Ari pursed his mouth in thought. “We have always regretted the absence of Torre Bianca’s light in the eastern skies. Our planetary shield is weak in one quarter of the western hemisphere without her. We assumed the white tower destroyed. We meant to send a party to explore why she remained dark, but…”
Hel nodded. “We are not easy to reach, particularly during winter.”
“Your damned mountain is impossible during winter. A man on foot, perhaps, but not a work party,” Doral murmured.
Ari grunted an agreement. “Since the coronation of our queen, the Tetriarch has performed the Great Rite at least once a month—barring those months when our queen’s pregnancies excluded her. Torre Bianca should be as a star dropped from heaven. There is some other malignancy at work.”
Hel sagged in the chair, his devastation apparent. He scrubbed his face with his hands for a moment and then stood, pacing to the window. “I still have need of a healer and brite-weed.”
Adonia spoke before thinking. “I am a healer. I will go with him. I would like to see the storied Nyth Uchel and the celebrated Torre Bianca. I would like to help in whatever way I can.” She rose from her chair and stepped toward Fleur. “You have many skilled medicae to attend you, Ma’am. While not as advanced as some, I am a skilled healer, and I’m used to hardship. I have studied with all the medicae at the High Enclave. From the sounds of conditions, I’d give ninety percent of them a week, or less, before they retreated to Sylvan Mintoth—if they even finished the journey to Nyth Uchel.”
“Are you sure, Adonia? It will be arduous and quite possibly dangerous.” Fleur's delicate features knit with concern.
Adonia met Fleur’s eyes. She would miss the young queen. Other than Sophi DeStroia, her former flight leader, this was her only woman friend—well, actually, her only friend in Sylvan Mintoth—but this opportunity was unprecedented. “My Queen, I was medica and First Arrow of Falcon Flight. I am a skilled archer and highly trained in mounted combat. We of the desert-dwelling Oshtesh fought in the last Haarb battle of Vergaza alongside several of those in this chamber. I have known the hard life of the arid wastelands and have traveled the long road from Sh’r Un Kree to Sylvan Mintoth. I am not afraid of the danger or the hardship. If Prince DeHelios will have me, I want to go.” Adonia felt the weight of Hel’s perusal and turned to face him. After a long, anxious moment watching him silently evaluate her, he lifted his chin and brought it down decisively.
“Yes. I will have you.”
The peculiar, slow twist Hel gave to his words made Adonia wonder if he intended another meaning, but she shook the thought away as ridiculous. He couldn’t want her that way. No man had wanted her that way … not even Klaran. Klaran’s damning words rang in her memory as clearly as if her lover had spoken them yesterday instead of almost two years ago.
“What is it you don’t understand? I’m done with you. You got me into service with Ducca DeStroia and out of Sh’r Un Kree—for that, I thank you. But, did you seriously expect me to stay with you when I had a choice? There is nothing womanly about you. From your body to your soul, you are a hard creature.” Her former intended’s furiously hurled words had stripped her soul bare and the lush-figured, flagrantly-accessible female who’d replaced Adonia in his arms had loosed the killing shot. “No man wants between the legs of a gawky, stick figure reeking of some vile concoction.”
Adonia had fled to Sylvan Mintoth under the guise of advancing her medical knowledge. The compassion in Eric and Sophi DeStroia’s eyes when they released her from their service had been the ultimate humiliation.
“Lord Ramsey, I would like you to go with Adonia.” Fleur glanced across the room to Ramsey DeKieran, and Adonia disguised a laugh with a cough when he abruptly straightened after a hard poke from his wife. While the rest of the party sat in the comfortable sofas and chairs around Ari’s office, DeKieran and his new wife had remained lounging, side-by-side, against the wall by the door. Adonia had caught the intense stares and occasional murmurs Ram and Steffania had exchanged throughout the past hour. From the blush that crept up Steffania’s cheeks when Ramsey fingered her exquisite choker of beaten gold, Adonia doubted that either had heard much of what had transpired in the last few minutes.
“Huh? What? Um, pardon me, Ma’am. I didn’t catch what you said.”
From the mischief in Fleur’s eyes, Adonia revised her assumption. Perhaps she was not the only one to catch their interchange of heated looks and whispers. “I wish you to accompany Adonia to Nyth Uchel and stay until she is ready to return. She will need an escort home, and I don’t want her dependent upon Prince DeHelios or his people to provide one.”
Fleur’s gaze returned to Hel. “No disrespect intended, but should Adonia wish to leave at any time, I want her free to do so.” The queen’s gaze then found Adonia. “And Adonia, while you are most capable, you will travel through country with unknown dangers. It will ease my heart to know you have a strong blade at your side.”
“So, Lord Ramsey? Will you go?”
“To Nyth Uchel?” Ram blinked several times. “With him?”
Hel looked affronted. Doral laughed softly and then murmured something to Ari and a grin split the High Lord’s solemn face. Adonia would give anything to know what Doral had said.
Steffania whispered something to Lord DeKieran, and he performed a sketchy bow. “Ah, if you ask it, Ma’am.” An expression of disgust flashed across Ramsey’s face and, with hands on hips, he turned to Hel. “I suppose you want your horse back.”
~ ~ ~
Adonia could see the stars dotting the night sky through the windows of the sitting area in her rooms. Diaman crystal globes illuminated the spacious accommodations and a bronze brazier filled with glowing crystals radiated heat enough to warm the area twice over. A small leather duffle sat in one of the chairs. It had taken little time to pack the few possessions she owned—a medica’s robe and two changes of underclothing, a hairbrush and some ties to bind her hair. Her closet contained many rich articles of clothing from the queen, but Adonia had never considered them more than loans. Her medicines took far longer, and she knelt on the floor as, for a third time, she ran through the inventory of medicinal herbs and compounds she intended to take. A sharp rap on her door jerked her upright. Who? At this advanced hour? Had someone fallen sick? She opened the door and drew back in surprise.
“High Lord! Come in, come in.”
Ari entered with a bundle of plush black fur in his arms and stopped in the middle of her room. “We want you to have this.” He held up the fur and the glorious item unfurled. Its silky hairs reflected the light in a thousand blue-black sparkling glitters.
Adonia exclaimed in wonder, “Mynx! By the Mother, I have never seen an entire garment of it.” Ari held out a full-length coat of the exotic alien fur. “Sir! This fur is brought from off-world. One tiny pelt is impossibly expensive—to have an entire coat! It is far too valuable. I cannot take this.”
Ari crossed behind her and placed the coat on her shoulders. The gossamer fur waved from just the passage of her breath across it.
“Put it on. Let me see if it will fit.”
Adonia reluctantly put her arms into the sleeves and allowed Ari to snug the coat up to her neck and fasten the clips that held it closed—then he stood back and observed her. “Good. It is not too long. The shoulders are big, but that will allow for extra layers underneath.”
She laughed at the four inches extending beyond her fingertips. “I suppose I could cuff them.” Adonia held her hands to her face and nestled her nose and cheeks into the thick, black pile. She luxuriated in its extraordinary softness and then raised her face with a sigh. “Sir, I cannot accept this. This is a garment for heads of state—or those with enough money to buy planets. While I appreciate the queen’s generosity, I cannot take it.”
“It’s not from the queen.” The High Lord smiled, and his expression softened to one of pleasure. “I gave it as a gift to Doral. Since he is going nowhere for many months, h
e wants you to have it. He says you suffer from the cold more than most.” Ari laughed at her expression. “The things he notices amaze me, also. If nothing else, consider it a gift of thanks for your tender care of our queen. She values your friendship. Because of her position, it is hard for her to have true friends. She counts you among the few.” Adonia dropped her gaze and looked away, uncertain what to do. Ari snorted in mock irritation. “If you won’t take it, you will have to return it to Doral. I don’t dare tell him I failed in his errand.” Ari leaned over and whispered, “He’s a scary man. I fear to cross him.”
Recognizing a blatant lie—Doral might be a scary man, but Ari crossed him with impunity all the time—Adonia addressed him with skeptical eyes. Of their own volition, her palms stroked the silky fur and her fingers sank into its thick pelt. In this garment, she felt distinguished, like royalty, and it would be so warm. Nothing she owned approached it on any level. With a heavy sigh, wishing she weren’t so weak, she surrendered to the temptation. “Thank Segundo DeLorion for me. Tell him that I’ll borrow it and return it when I come back.”
The High Lord’s smile left his face, and he studied her in silence for a long moment. “If you come back. DeHelios needs a wife and, from the way he watches you, I shouldn’t be surprised if he intends to keep you.”
Adonia’s eyes widened. “He is highborn, a prince of the first noble House of Verdantia. I’m an ordinary Oshtesh woman from the desert. He would never consider me for a wife.”
The High Lord’s eyes lingered on her. He wore the strangest smile on his handsome face. “Do you really regard yourself as commonplace?” But before Adonia could summon the courage to ask him what that cryptic comment meant, he bowed, wished her, “Safe journey,” and left.
As she stroked the luxurious fur, Adonia considered his remark. She’d always taken comfort from the thought she was a common desert woman. She’d never questioned the rightness of her way of life with the Oshtesh until her encounter with Doral’s sister, Sophi, and Sophi’s now-husband, Eric DeStroia. After the cataclysmic events surrounding the battle of Vergaza, Adonia had realized prejudice and ignorance warped much of what she’d been taught growing up.
The small religious sect her parents belonged to had indoctrinated Adonia with a scornful contempt for the aristocracy, but in a matter of months following Vergaza, she’d shed their influence and opened her mind to a different way of thinking. She’d been wrong about many things. The realization had hurt, but she’d swallowed her pride, owned up to her prejudices and set about changing how she thought and behaved. Throughout her internal upheaval, she’d clung to one certainty—Klaran cared for her. She had a place with him. She was Klaran’s betrothed, his future wife. She had lost her entire family and many of her sisters-in-arms to the Haarb, but she wasn’t alone in the world. She would always have Klaran.
It had taken Klaran mere moments to obliterate her self-worth and years later, she still bled from the gaping wound. Klaran’s words had done more than strip her of any sense she was desirable. His betrayal had obliterated her identity, her confidence in where she belonged in the world. When he’d rejected her, nothing remained of her previous life and she’d no sense of her place in a new one. Maybe she would know where she belonged at the end of this journey. Nyth Uchel’s healer? Yes. She could take pride in being Nyth Uchel’s healer.
Chapter Three
I am so stinking tired of this damnable horse. Adonia snorted. The operative word being “stinking.” Nights on the ground, days of road dust and an accumulation of horse and human sweat created an unforgettable odor, and the ache in her bones was enough to bring tears to her eyes. While she would not have traded her days in the library of the High Enclave for anything, they hadn’t done her riding muscles any favors. She stood in her stirrups to ease the chaffed skin of her thighs, but when her legs refused to hold her, she slapped down onto the hard saddle seat and yelped.
Steffania glanced her way at her outcry, and Adonia thought the woman laughed. Adonia had little time to visit with the redhead who rode beside her at a steady gallop. She envied the fit mercenary leader for more than one reason and thought back three days ago to their early-morning departure in the palace courtyard.
The High Lord had watched Prince DeHelios tie a packhorse to his mount’s tail. “I regret we can’t send more brite-weed with you. We emptied the storehouses.”
“At this point, I’ll take what I can get. It will have to do.” DeHelios had looked up at a clatter of hooves as two horses trotted into the courtyard.
“You are late, Lord DeKieran, and why is the head of my Blue Daggers with you?” Ari DeTano had stood, arms crossed, and eyed Ramsey with displeasure.
“She is my wife, DeTano. Where I go, she goes, and vice versa. I left her behind once. I’ll never make that mistake again.”
The two men had eyed each other in a contest of wills until DeTano had exhaled forcefully, placed his hands on his hips and nodded curtly. “Take better care of her this time.”
Adonia sighed, remembering. She imagined what it must feel like to be so valued—to be so loved that any separation was untenable. Stop it, Adonia. Such romantic imaginings were of little practical use. There was no one who felt that way about her, and she had a duty to Nyth Uchel. Those people needed a healer. A healer, remember that, Adonia. Her thoughts drifted to Prince DeHelios and the strange attraction that seemed to be forming between them.
Last evening, like the evening before, Hel had helped her tend to her horse and arrange her bedroll before seeing to his own. “I’ve pushed you hard today, Healer. I will assist you.”
At her silent nod, his gray eyes had lingered on her thoughtfully. While stripping her horse and laying out her bedding, his bare hand had brushed her arm. An electric tingle had slid over her body, prompting each hair follicle erect in an eruption of tiny goose bumps. Her nipples had hardened into tight buds.
It was not the first time his frequent, chance contact had caused this inexplicable reaction in her. Goddess! He could not be attracted to her? Could he? A stick of a woman with an ordinary face? Hard muscles covered her skinny length and calluses dotted her strong fingers—fingers skilled in unfeminine, practical tasks, not seductive arts. Her mysterious arousal and attraction to Hel scrambled her composure. His studious silence compounded her confusion—and then there was the mystery of what he looked like under all that hair. She had to stop such thoughts. They paved the way to heartache. She deluded herself if she imagined a mutual attraction.
When all was in order, Hel had straightened and slowly smiled. “That should do for tonight, Healer. Rest well.”
Hel never addressed her by name—only as “Healer.” That was her identity to him—the healer—desired for her skills, not her sex. She needed to hold firm to that thought.
Those in front of her gelding slowed, and Adonia grunted slightly as her horse dropped down to a trot. Darkness had made the road a pale ribbon flanked by deep purple-black. DeHelios must know the region well because they turned down a break in the trees she hadn’t seen. She prayed they were stopping for the night.
“Praise the Goddess,” she muttered under her breath as the dark lane opened up onto a wood-shingled, whitewashed building tucked snugly into a grove of tall conifers. Its multi-paned windows glowed with cheerful light and illuminated a small wooden sign that read simply, Wayfarer’s Inn. For the first time since leaving Sylvan Mintoth, the evening accommodations would feature a bed and four walls. Adonia fervently hoped they also included a tub and some hot water. She pulled to a halt and sat her weary horse as she summoned the energy to dismount with some semblance of dignity.
“Is the pace too much for you, Healer? You aren’t the type to complain, so I must ask.”
Adonia started at Hel’s hand wrapping her thigh and the inquiry on his face. While it was full dark, she must be more tired than she realized not to have seen him there.
“You needn’t worry. I’ll keep up. A year ago, this ride would have been nothing. M
y months in the great library have softened me, but I won’t hold you back. My muscles will soon regain their fitness.”
He took the reins from around her horse’s sweaty neck and held out his arms to assist her in dismounting. Her dismount became a controlled fall as she leaned forward into his hold and let him pull her from her animal.
“Oh!” Hel caught her as her feet hit the ground, and her knees threatened to give out. The strong band of his arms held her securely against him, and she felt dwarfed by his sheer mass. Was this what being enveloped by an ice-bear felt like? “Thank you.” She grimaced as she tested her legs. They would hold now. “I think I can manage from here.” She smiled up at him as he released her.
“Our swift pace is for those in Nyth Uchel for whom the brite-weed means life. But I would not kill our healer, either. You must tell me if I push too hard.” His hand strayed to her cheek and rearranged a wandering tendril of hair behind her ear.
His gray eyes locked on hers. Their message chased any thought from her head. All she could summon was a croak of affirmation and a nod, helpless before the magnetic pull of this larger-than-life man.
Hel grinned and turned, leading their horses toward the stables.
She realized with a start that she was standing alone in the yard, an arm held out as if to arrest his departure. She dropped her arm to her side. A fan of light falling onto the courtyard profiled Steffania DeKieran as she leaned out the red-trimmed door to the inn and hailed Adonia.
“Ramsey acquired three rooms. I’ll bet they will furnish us with hot baths if we offer to pay. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of smelling myself.” The redhead laughed as Adonia hurried to join her.
After a welcome bath, no matter the tub held scant inches, the small group dined on a thick, meaty stew and fresh, hot bread with butter and stickleberry jam—the whole dinner washed down with cold cider. Adonia thought it tasted as fine as some banquets she’d attended at the palace. Hel, Ramsey and Steffania had excused themselves as soon as dinner had ended, but Adonia took a comfortable chair in front of the large hearth in the public room and sipped another glass of cider. A lone traveler shared the fire with her. After they’d sat in silence for some time watching the flames dance in golds and blues across the logs, he cast a brief glance in her direction.
Hers to Claim (Verdantia Book 4) Page 3