Brie shook her head, then groaned at the ache in her temples. It was too much to think about right now.
The sound of deep male voices approaching had Brie swiftly scrambling to her feet. She tried to step deeper into the shadows of the cavern, but her foot caught on a stone and she stumbled forward instead. The conversation stopped, and Brienne went rigid at the sight of the six men now standing before her. Six very large, very naked men. Heat crept up her neck as she worked to keep her eyes from dropping too low.
For several heartbeats, none of them spoke. Brienne became very aware of the sudden silence; the soft panting of Mynne as she tried to ask her familiar what was going on; the whispered tones of the mountain wind; the sharp caw of a raven or crow in the distance.
Then, Dorran spoke.
“Brienne,” he said, his voice gone deep and rough.
He moved to step forward, and Brie threw up her arms in a request for him to stop. He did. Gods and goddesses of Eile, how on earth was she going to communicate with all of them?
“My lady,” one of the draghan men spoke, pulling away from his comrades and stepping ahead of Dorran.
Shocked at hearing her language in his accented tone rooted her to the spot. Otherwise, she would have pulled her sword and backed away even further, despite the danger of accidentally stepping into the range of the dolmarehn somewhere behind her.
The man ignored a growl from Dorran and fell to one knee before her, like a knight bowing before his queen.
“Forgive us our state of undress,” he said softly, head bowed, “but we left our packs of spare clothes in this cavern.”
He waved an arm, indicating a pile of large leather bags on the other side of the cave entrance she hadn’t noticed before.
“Y-you can speak the language of Eile?” she breathed, her eyes flicking quickly to Dorran before returning to this supplicant before her.
The man glanced up and nodded once.
“All the warriors chosen and trained to serve our king do.”
He took a breath to say more but Dorran’s sharp, “Ievos,” had the blond man clamping his teeth shut.
Ievos craned his neck to regard Dorran, and with a slightly confused note said, “But, your–”
“Say no more, Ievos.”
The color that had been so eager to occupy Brienne’s face drained away. With wide, shocked eyes she looked at Dorran again. He stood, unnaturally still, clearly unashamed of his nudity, but there was something in his eyes. Apprehension, fear, regret. He stood before her as if bracing himself for something.
Without thinking, Brienne opened her mouth and said in a voice that squeaked, “You can speak my language.”
Not a question. Not a demand. A bald statement that she needed verified.
Dorran moved, a small step forward. That tension remained, but somehow it didn’t hinder his graceful stride. He made it as far as his kneeling friend before stopping.
“Please. I must explain.”
The past few weeks rushed through Brienne’s memory. Her brave rescue of him, tending his wounds, offering her body heat to bring him back from near death, spilling her soul to him because, all this time, she didn’t think he could understand. Didn’t realize he knew exactly what she was saying.
“Oh, gods!” she cried, shoving her fingers into her hair and stepping away. Her eyes flashed up to Dorran’s, anger, betrayal and utter embarrassment making her go cold and then hot. “I told you things I’ve never told anyone! Things I never would tell anyone.”
“Brienne,” he pleaded again, his arm outstretched, his face pained.
“How could you?! How dare you lie to me all this time?”
Dorran’s nostrils flared, and anger suffused those amber eyes of his.
“I did not lie to you, fireheart,” he growled. “If you would just let me explain ...”
“No!” she shouted. “Mynne! Let’s go. He knows how to get back home now, and he has friends to escort him there. He needs us no longer.”
Brie made to step around him but Dorran blocked her path. Mynne growled low in her throat and came forward, teeth bared. The remaining men who had been watching in silence tensed for a fight.
“Please, my lady,” one of the men said, the lean one with copper-colored hair, “let his majesty explain.”
If Dorran hadn’t been there to catch her, Brienne might have collapsed to her knees.
“Brienne, please, you are unwell.”
Dorran scooped her up in his arms and carried her away from the cave. Mynne followed, sending questions into Brienne’s mind. They pierced her resolve like arrows.
He isn’t hurting me, Mynne. I’m just very angry and confused right now, Brie sent back before her spirit guide could bite anyone and start another fight they could not win.
Reluctantly, Mynne stood down but didn’t back away.
Dorran started speaking rapidly in the language of Firiehn and the five men jumped to action. They gathered their bags and started pulling out fine clothing and thick furs and blankets. Two of them constructed a canvas tent of sorts, then piled the furs inside to create a bed. Dorran, still refusing to set Brienne down, carried her in and placed her gently in the nest of soft, warm blankets.
She tried to scramble up into a sitting position but Dorran pushed her gently down.
“You need rest, Brienne. You nearly drowned in snowmelt a week ago and just now faced down your mortal enemy. Be still, and give me the chance to offer you my side of the story.”
Outside, Brienne could hear the Firiehn men setting up more tents and throwing words back and forth to one another, words that were familiar but ones she did not comprehend. They weren’t angry words or worried words, but the tone brought to mind brothers trading banter during a resting point on one of their many adventures. Despite her initial trepidation, she found herself liking these strange draghan men from Firiehn.
Before Dorran could begin his story, someone stepped into the tent with an armful of clothes.
“Your majesty,” he said, his tone reverent.
Brie watched silently as Dorran stood up, trying not to find pleasure in viewing his splendid form.
You are angry with him, remember? He lied to you and tricked you.
Another internal voice interjected, But were there ever any lies in his actions or the way he worshipped your body the morning after your fall into the river?
Brie grit her teeth, trying to ignore the other side of her conscience as Dorran donned trousers and a tunic that actually fit. The clothes were fashioned of a fine material with rich embroidery of gold against a shade of red so dark it was almost black.
When he was finished dressing, he turned to look at her. Brienne had to catch her breath. She had already decided early on he was a striking man, if not handsome, then very near to it. Dressed in the clothing of a king, this draghan shifter would demand the attention of every breathing thing within any room, be it a grand castle hall or a simple country parlor.
“As you have learned,” Dorran began without preamble, “I am not, after all, a commoner or a slave.”
Brie drew a breath to angrily claim that wasn’t her fault, but he held up a hand to stop her.
“And yes, I can speak and understand your language. But I could not speak it when I first arrived here.”
Brienne pushed herself up into a sitting position without drawing upon Dorran’s ire.
“Am I to believe that within a span of two weeks you managed to learn my language well enough to speak with me now without any trouble?”
She couldn’t keep the sarcastic bite from her tone, and Dorran’s deepening frown proved it.
“No,” he said simply.
Brie crossed her arms, one eyebrow arched. An invitation to go on. Dorran sighed, ran one hand through his dark hair, and sat down on the furs across from her.
“It is a very long story, but for the sake of time, I shall divulge the shortened version. In Firiehn, our women are treasured and treated with the utmost respect. We do not
partake in any political endeavor without consulting our female senators and ambassadors, nor do we act on any decisions without their permission.” He paused for a spare moment, his mouth curving up in appreciative humor. “In Firiehn, we are not so proud to disregard the opinions of both sexes. Our most powerful sorcerers are women, and some of our most skilled warriors are as well.”
Dorran’s eyes flicked to Brie’s. She remained still, listening as her anger at him abated. She wasn’t sure if it was his soothing, richly-accented voice that calmed her; encouraged her to hear him out or the fact that he was near her again, not lost to her enemies or to his own homeland. Or even the fact she could now fully understand him. Either way, she listened, and he continued with his story.
“But with all Firiehn-kind, there are those among us, like those among the Faelorehn, I imagine, who seek power over peace, and greed over temperance. We have a sorceress in Astorelle, the province of my birth, who has abused her authority and gained much control. She cursed me, Brienne. She set, a geis is what you would call it, I believe, upon my house and my head. You see, I would not marry her ...”
His voice trailed off, and his sensuous mouth grew hard, his citrine eyes darkening to burnished ruby. Something else the other Firiehn men had said came to Brienne’s mind, as well as Dorran’s comments about not being a commoner. They had called him ‘your Highness’. She drew in a slow breath.
“You are the son of a royal house,” she stated, trying to keep the emotion free of her tone.
Dorran’s nostrils flared as he settled his gaze upon her. His severe glance softened, and he nodded once.
“I am the newly crowned king of Astorelle. My father,” Dorran ground out, the pain of his loss obvious, “died suddenly of some illness none of the province’s best healers could name. I was proclaimed king a week later.”
“And this sorceress, you suspect her of murdering your father?” Brienne asked, her voice tight as she tried not to think of his rank.
A king. Gods and goddesses of Eile. How had he ended up in her care?
Dorran nodded once, his eyes still hard. “And then, she began dropping hints and making it so she was in my company more than need be. She was honored in my parents’ court, a magician with power beyond measure. We never suspected her until I noticed her increased attention. For weeks, this went on until she finally proclaimed I ought to make her my queen. I was expected to marry, after all, and she would be the perfect candidate. She was beautiful and powerful and ambitious, but something about her always rubbed me the wrong way. I tried to let her down gently the first few times she tested me, but by the third time she attempted to seduce me into a betrothal, I had figured out she was most likely the one responsible for my father’s death. With the help of my most trusted allies,” his head turned to indicate the door to the tent and the five men still cheerfully pitching their own shelters, “we uncovered a plot to make her the most powerful sorceress in Astorelle, if not all of Firiehn.”
Brienne tensed. This draghan woman reminded her so much of the Morrigan, and she wondered if Firiehn had their own high kings and queens similar to the Tuatha De Danann of Eile.
“I told her flat out that I refused to marry her and that she would never be queen. In turn, she finally dropped her facade and instead set a curse upon me. She told me no woman of Firiehn would ever love me or seek to be my queen. Instead, if I wished to find a partner to rule by my side, I would only ever find such a person in the land of our enemy.”
He gave an apologetic wince at this. “A woman cursed by fire, not blessed by it, would be my salvation. I would be cast into Eile and struck dumb, not permitted to speak the language of this land but only my own. If I wished to return to Firiehn and ever be king again, I would have to find a woman to take pity upon me and to love me. When someone who should be my enemy risked her life, offered her life, in place of mine, then the curse would be broken and all that it entailed. I would be free to speak your language again, and I would be free to return home.”
Brienne, who had been sitting so quietly and listening to this unfurling tale with greater and greater interest and despair, stopped breathing.
Dorran unlaced the fingers resting in his lap and lifted his eyes to catch hers. And just like that, the cold ice and stubborn resistance surrounding her heart melted away, desire flooding her blood and taking hold of her senses.
He lied to you, Brie! He is a foreigner, a king! He is not for you, no matter what his sad story claims. Kings do not marry the bastard children of slaves and soldiers, and besides, nothing in that awful geis of his mentioned anything about him being required to love you in return!
Yes. That was the truth, at least the truth that floated on the surface of her life. But another voice, the one coming from her heart and her very soul whispered, Did you not hear him? He had a geis placed upon him, and the strength of your love broke it. That must mean something.
Torn between reason and emotion, Brienne cleared her throat and said, her voice tight, “So you are free of your geis now? You can return home.”
She smiled and glanced up at him. “I am glad I was able to help you, even if I thought you were lying to me all this time.”
Brienne’s chest ached, and her face heated again. Even if she no longer viewed him as being dishonest or deceitful, there was still the fact he had heard her most private, raw fears.
She moved to stand up. The tent felt small all of a sudden, and she needed to get some air. Maybe take a walk to let all this process. Find her spirit guide and disappear before she would have to say goodbye to Dorran for good.
Dorran held out a hand. “Where are you going?”
“Outside,” she said tightly, trying to step around him.
Still seated, he reached out and took her wrist in his hand, his fingers curling loosely around her lower arm. She could so easily break away from him, but it was that gentleness of his touch that made it even harder to do so.
His voice was a rasp when he said, “Stay.”
Not a request or a question, but a plea.
Brie was facing the exit of the tent, the crisp mountain wind manipulating the loose flap of canvas like a solitary pennant hanging over an abandoned battlefield. She could not look down at him; she hadn’t the courage. Tears welled in Brie’s eyes, trickling down her face to drip from her chin. That ache in her heart swelled, threatening to burst.
“I cannot,” she managed past the lump in her throat. “For you are a king, and I am the bastard child of a slave and a rapist. Neither of my parents ever wanted me, and from the moment of my birth, I have been a tool. I have been used, tortured, and burned. You deserve a high lady of the court of your province, not a slave of the Morrigan.”
In one swift, smooth movement Dorran was standing before her, his fingers now wrapped around her arms just above the elbows. He leaned in, his forehead pressed to hers.
“Brienne,” he breathed, her name once again a prayer on his lips. “Do you think I only appreciate you for the curse you have broken?”
He lifted one hand and traced her scarred face with his strong fingers. “Do you believe I view this as a flaw? By Faelorehn standards this may be frowned upon, but in my land those who survive the fire are honored and revered. This, fireheart, is a symbol of strength and perseverance, something every king looks for in his queen.”
Brienne’s heart slammed against her ribcage. Her mouth had gone dry, her blood heating as Dorran’s natural draghan warmth suffused her senses.
His fingers danced over her stained flesh and worked their way into her hair.
“You did not understand the words I spoke to you in our few weeks together, so I will repeat some of them now. You are the most beautiful thing I have ever beheld. Your strength, your courage, your selflessness. I have been enchanted since the beginning, and only hoped I could enchant you. Not to break the curse, not to return home to my people, but simply, to win your heart. To make you desire me as much as I desired you.”
Dorran lifted his
other hand to Brienne’s face, his thumb gently wiping away her tears.
“I wish to return to my homeland, Brienne, I will not deny that, for I know the evil woman who cursed me is taking advantage of my absence and poisoning my court. But I want you to come with me. I understand that Eile is your home and will follow your wishes if you desire to stay. But know this: As soon as I have banished the evil from my court and my lands, I will come back for you.”
He held his face mere inches from hers, his bright eyes once again sharp and penetrating. Brienne closed her own, unable to withstand the intensity in his.
Dorran’s fingers loosened in her hair, his hands beginning their retreat from her face.
“Unless,” he said, voice strained, “unless you do not want me.”
Brienne’s hands shot up and clasped onto Dorran’s forearms, halting his withdrawal. She had only ever wanted to be free. Free to live in peace without the fear of pain or torment. Free to make her own decisions about her life. She had never hoped to love, nor to be loved in return. She would have been happy with a fellow Faelorehn man, perhaps even an ex-slave such as herself. He would be damaged, like her, emotionally and maybe even physically, and together they would build a new life together. That had been the dream she never expected to attain, so she had always been happy with simply being free. Never, never, in her life had she expected to find someone like Dorran.
He stood before her now, a look of anguish and slight terror marring his face. A draghan king of a province a world away. A man who, as she had once imagined, suffered from his own troubles, though they might be different from hers. A few weeks ago, she had set out to liberate him, as she had always longed to be liberated. She had cast aside her own fears of becoming trapped once again because she could not bear to see another innocent soul endure what she’d had to endure.
Brienne smiled, so much so that it pained her face. Dorran let out a breath of wonder as she lifted her hands to his temples, running her fingers through his hair as he had done with her. The Firiehn king’s eyelids drifted shut, and he leaned his head into one of her hands.
A Plague of Dragons (A Dragon Anthology) Page 23