I dropped it, sifting my fingers through the fletchings, setting the nocks to my string…

  I pulled back, turned my bow horizontal, lifted up, aimed high…

  I dropped the reins, screamed, “Nadirii!” and let fly.

  The five arrows arced high into the air, up, up, up…

  I closed my eyes again, feeling the prickles shoot up my spine like spasms…

  I opened my eyes…

  And the sky above the back of the stadium lit up with hundreds of blooms of coral, purple, gold and silver bursts.

  Gasps and shouts and cries of delight rung forth as I dropped back into the saddle, returned my bow to my back and regained my reins in my hand.

  I whirled in a tight turn at the end of the column, and as I galloped back up I closed my eyes again.

  When I opened them the shouts and cries rung higher as the sparks exploding arrested and shot together in a glittering line.

  The line swooped down over the stands, toward the field, zipping toward my back.

  And when I stopped in front of my mother on a skid of Diana’s back hooves, I pressed well forward as my mount’s noble head, mighty chest and front legs reared up.

  She struck at the night with her front hooves.

  And the shimmers in a grand swoop up my back soared into the air, flying above the podium, only to burst right above it into thousands of magical butterflies that flitted peacefully away, disappearing into the night sky.

  Di
ana and I dropped.

  The air split open as the crowd boomed their accolades.

  I looked up.

  And that was when I saw Prince Cassius Laird, heir to the throne of Airen, sitting on the high podium, wearing black leathers, half his daunting face inked, staring darkly down on me.

  And I fell instantly in love.

  17

  The Reception

  Prince Cassius Laird

  Royal Podium at the Coliseum, Fire City

  FIRENZE

  “Outrageous,” his father hissed.

  Cassius sat in his baronial, intricately carved chair on the high podium with his head turned left.

  Away from his father.

  The crowd was still thundering their applause for the Nadirii performance.

  But as the Sisterhood trooped out of the coliseum, its upper echelon was assembling at that side of the podium.

  He noted with approval the first thing they did was care for their horses, leading them to the barrels of water set about for that purpose.

  He also noted that as her roan bent her muzzle to the wet, Elena rubbed her cheek down her mount’s neck and drifted her fingers over the crest.

  Watching this, oddly, Cass had to fight shifting in his seat.

  And he had to do it again when she turned.

  He had often seen the Nadirii fighting uniform, such as it was. And such as it was, was a body stocking under a leather breast plate stamped with an oak leaf and leather thigh, calf and arm shields. The only uniform he’d seen adorned in any manner during battle was Serena’s, and her breast plate held a wide oak leaf formed of gold.

  Cassius had never seen their ceremonial uniform.

  It consisted of front-lace, slender moccasins that rode up the calf. Above this, stockings made of leather dyed purple that came up to a point edged in gold on the upper thigh. These held tight with silver ribbon casings criss-crossed about the thigh.

  On the top they wore a silver tunic that came down to the knees, but it was split up the front of each leg, all the way to the pubis, exposing a silver body stocking at the join of the legs.

  The tunic was topped by a hard-leather, fawn-colored, close-fitting bustier that covered the breasts and came down in a split plate, the front edge over the pubis, the sides over the hips. These slits exposed skin from upper thigh to inner hips.

  On the front of the bustier were deep reliefs of swirls of gold that came up the ribs and rounded the breasts, bringing attention to that specific area. A Nadirii trait. They took every opportunity to glorify anything female.

  Then there was a trim, dark-brown suede belt with a gold buckle at the navel emblazoned with a white oak leaf.

  And from the chest and around the shoulders and upper arms, the coral mantle of the royal house of Nadirii fell down the back to the ankles.

  Around Elena’s forehead, as was around Ophelia’s and Serena’s (but it was only a band of suede with an oak leaf stamped disk at the front for all the other sisters, gold for the lieutenants, silver for the rest of the warriors), starting with a gold oval set with an oak leaf formed of amethyst in the center. This fed to smaller gold ovals that went around her head over her hair.

  And Elena’s hair was golden, falling past her shoulders, the ends of the thick locks mingling with the gold swirls at her breasts and midriff.

  “That was an entirely obnoxious display,” Cassius heard his father grouse as he watched Ophelia move up the steps to the podium.

  But Cass froze, as behind the Nadirii queen, he saw Elena, who had been following her mother, turn abruptly.

  Her face then lit with a bright smile and her arms opened wide right before a young girl with Elena’s golden hair crashed into Elena’s slender frame.

  They wrapped their arms around each other and Elena gazed down dotingly at the girl who was jumping up and down, jarring Elena’s body, the girl’s mouth moving quickly in her excitement.

  “She has a daughter?” he murmured, and felt Mac, who was standing at his back right, bend to him.

  “Not that I know.”

  “She’s right now embracing a daughter,” Cassius replied.

  “We’ll find out,” Otho grunted over his left shoulder.

  At that point, his attention was necessarily taken with Ophelia making her way along the podium.

  Cass noted the Nadirii queen smiled genuinely at Jell, but not as genuinely at Seph at his side and gave a curious look to the other Go’Doan that had arrived, G’Liam.

  He felt his mouth tighten when Ophelia then smiled warmly at True, as well as Queen Mercy.

  Though she did not do it nearly as warmly to Wilmer.

  She showed clear respect for Queen Elpis, even lifting a hand up to hold to her chest as she nodded to Mars’s mother.

  She then again smiled warmly at Silence, who was sitting on high cushions stacked next to Mars, the Nadirii queen’s face going so far as softening, before the guard came up over her features when her attention turned to the king at Silence’s side and she assessed Mars openly.

  She did the same when she was before Cassius, but to his surprise, she didn’t linger long before all manner of expression swept from her face as her eyes lit on Gallienus.

  Finally, speculation moved over her features as she took in Aramus and Ha-Lah, giving them both a regal lift of her chin.

  After that, without a word, she rounded Aramus’s chair, her lieutenants following her, and walked straight to the back, down the steps and into the waiting tent.

  “Brother,” he heard drawled in a female’s voice, and he looked up to see Serena making her way across the podium to him, her brown eyes acidic, a supercilious smile curling her lips.

  “Sister,” he rumbled, offering the same medicine in return and watching those eyes flash with fury when he returned her jibe and she didn’t like it much, before she strode in front of his father without even looking at him.

  “Murderous bitch,” Gallienus bit out.

  But Cass had no time for his father or Serena.

  Serena’s lieutenants trailed her, and Elena was now in front of Silence, saying something to the girl.

  Her daughter was not with her.

  Silence’s expression was openly friendly as she replied.

  When she did, Elena smiled at her, and Cassius noted that her affect was entirely different than her mother’s, or her sister’s. Unguarded, sociable, informal.

  She tipped her head to the side at Mars before dipping her chin deferentially, which Cassius found a surprise.

  Nadirii did not bow.

  Even in rare times of accord between realms, princess or mere sister, definitely not the queen, they did not bow.

  What she gave Mars was not a bow, as such.

  But it was the closest thing Cass had seen from any Nadirii.

  At least to a man.

  She moved to him and Cass felt a sudden burn in his gut when her gaze did as well.

  By the gods, her eyes were…violet.

  And they were roaming over his face in a way that seemed…hungry.

  He fought shifting in his seat again.

  “Princess Elena,” he murmured, watching her move with an economy of grace that was the feminine version of the way any good warrior would use his body.

  “Prince Cassius,” she murmured in reply, her voice quiet, but surprisingly melodic, considering her sister’s was lower and always held an unattractive vein of spiked steel.

  Her attention went to his father, and although she looked him dead in the eye, there was no deferential tip to her chin.

  Though she gave that to Aramus and Ha-Lah.

  As she rounded Aramus’s chair, Cassius turned his attention to her lieutenants, both of whom trailed slowly and had passed him, but were looking back, ignoring Gallienus, and openly studying Cass.

  Not a surprise for it was definite all his men at his back had done the same to Elena and were doing it now to her guard.

  Once the Nadirii delegation had disappeared in the tent, with no fanfa
re, Mars rose from his seat, taking Silence from hers beside him with her hand held in his.

  He guided her around his chair and walked back to the tent.

  Queen Elpis followed them.

  “He could let his elders precede him,” Gallienus complained, rising from his seat.

  “And if it were me who had assumed the throne prematurely, and his father was still alive, and they were in Airen, would you wish me to allow Ares to precede me?”

  Gallienus shot him a scowl before flicking his cloak back and stomping around his seat, his guard following.

  Cassius rose, glancing at Aramus, who was guiding Ha-Lah to the tent, but his gaze was on Cass.

  He was grinning broadly.

  Cass did not feel like grinning, so he simply shook his head at his friend.

  He then moved around his seat and his men surrounded him.

  “Well—” Mac, of course, was the first to attempt to start in.

  “Quiet,” Cass bit.

  He caught the men casting glances at each other before he focused on the stairs to the tent and moved that way.

  His lost wife, Liviana, had auburn hair that she went to great lengths to tame, but it remained wild.

  Their daughter had this same mane.

  Liviana was also not tall, nor was she short.

  Though their daughter was showing all signs she would be tall, like Cassius.

  Liviana further had an overabundance of curves, a soft belly, full arse and thighs, and was feminine in all ways. Not to mention, having a mother who was Dellish, staunchly so, Liviana would blush simply exposing an ankle.

  She would never wear garments that bared her upper thighs and seemed designed to draw the eye to tits and pussy, completely comfortable and in tune with her body, including having it on display.

  And she’d had no idea even how to feed a bow, much less could split the shaft of an arrow at a gallop on the back of a horse.

  By all the gods, even Cass couldn’t do that.

  Indeed, Liv grew timid just being on a horse, making her mount dance, before she found her bearing and was able to ride, though only sedately.

  And she would drop due to vapors at the very thought of racing around an arena, or anywhere, like she was competing with the very wind.

  And winning.

  Soundly.

  These thoughts plaguing his mind, he strode down the steps, through the tent flaps that were held open by servants, and when the young boy came to him immediately, he grunted, “Whiskey.”