Dance With The Enemy
By Linda Boulanger
©2013 Linda Boulanger
All rights reserved.
This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission of the copyright owner and/or the publisher of this book, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
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To my sister, Leigh Bridges, and my brother, Dean Gamble, who both lost their lives to cancer during the writing of this book. I love you two and thank you for always being there for me.
Leaning against the railing, her honeyed-cinnamon curls whipping loose from their tie, Elenya breathed deeply, eyes closed as she enjoyed the misty sea spray against her face. She felt at home aboard the King’s vessel sent to retrieve her from the shores of Aleone, though it was finer than any she’d seen in her eighteen years of life.
She looked up at the stars sprinkled across the sky and smiled. Without concern that anyone would see her in the dim light, she pulled the corked bottle from beneath her cloak and stared at the rolled parchment inside. She recited the words she’d written on the page before flinging the bottle as far from the bow as was possible for her slight form.
For a brief moment, hope won out over fear and she allowed herself to look forward to her new life, to believe in the dream she’d asked for through her penned words. With one last glance at the stars above she turned, ready to sneak back to her chamber to prepare for the moment when she would fulfill the very reason she was born.
Prologue
The wooden gavel fell against the square slate, cracking through the already heavy atmosphere. The King brought it down three more times before the crowd could be quieted after the reading of the guilty verdict.
“Because of the crimes you have committed,” he continued, “you shall be hanged at daybreak in the Centrehead Square, a sentence that is irrevocable. Further, since your crime was inflicted directly upon the King’s family, your Drille shall be exiled, sent to the far Eastern shores of Riandus.”
The King’s steely gaze softened only slightly as it shifted from the accused criminal to his mother - the daughter of his oldest sister. He’d been about to make the exile permanent as well, though the depth of sheer anguish on the woman’s face caused him to reconsider. He had to give her hope.
Ah, Damalenya, he thought. Even more so than his own children, this woman he loved as dearly as a daughter possessed a spirit closer to his own. Her will to have everything go her way, regardless of the rules mandated by those in authority, seemed to have been passed down to her children. And her beauty that far surpassed all others made everyone fall over themselves to fulfill her wishes. Even him.
As she sat on the Diaz wrapping a strand of her long hair about her finger, the old King was struck with inspiration. “Your Drille shall remain there, in exile, until a sign is received. A sign recognizable to all.” Damalenya sat up taller, her hands falling to her lap, her neck stretched taut as she listened. “The sign shall be a daughter, born with eyes the color of a perfect rock spring emerald and hair the exact same coloring as Damalenya’s.”
The crowd gasped. Though the green eyes had been seen on occasion throughout the years, never since the princess’ birth had another possessed hair in such a rich shade of honeyed-cinnamon. Damalenya dropped her chin, her shoulders slumping in the same direction. Only those close to her recognized the change in the position of her hands as she clasped them together and closed her eyes while she offered up a soundless plea for divine intervention.
Mordin Andorak watched in silent fascination. A boy of eight, a grandson of the King, just like the accused man only of higher ranking, he would have been considered too young to attend the proceedings had he been anyone other than the future king.
Young Andorak had no idea the part he would play in seeing the sentence come to pass. Though the day they told him the child had been born – a baby girl with hair the exact color of Damalenya’s and eyes that showed promise of changing to a beautiful emerald green – he thought of the courtroom and his cousin who had given his life in the name of love some seventy years earlier. Had it been worth it? He wouldn’t know. His love had been chosen for him, coming in the form of a bond forged by the marking in a marriage arranged by the Masters.
Taking off his crown, Mordin ran a hand through still thick, though no longer dark hair as he continued to think. If he was being honest, he’d have to say he’d loved his chosen well enough -- the sharing of blood assured some feelings beyond simple lust. After all, there was something about having ones blood running through the veins of another that demanded at least a modicum of bonding. For a man, it created possessiveness as well as a drive.
But the heart?
He’d found love once – a love orchestrated by life, not the mingling of blood when he’d fallen for one of the Daughters of Damalenya just weeks before the Dremis that brought his chosen. Had his father, the King’s oldest son, not recognized the signs and stepped in, he might have found himself in the same situation as the Zanak man who sent Aleone into exile – a man who compromised a woman marked with the blood of another man, all in the name of love.
Young and naïve, Mordin had thought he would dissolve the ritual of marking when the time came for him to take the throne. Yet there he stood, crown in hand, having effected no change whatsoever.
He thrust his guilt aside, instead taking up his quill and sending a note to the Masters urging them to act diligently and to wield wisdom in choosing the blood serum they would administer to the Aleone child. He had no say in the markings, could only hope that his request would be used as a guide and that somehow, someday, all wrongs would be made right.
Chapter 1
The End…..for now!
The young woman lifted her eyes, satisfied with the words she’d just penned. The smile that haunted her lips lent a false sense of contentment to her flawless features. She closed her journal, caressing the cover, tracing the indented image of a young girl gazing up at the stars in a night sky. Her fingers knew every bump, every crease, every line of that cover. A gift from her grandmother, she’d been writing in it since she was old enough to write, old enough to understand who she was.
And who she was loomed before her, ready to create the story that would fill the blank pages of the rest of her life.
The firstborn daughter of Madrik and Senya Avenille of Aleone, her mother was a direct descendant of the royal family. The fact that Senya’s lineage came from the King’s sister, just as Elenya’s own lineage came from a woman, mattered little. Her blood was still royal, from a line known for producing exceedingly beautiful women with distinguishing emerald eyes and hair the perfect combination of cinnamon and honey. And in a decision to end Aleone’s undeserved exile, she’d been chosen.
A simple injection had marked her for a match with a man also from the royal lines. The serum, perfected by the Masters centuries ago, contained a vial of her future mate’s blood, taken when he was three, and mixed with other unrevealed components. The celebration of her third birthday
, some unknown years behind her husband-to-be, was observed with a grand ceremony. She remembered the joy, all eyes on her, hailing her as her Drille’s salvation. She’d been honored, lavished with attention and gifts that poured in from other Drilles. The trinkets and monetary gifts represented adulation in their extravagance that dizzied the child for whom they were intended. She knew she was special, even above others marked that year within the kingdom of Dorengar.
There was an awfulness that accompanied the marking as well, something she didn’t like to think about, though her imminent parting seemed to open the floodgates, those memories refusing to be held back now, on the eve of her departure. It wasn’t until the ceremony had neared the end that the beast of reality reared its ugly head. Her small body strapped to the stone altar at the front of the gathering hall, she lay still, terrified as one of the Masters lifted the syringe high in the air, blessing it, blessing her before plunging its length into her outstretched arm.
Even at three she’d been taught about the marking, though no one had told her about this part, how she would be gagged and tied, her parents held back by guards as the liquid poured from that vial into her. She remembered the heat flowing through her tiny veins. She’d tried to scream, a silk cloth keeping the sound inside while the room began to spin above her head. A blurred face peered down into hers, one of the Masters. His lips moved, she’d heard sound, though his words were unintelligible, seeming to come from the far end of a long tunnel.
When her body stilled, the convulsing stopped, she found herself veiled in peace. She remembered turning her head, a slow, labored movement. Her vision swam before settling on her parents. The guards still blocked them from her. Her father, red faced, had to be physically restrained while tears fell from her mother’s green eyes, streaking otherwise perfect porcelain cheeks. Elenya had never seen her mother cry.
“Mamma.” The word was whispered when the cloth was removed from her mouth. A single tear grazed her temple, dropping to the table beneath her head.
Everyone within the hall stood quiet, sobered. Because of the length of the exile, the marking ceremony was mostly foreign to the citizens of Aleone. No one had expected what they saw, that such treatment would be thrust upon an innocent child. And why? So that royal bloodlines would be assured. Even in exile, the families of Aleone had maintained certain marrying protocol to assure that matches were made only among the pure and strong within the lines of the royal. They had planned and prepared, doing so without the need for barbaric markings or marriages among unwilling parties, young maidens pulled away from their families to face the unknown alone. The women and their families were supposed to feel honored. To Elenya, it felt as though they were little more than glorified breeding stock.
She was reminded continually that she should be proud, that her marking had restored Aleone’s grace with the Centrehead. She was also told there was no way she could have remembered the marking, that she was too young. But she did remember. The whole event imprinted vividly within her head … and in the pages of her journal. It was all a part of who she was.
A wistful smile tugged the corners of her naturally tinted lips as she rose and crossed the room to look at her reflection in the gazing ball. That little girl stared back in the form of a woman, looking very much as her mother had some fifteen years before. The years had transported the child, now maiden, to the time she must go to meet the man whose blood she bore.
She laid the journal on the table and reached for the carving that sat beside the globe, her fingers caressing its smooth curves even before her eyes fell upon it. Another smile flitted across her face, this one genuine, though whether it was from thoughts of the entangled wooden figures she held or for the one who had given it to her was anyone’s guess.
“Soon enough that will be you, just as I’d imagined when I procured it.” The deep voice resonating quietly into her chamber caught Elenya off guard. She wheeled toward the window, her face aglow with candid welcome.
“Shemek!” She rushed toward the young man lounging against the wall just inside her window. His lazy smile lifted the corners of his mouth and her heart. “I wondered when you would be able to come. There are so many guards. Oh, Shemek! I’m so glad you’re here.”
Her delight was unmistakable as she threw herself into his arms.
Shemek held her close, her head resting against his breaking heart as he stroked the length of her loose, dark red curls. “You’re shaking, Ya.” His use of her childhood nickname made her want to cry. She held it in, for her and for him, smiling instead as he tipped her face up to his. “What’s wrong? And don’t tell me you’re cold.” He knew her too well. Even with the night breeze coming off the water, the air of Aleone remained balmy.
He also knew the answer to his question. They both did. She wasn’t cold. Her trembling came from the fears of a young woman about to embark on the unknown. Leaving the only man who had ever held her heart made fulfilling her duty to her people that much harder.
As Shemek stared down at her, he longed to hear her tell him how she felt. They both knew they were words she would never say regardless of the volumes spoken from her soul shining behind the green eyes that bore into his.
“You’ll be fine!” He broadened his smile, pushing her back to take her hands in his. He brought them to his lips. “Ya, there’s no way he will not fall madly in love the moment he sets eyes upon you. You’ll see. He’ll lavish you with his affections, shower you with finery, and you’ll forget all about this crazy world where we live.”
Elenya grimaced and pulled away, turning her back on her old friend. She shook her head. She didn’t want to forget. This was her home, they were her people. She loved them. She loved him… She walked to the table where her journal lay. Tomorrow she would begin to write within a new book, but tonight, she only wanted to remember, to feel Aleone.
“Can you sneak me outside, Shemek?” They both knew he could. Shemek was a master at getting around undetected. “I want to see the stars above Aleone one last time.” Her voice broke. She closed her eyes willing the tears to subside.
Shemek didn’t try to comfort her, didn’t speak. Instead, he dimmed her chamber’s light and slipped his hand around hers. With the stealth of the warrior he was, he led her out the window, through the shadows, and into the night.
They stopped far down the beach at a secluded spot secure from the view of any wandering villagers. Elenya breathed deeply, relishing the familiar scent of Aleone air. She kicked off her shoes to caress the sand, imprinting the feel of it between her toes. No, she didn’t want to forget. She tilted her head up, taking in the stars in the night sky, just as the girl did on her journal front. How different would they look in her new life? Would she be able to see them from the Centrehead, to know Shemek was staring at the same stars back home?
“You will come see me, yes?” She waited for his answer, looking at him only when it did not come. The moon was bright enough for her to clearly see the pain etched in the lines of his face. “My sister, Shemek… Surely my family will join me eventually, wherever I end up. Marry her and join them. Join me.”
Again Shemek didn’t answer. Elenya moved quickly, dropping to her knees before him, grabbing his hands into her own and pressing her forehead to them. She looked up, imploring him with her eyes, her lips grazing his knuckles as he’d done to hers not so long before. “Please, Shemek,” her words wrapping around him in a whisper on the night winds.
“Elenya.” He grasped her upper arms, pulled her up to face him. “Tomorrow you begin anew. What you have now,” he motioned around with a circular gyration of his hand, then shook his head. “No, Elenya. You must say goodbye for good. Why should your sister give up her future? No, I will not break your sister’s heart for my own, knowing that seeing you with the one for whom you were marked will pain me more than never seeing you again. I feel certain it would drive me quite mad.” He shook his head again. “No, Ya. No. This is the end.”
Elenya couldn’t keep the tear
s from her eyes nor could she help as they spilled onto her cheeks. “Yet, it is well enough that I must give up.” Her words, nearly inaudible, screamed of self-sacrifice.
Shemek nodded. “Like the stars, you must shine for all of us. You are Aleone’s future. Your sacrifice has opened gates kept shut against us. It’s what you were born to do.” He pointed at the sky and Elenya looked up, the stars orbed spears through her tears. “They shine alone, yet every night they still shine and are greatly loved by those who watch them from afar. Even for those who know they will never touch them.”
Fresh tears coursed down her face. Shemek wiped at them with his thumb, to no avail. And then he surprised her by doing something he’d never done before. He lowered his head to hers, covering her lips with his own.
Heat swept through Elenya nearly rivaling that of the marking. Breathing became difficult, her legs weakened and Shemek caught her, pressing her into him as his lips continued their silent demand.
They were both shaking when he finally pushed Elenya away from him, knowing that kissing her violated Drille code. Since she was chosen, it was an offense punishable by death in order to keep her pure.
She continued to look up at the sky as he led her away, her heart lighter as they walked back toward her family’s home. A smile played across her swollen lips. Tomorrow she would leave, a piece of Shemek seared into her heart. He had risked his life by kissing her, and though she was sure he meant it as a kiss goodbye, she knew the effect it’d had on him. Somehow, someway, he would find her again. And even if he didn’t, she knew a part of him would always love her. That was enough to allow her to look forward to a new dream, one that had begun to take hold the day she was marked.
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