by Shea Godfrey
“You might go to sleep and never wake up,” Jessa whispered. And then what would I do?
“That won’t happen.”
“Why? Because you have Hinsa’s blood within you?” She knew that she had spied the truth of it. “Being Cha-Diah does not make you invincible, Akasha. And so you would leave me when I have only just found you?”
Darry frowned. “And what of you?”
“What about me?”
“How am I supposed to protect you when you go running off without me?” Darry’s eyes filled with sudden anger, and a touch of fear if Jessa guessed correctly. “Off you go,” she said and took a step back. “Off you go into blessed Gamar knows what while I nearly get my head cut off staring after you!”
“Do not be foolish, Darrius,” Jessa argued, her own temper reacting smoothly. It rose to the occasion and she did nothing to stop it. “All you had to do was stab him.”
Darry blinked at her. “Excuse me?”
“I do not need you to protect me.”
“That, Princess, was made perfectly clear to me when you—”
“Stop being so stubborn!”
“You cracked a bloody wall open, Jessa!”
They stared at one another, both startled from their anger by the reality of the statement.
“Well…only sort of,” Jessa responded. “I’m sure it can be fixed.”
Darry tried not to smile as she tucked in her tunic. She was pleased that she had found something to do with her hands, rather than breach all good etiquette in the company of others and joyfully molest her lover. Although she was not entirely certain there was a specific rule for their current situation, she assumed it was completely acceptable to apply what little she did know. “If anyone is going to go to sleep and never wake up, most likely it will be you, for you are a crazy woman. Breaking stones and burning floors, making a storm beneath my father’s roof as if you were making a bloody cup of tea.”
“I was trying not to kill you,” Jessa replied evenly. “You move too fast, Akasha.”
Darry absorbed all that stood before her, and in an instant she saw the grand scope of absolutely everything. Jessa’s intelligence and her passion, and those eyes filled with a dark fire she had been blessed to touch firsthand. Flames that could warm and fill her in places she had thought would forever be cold and empty. And you have the rest of your lifetime to entice those flames into a glorious wildfire of crazy dreams and sweet passion…if you don’t thrust when you should parry. “I really want to kiss you right now.”
“I would like that, please.”
She took Jessa in her arms and obliged her until she felt dizzy with it and her lip began to bleed once more. “I will let you stuff me with herbs like a Solstice pheasant and drown me in teas and bitter soups and carry me around on your back if you would like,” she promised in a whisper against Jessa’s mouth. “But after I have killed Serabee.”
Jessa swallowed. She looked from Darry’s blue eye to her green, her gaze bright and rich with life. “May I keep you in my bed?”
Darry’s grin was slow with any number of wicked thoughts. “If that is what you would like to do with me, then I suppose I will have to let you.”
Jessa raised an eyebrow. “You do not sound pleased at the prospect.”
“If I become any more pleased at the prospect, my head will burst like a ripe melon in the hot summer sun,” Darry replied happily. “Please do not be frightened, Jess. I love you, and I’m not going anywhere.”
“Do you promise?”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then all is well, my love,” Darry said. “Do not distract me, please,” she added and kissed her again before she walked away.
Jessa smiled in appreciation as Darry moved, her back strong and her stride determined. Darry pushed through the doors to the Great Hall, and Jessa turned at the sound of a quiet cough.
The queen stepped from the laundry beyond the cellar door, her arms full of linens that were no doubt needed for the wounded. They stared at each other for several seconds, and Jessa let out a troubled sigh, uncertain of how much the queen had witnessed. “Your daughter is very stubborn.”
Cecelia smiled, the gesture filled with agreement. “Yes. But she is worth the trouble, I think, don’t you?”
Jessa covered her face with both hands and rubbed at her eyes before she pushed her hair back over her shoulders. “I have never been in love before,” she countered and felt more than a bit puzzled. “Is it supposed to make your stomach so upset?”
Cecelia gave a quiet laugh. “Sometimes.”
Jessa stepped away from the wall and took the sheets from her. The queen’s eyes held an expression that Jessa did not entirely understand, though she thought it might be sadness. She frowned and felt her skin darken with heat. “I should not have been kissing her.” She felt selfish in more ways than one as she looked down. “It is not the time for that, I suppose. I’m very sorry, my Lady.”
Cecelia touched Jessa’s chin and lifted her face. “Now is exactly the time to be kissing her. It will give her strength, do you see?”
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Jessa admitted. “She is very…she’s so very strong. Like the desert Washeeki that blows through the southern plains of Lyoness, stripping the rocks of their time and leaving them new. I do not want to be scared.”
Cecelia stepped forward and kissed her upon the cheek, startling Jessa with the tenderness. “I am very much afraid as well, dear girl,” the queen confessed. “So we shall make a pact to be strong together, yes?”
Jessa liked the sparkle in the older woman’s eyes. “Yes, my Lady.”
The queen took her by the arm and guided her through the kitchens. “And my Owen is just as stubborn as your salla de Akasha,” she said in an almost playful tone. “They are more alike than either of them would care to admit.”
Jessa was shocked to hear the queen speak those words, and she suspected her reaction showed on her face.
“Yes, I know what Akasha means, my sweet, and the book it comes from, as well.” Cecelia looked sly as she spoke and much like her old self. “Does she?”
Jessa could feel herself blushing yet again. “Please do not tell her.”
“She’ll not hear it from me,” Cecelia promised.
Chapter Eight
Jessa felt the queen’s eyes upon her as she moved about a cluster of chairs and made her way into the Great Hall. Much like her Radha, Cecelia knew things she shouldn’t know. Jessa should not have been surprised, and she would remember from now on that her new queen could speak Lyonese, and that she had read obscure Vhaelin scrolls. Jessa had no clue why Cecelia had chosen to do so, but she would damn well remember that she had. She whispered a curse and felt better for it.
Nina slid from the tabletop as Jessa neared. “Nina, sit back down.”
“From the look on your face, I’m betting my Aunt Cece just threw a bit of harsh language at you,” Nina said with a smile, though her voice lacked its usual vigor.
Jessa could not help but laugh as she set the linens on the table and reached for the shears. “She did no such thing.”
“Pity,” Nina sighed. “She’s quite good at it.”
Jessa’s attention was captured by the table’s surface, her focus pulled from her control as Nina’s voice echoed back through her mind. The grain was deep and old, the wood like a map of years as Jessa’s eyes slid along the soft grooves and curious patterns. Her touch hovered above the sewing shears, the metal dark and stained with the use of many hands through the decades. The edges were sharp, though, and they flared oddly as a bubble of light slid along the blades as if it were an insect. Jessa straightened as a low hum of power vibrated along her bones. A pale white light spread across her vision, and she became blind to the faces around her as she set her hands upon the table for balance.
“Radha…” Her heart swelled in response to the call, more than ample to the task as it encompassed all the love she felt for the old woman. She turned about a
nd her vision cleared with the movement, a sharp stab of pain passing behind her eyes. Her backside faltered against the table and Nina grabbed her arm.
Jessa had refused to acknowledge her fear at Radha’s absence, though she was steadfast in her belief that the old woman had her reasons. Jessa had been certain that Radha would appear out of nowhere and scold her for being careless with her majik, or for staring down a king. She had been desperate to hear Radha’s scrape of a laugh and her ancient voice. She wanted to pledge herself to her lover before the only witness that mattered, certain that Radha would bless them both.
Jessa wanted to take her hand, which was old and thin, Radha’s bones pronounced beneath the skin, her veins purple and blue as they pressed upward as if to win their freedom, her blood still so strong though her body was frail. She wanted to look into those pale blue eyes and ask why she had never been told. Why had she not been told there would be so much power? There had been no warning. There had been no declaration that her strength was even greater than Radha’s, High Priestess of the Vhaelin.
For Jessa knew that was the truth.
“Jessa?” Nina’s voice seemed very far away.
Jessa wanted to stand before the old woman and thank her.
She wanted to thank her for all those years. All the days and nights they had sat upon the terrace as the old woman taught her the ways of the Vhaelin. She had taught her the path of majik and sworn with confidence by the blood that pulsed through Jessa’s veins. Jessa wanted to thank her for letting her argue and cry and dream upon the stars, praying that somewhere there would be a life for her and that one day she might taste of its sweetness.
She wanted to see her Akasha and her Radha sit before the hearth upon a chilly night and talk, the two people she loved most in all the world lost in conversation, for no doubt the two of them would find many things to discuss. She wanted to be there when Darry made Radha laugh, so she might bless her gods that such an unexpected reward had been given to the frightened girl who was now a woman.
“Radha, no”—Jessa pushed away from the table—“let me, old woman, don’t be a fool.”
Darry and Bentley stood at the center of the hall and Jessa was caught the moment Darry turned her head. They were caught for now and for always. She knew it without a doubt as she felt the same depth of connection that Darry had felt within Tristan’s Grove, old and bottomless and meant to be. The Great Loom was spinning and Senesh Akoata, the threads of all life, had claimed them both in a warm embrace.
“Jess, are—”
Jessa blinked into the distance where the long grass swayed in a sea of movement. It was early summer grass beneath the brilliant sun, not yet at its full height, though how she knew that, she had no idea. The sky rolled into the end of the world in a blanket of lush blue that took her breath away, not a cloud to be seen between where she stood and the end of forever.
She turned in a slow circle and lifted her arms as the air rushed into her lungs. She saw smoke to the south and knew it was the cooking fires of her people, the smell of spiced meats on the breeze.
The ground trembled beneath her bare feet.
Jessa looked to the north once more, and a giant piebald horse broke the calm of the horizon, the stallion’s gait beyond what Jessa knew to be wise, though Vhaelin Star could no doubt keep up. The rider rode low, and as they neared, Jessa felt an unbidden wave of happiness flood through her body.
The horse was magnificent, sixteen hands at least, his white coat dense with dark gray spots. His mane was as dark as pitch with a tail to match, silken and rich. His rider sat back and the stallion thundered to a halt, threw his head back, and pawed the ground.
The rider laughed, and Jessa caught her breath at the sound.
It was Darry’s laugh, or very nearly, though it was so close that only Jessa might tell the difference. The rider’s hair was a dusty, dark blond and her curls were dense with braids that fell about her strong shoulders. She was beautiful in a unique manner, her features chiseled and fiercely tanned from the sun. She wore soft, battered leathers, and as she looked beyond Jessa into the distance, Jessa noted the long scar upon the left side of her face. The wound must have been cruel to leave such a profound reminder, from her forehead to her jaw; the tissue was thick and white within the darkness of her face.
“I did those braids this morning.”
Jessa looked to her left and met black eyes very much like her own. “Who is she?”
“She is Tannen Ahru,” the woman answered with a loving smile, “and she is the War Chief of the Red-Tail Clan.”
Jessa looked back to the warrior. “Is she yours?”
She felt a pang of desire low within her body, and it startled her. Her chest flushed with heat as thoughts of Darry’s touch sent an unforeseen wave of desire washing through her. Her body moved with Darry’s as their passion rose, slick and filled with heat, as Darry’s mouth upon her neck sent a shiver straight through the heart of her.
Jessa took a small step back and let out a startled laugh, embarrassed as she tried to rein in her unexpected thoughts. “Is she yours?” she asked again.
“She is wild,” the woman answered and smiled, much like Radha often did, “so I may not claim such as my own, though if she belongs to anyone, she belongs to me.”
“And who are you?” Jessa noted the skin so like her own and the black hair, scented ever so slightly with an essence of jasmine she recognized.
“I am Neela.”
Jessa’s eyes widened slowly, for she knew full well what that meant. “Why am I here?”
“You have always been here, my daughter. We live upon the same thread in the Great Loom of the world.”
Jessa felt her heart skip. “Tannen Ahru.” She took a step toward the stallion. “But…but Radha told me Tannen Ahru was a man.”
Neela laughed. “Then she lied to you.”
Jessa’s knees felt weak. “We walk the same thread.”
“Yes. As do they. Greetings, lover!” Neela called out and then laughed as Tannen Ahru and her piebald stallion danced sideways in the grass. The warrior lifted a hand into the air.
Jessa blinked as the sun caught upon the silver vambrace Tannen wore upon her left wrist. The flash of reflected light upon the wide cuff was more than she could bear, and Jessa was forced to turn her eyes.
“Remember…” Neela whispered.
“Darry,” Jessa whispered, back within the Great Hall. Her gait faltered and then evened out with her next step.
“Are you all right?” Darry asked.
The air beyond the patio doors wavered as if caught within a blast of heat that surged up from the ground. “Get out of the way, love.”
Language swamped through Jessa’s head like a raging river that had overflowed its banks, Jessa determined to stay afloat through the sudden storm. The lexicon of words that Radha had taught her, all of the charms and runes and endless lessons, all of the ceaseless hours spent upon the written spells until she thought her fingers would bleed and she begged Radha to let her stop, begged until the old woman would relent and give her fresh berries dipped in sugar and braid Jessa’s hair while she whispered tales of home. They all spilled forth in a tumble and terrible flood of knowledge.
Jessa stepped close and her fingers trailed along Darry’s jaw. She met her eyes, blue and green. “Move everyone back, Akasha, or they will all die.”
Bentley shouted and the room erupted with movement. The High King drew his sword as Grissom bellowed orders, his own blade suddenly free of its sheath. The men behind her scrambled for their weapons as they sought to obey, and though everything was suddenly in flux, Darry was as solid and calm beside her as the earth itself.
She saw it all as if she were somehow above the Great Hall, her senses attuned to a new and unique scale of vision that was vastly different than what she was used to.
There was a high-pitched scream of metal followed by a deep shudder as the colossal pins that held the Grand Foyer doors broke free from their rust.
A hush fell across the hall as the massive gates trembled where they hung and the mortar about the frame began to crumble as the doors swung outward from the walls.
Owen shouted in disbelief as the gates swept shut with an explosion of sound that shook the floor. The Durand banner was thrown loose and fluttered free as the Kingsmen stationed in the Foyer upon the opposite side hollered and beat upon the doors.
“Back!” Bentley shouted and ran into the king. He grabbed Owen’s arm with a firm hand. “The Lady said to get back, my Lord.”
“Boy, do not test me this—”
Owen! The king jerked about at Jessa’s unspoken command. The nearness of Darry’s strength spread in a glorious manner throughout Jessa’s body and it filled her with warmth and confidence. Not yet, Owen, her voice echoed within his thoughts and his shoulders flinched. Wait for it. Your time will come.
The king grabbed Bentley by the collar and turned away. “The tables!” his voice roared out, Grissom at his heels, as he hauled Bentley behind him. Tobe, Etienne, and Emmalyn helped the wounded onto the dais as the tables were tipped and slammed onto their sides in order to provide protection.
“You could have at least brought me a sword,” Darry said in a dry tone as they faced the garden doors.
Jessa heard the clash of swords in the foyer beyond the doors. “Akasha, please go away.”
Darry took Jessa’s hand in her own. “At least allow me the illusion of being necessary.”
Jessa touched Darry’s face as she whispered the spell. “No.”
Darry looked at her with a curious expression and then her eyes narrowed in an odd mixture of amusement and suspicion. “And what, may I ask, are you doing?”
The spell faded upon Jessa’s tongue, completely inadequate for what she wanted. She tried not to smile as she turned back to the gardens and tightened her grip upon her lover’s hand. “Accursed Cha-Diah.”
“You weren’t complaining the other night.”
Jessa caught the laughter within her throat before it could escape. “Sheeva, Darry, this is not the—”