Unicorn Quest

by Unicorn Quest (lit)

  "And what of the plan?" demanded Sonders. "You intend to just give it up because you suddenly find yourself enamored?"

  His words felt like a slap. For the first time, Sahra realized just how enthralled she was with Ry. How much of it was the realization he was a true mate? How much was it that he turned her weak-kneed and panting like a panther bent on mating? Sonders was right. How did she dare put everything they worked for at risk on the assumption that Ry would never betray her cause simply because he was a natural mate? He hadn’t even realized it yet.

  "He is a true mate, is he not?" Torella said in her perceptive way.

  "Aye," Sahra whispered.

  Sonders sucked in a breath and released it in spurts. "Now, it makes sense."

  Silence reigned over the council for several moments, then a voice rose above the others. Nathu, one of the original A’tril organizers, tapped his staff against the ground. Although none ruled the council, all respected him enough to give him the final say and heed his wisdom. "The child has listened to her heart, but unlike most her age, her heart perceives in ways we cannot understand. Let us follow the course she has set, but," he said quickly before Sonders could protest, "we will execute a secondary plan in case this r’uban betrays the faith Sahra has placed in him."

  He pointed to a chair barely discernable in the shadows. "Sit, while we consider our options."

  Sahra didn’t argue. As much as she wanted to believe Ry would make the right choices, she really didn’t know him. Many had a true mate who turned out to be lower than slugs beneath a pigsty’s straw. She could only hope the alternative plan wouldn’t be needed, but she also knew better than to question Nathu’s wisdom.

  She listened to the seven banter about ideas, and felt her heart sink when Sonders suggested the only sane alternative would be to kill Ry if he didn’t see the wisdom of the A’tril way.

  Chapter Seven

  "What have you done?" Ja’rah roared, a prominent vein throbbing in his temple.

  She had just informed Ja’rah of her plan to show Ry the A’tril’s main encampment at Balmairl, to let him hear the truth from the people and present him to the hierarchy. "You heard what I said."

  "And the council agreed?"

  "Aye."

  "You have all gone mad. I’d say slit his throat--problem solved, no husband, no threat."

  "Both you and Sonders have a like mind. That was his option as well, but at least he suggested we wait until after Ry has met the council."

  "Never thought I’d hear myself agree with anything Sonders had to say, but that is a good compromise."

  "It is not," Sahra rebuked, "and fortunately the council did not consider it an option either. They have something better in mind. After all, he is my husband, Ja’rah."

  "By force."

  "Aye, but…."

  Ja’rah’s jaw dropped. "You care for the man? How can that be? You don’t even know him."

  She folded her arms, felt the wind tug at her head covering as the noonday sun warmed the chill from her bones. "I know him better than you might imagine, Ja’rah. We have gotten close enough for me to feel him. I know the way of him, the taste of him, the stubbornness along with the gentleness. He has a good heart and a strong spirit. He is the man I would have chosen had I a right to choose. He is my natural mate."

  "It makes no sense," Ja’rah said, shaking his head. "Isn’t he the one you were supposed to…."

  She laughed, cutting him off. "Aye, he was the one. The very reason I was ousted from my clan."

  "Are we ready?" Ry said, striding toward the two of them, with Dagda just behind. It had been agreed that he would ride the unicorn, a sign of her good faith, while she rode a white and black stallion named Squall. Not many could ride the beast, especially not without a saddle, but Sahra had no trouble and he was the only horse that could match Dagda’s slowest stride.

  "I am ready," Sahra announced, glad to finally be on their way. It had taken the morning to convince the council to let them go, but only a few minutes to accumulate provisions. She opted to take just a short-blade rather than her sword or even her jaguars. The cats needed their time to roam free, and she sensed Ry wouldn’t feel as threatened. She wanted him at ease and open, not suspicious and on guard. She didn’t know if that were possible, but she’d do whatever it took to get him to that state.

  "I am ready as well," Ja’rah announced.

  Ry arched a brow.

  "Nay," Sahra said gently, not wishing to offend her friend.

  "I don’t trust this clansman," Ja’rah said, not caring if his words angered Ry. "He will kill you in your sleep, claim the unicorn and let the vultures pick your bones."

  "Oh, Ja’rah, it is not in him. At the most, he’ll simply try to get the best of me and drag me back to his clan. He needs me to help him win the race."

  "And that is better?"

  "We have made a deal, and my husband will not renege on that deal. I have his word, don’t I?" she said, looking directly at Ry, both of them aware he never had given his word.

  His jaw clenched. He had the look of a man who just lost his broadsword while facing a warrior twice his size. He hesitated a second, then blurted, "Aye, you have my word. I will see this through, and I have yours that you will be a loyal wife and help me win this race."

  "You already had it the moment I offered the bargain, but I give it to you again."

  "I would rest easier if you would let me watch your back," Ja’rah grumbled.

  "My husband will do that."

  Sahra didn’t know which man was more astonished at the trust she just placed in the enemy.

  * * * *

  They were silent for most of the trip, stopping only once to water Dagda and Squall, yet a communion of thoughts kept transmitting from one to the other-- dreams, ideals, goals, joys, sorrows, even images from childhood, hers full of discipline and chores even though there had been a multitude of slaves. His childhood, by contrast, had been colorful and charmed until he went in training to become a warrior. He had a lost love. She had never loved, but she harbored a secret. He suspected it was the reason behind her becoming A’tril.

  "Why?" he finally asked, after they’d eaten cold fare and drank bota wine before the fire he expertly arranged.

  She looked up, lavender eyes spiced with golden reflections from the flames. "Why what?"

  Both brows rose, declaring he wouldn’t put up with evasion.

  She sighed. "When I turned sixteen, they wished me to marry a man not of my choosing. I refused."

  "Since when did women have a choice in who they married?"

  "A’tril women do."

  "A’tril women do not count."

  "I am A’tril!"

  "You keep forgetting, you are a princess."

  She looked about to argue, then shrugged. "I am just a woman who wanted to marry for love in a clan of my choosing."

  "Did you have a man in mind?" Ry smothered the flare of jealousy he felt at the thought of her wanting another, hoping she didn’t sense it.

  "You know I didn’t. We have been exchanging impressions all afternoon. You would have felt it if I loved another."

  He nodded. "Then I don’t understand this refusal of yours."

  Her mouth worked around words she didn’t wish to offer. She curled in upon herself and stared at the flames. "He was of the clan that raided my home, that slaughtered my brother and my father before my eyes. They raided our storehouses, stole our stallions and took a fair share of our maidens. It took six years to rebuild. I had been six and by the time I had turned sixteen, my mother remarried into another clan, a richer but more ruthless one. My stepfather knew that a clan leader would think twice before raiding the family of a daughter-in-law. I became a pawn. He severed a lock of my hair and sent it off to the uban of the very clan who had destroyed my home. Miraculously, the uban didn’t slaughter the messenger. Instead, the uban was willing to accept the lass who possessed such hair for his son, the r’uban."

  She paused, sw
allowed. "How could I bed a man whose clan had killed my father and brother? At the time I didn’t understand about forgiveness, about seeing a person as an individual. All I saw was the clan and my brother’s and father’s still dead eyes. I refused the marriage and didn’t wait to be publicly banned. I left, taking my jaguars with me. Actually, I had to leave because they would have forced me into marriage if I had to be trussed up like a lamb to slaughter."

  She met his gaze. "Do you wish to know what prince had been chosen for me?"

  He reached into one of the many tiny pouches that lined his belt and pulled out a lock of honey-blond hair. He held it out to her. "I believe this belongs to you."

  Chapter Eight

  "How long have you known?" she asked, studying the braid as if it were something strange and unusual.

  "When I saw your hair for the first time, I thought it resembled the lock I carried, but it wasn’t until just now that I knew. When I received this, I felt an instant, psychic connection. I felt the personality behind the hair, experienced depths of sorrow and a wealth of strength. The connection was so strong that I desperately wanted the girl who possessed this hair. I thought, perhaps, she could be my natural mate. My father intended to raid your clan and give you to me as a slave. I pleaded that he leave your clan be, and allow me to take you as a bride."

  "I heard you were sent my stepsister in my stead. Our hair is similar in color."

  "I sent her back. I knew immediately she wasn’t you, but I couldn’t tell my father that. He would have attacked and destroyed your clan for daring to deceive him. I told my father I had reconsidered, and I investigated and discovered what had occurred. That you prefer to be A’tril rather than marry me. That was an affront to my pride, but I still did my best to protect your clan, even though our failure to wed meant they had no connection to the Ror q’Trall. I prevented my father from raiding your clan by promising him I’d win the next race."

  "And the one coming up is the next race?"

  "Aye," he said.

  "Sometimes, I think that we do not have much say in our fate."

  They both had settled on logs opposite each other, the fire blazing between them as bright and startling as the passion they held in firm check. He tucked the lock away, with as much care as if it were a precious treasure, then joined her on her log, nudging her over with his hip and taking her hand.

  "I think our will urges fate along. After the race I had every intention of finding the lass with the golden hair. Since you hadn’t been officially banned, no one considered you A’tril. I am just surprised I didn’t recognize you the moment we met. Or at the very least, the moment you showed me your glory." He grinned ruefully. "I must have been blinded by lust."

  She quivered at his touch, at his words. "I thought of your clan as murderers. I still do, but…."

  "You don’t see me the same way," he finished.

  "Aye. You are not like the rest."

  "I am the same, Sahra. We are a product of our way of life. It is how we survive. It grieves my heart that you experienced such sorrow. It is why I fight so hard. I wish none of mine to ever know such pain."

  She turned to him, her fingers knotting with his. "It doesn’t have to be. None need ever know such pain. If I can…." She paused, wet her lips, then let the word slip free. "…love. If I can love the man whose family destroyed mine, surely you can open your heart to a new way."

  Before Ry could respond to that startling revelation, Sahra shoved him backward off the log just as an arrow severed the air and hit the tree trunk behind them.

  * * * *

  Brec strode into the Clan of Blood castle as if he had every right to be there. Part of him already saw it as his own, and since there was always a truce three moons before any race, he could visit with impunity. Having arrived at the end of the king’s weekly open forum, he didn’t have to wait his turn. Instead, he walked right into the chamber and was instantly announced.

  He offered a courtly bow to the uban, noting he had aged since he had last seen him. Streaks of white claimed his once vibrant dark hair. Wrinkles webbed his eyes, while his cheeks appeared sunken. A missing prince, a dead stallion and a race just moons away must surely have the man frantic.

  His beautiful wife had the same worried expression. She hadn’t aged any, but weight loss was obvious. Raya, who occupied a lesser chair a step down from her mother, hadn’t changed at all. If anything her beauty seemed more ethereal, more enchanting. If he didn’t notice the rise and fall of her chest, he’d swear she was a statue carved and painted to perfection.

  Lust slammed into the prince like a flaming torch. He wanted the girl, wanted to crush her beneath his domination, wanted to own her. That obsession drove him nearly as much as his need to make his clan first among all clans.

  "What brings you to our court?" the uban asked.

  "In view of recent events, I thought perhaps you have reconsidered my offer for your daughter’s hand. Surely with your best rider and strongest stallion gone, you could use an ally. With our clans joined and the assurance that I would win the race, you would no longer have to fear being raided."

  Raya’s dark eyes widened. Her obvious fear of him fueled his passion for her.

  "As we have said before, our daughter has not had her first cutting. Perhaps once she is older, we will take this under consideration."

  It was a diplomatic answer and not unexpected, but he had hoped to get a rise out of the old man on discovering news of the dead stallion had gotten out.

  "Besides," Raya spoke in a her delicate, child-like voice. "My brother seeks a finer animal and he will return in time for the race. Your clan will remain second to ours, and always will."

  Nostrils flaring with anger, Brec barely managed to keep his tone civilized. "You allow a child to speak to a prince this way?"

  "She is willful," said her mother with pride. "I fear we do indulge her overmuch in this."

  "Then, perhaps, my offer had been too hasty. I do not find a willful wife of value."

  "I believe, Prince Brec, that few would find being wedded to you worth the effort."

  The king banged the arm of his chair. "Raya, apologize at once!"

  Raya looked at her father, then at the prince, and stood gracefully. She stalked toward a nearby door. "I do not apologize when truth is spoken."

  Brec had enough. He had made this trip to rattle the most royal of clans, not to be insulted. Ignoring the uban’s excuses, he strode past the guards and out into the courtyard, fuming.

  Soon enough this arrogant family would be brought to their knees, and he would be the one to do it.

  * * * *

  Boisterous laughter followed the arrow’s thud against bark. "I taught you well, Sahra."

  "Ja’rah, have you lost your mind?"

  "Nay, it was just a little something to keep you from becoming lax."

  Getting to her feet, Sahra dusted herself off. "I thought I told you we could manage on our own."

  "Indeed you did, and I plan on returning to the compound come dawn. However, I thought the prince here should know a rivaling clan has paid to have him killed."

  "Who?" Ry demanded.

  "Brec Para, r’uban of Ror q’Para. You are fortunate he hired an A’tril. We have a gossip mill that rivals the best clan courts. The A’tril took on the assignment, but once he heard of your marriage he sought to protect your worthless life for Sahra’s sake by telling the council of your would-be killer."

  Taking Sahra by the arms, Ry gazed into her eyes. His own brightened with desperation. "Please, I must go back. My family isn’t safe with this madman so desperate to take me out of the race. He must be the one who had the stallion poisoned."

  "It is you he wants dead. The longer you stay away the better are your chances. We can train Dagda at the prime compound and be back in time for the race."

  "My family needs me. Furthermore, Brec must be brought to justice."

  "What justice?" she refuted, pulling away. "You have no proof that he p
oisoned the stallion."

  "The man he hired could--"

  "What?" she interrupted. "Tell who? Each clan is a law unto itself. The only officials are for the race."

  "He could be disqualified if I bring that man in front of them."

  "He is A’tril," she said calmly. "Who would believe him?"

  "She is right," Ja’rah confirmed. "You can do nothing. Stick to the bargain you made and see what the A’tril have to offer the world. Your family will be safe enough until your return. You are the only one who isn’t safe."

  Ry remained silent for several seconds, then nodded. "The hour grows late. I’ll take the spot by the tree and you may have the fire," he said to Sahra.

  "There is room for both of us by the flame," she returned in a soft hushed tone.

  "I need some distance this night," he said, knowing no argument would work with her. Sahra’s determination rivaled his own, but he knew when to bide his time.

  The next morning, he watched Ja’rah reluctantly start back to the compound as they headed in the other direction. Neither one opened their mind to the other until after the midday fare. The rest of the time went much the same as the day before. By nightfall, they each knew a bit more about each other. They also knew both had kept barriers around the more private parts of their minds.

  "Last night, you mentioned something about love," Ry said after they dined on vegetable stew, pan bread and water.

  "Aye," she said. "You must know by now we are natural mates."

  "It is obvious. Still, aren’t you using the word love too soon?"

  "If it is not love, then why are we here? Why had you vowed to find the woman who possessed that hair?"

  He unknotted their fingers, but rested the back of her hand against his palm. He outlined her fingers with a blunt nail, and she sucked in a breath as heat jettisoned through her. It was the gentlest touch, yet stirred her as if he stroked her most intimate nub.

  He paused at her wrist, and his index finger swirled over her pulse. Could he feel it race? Did he realize just this simple gesture turned her into a heated cauldron of lust?