Opal's Wish: Book Four of The Crystal Warriors Series

by Maree Anderson

  “Wrong or right, I took steps to protect my village. Wrong or right, I had so little faith in my abilities I begged the aid of a goddess to help me cast what I intended as a temporary imprisoning spell. And now here we both are. Bound and determined to protect an innocent child.”

  “And her mother,” Danbur added absently. Opal was never far from his thoughts.

  “Ah yes,” Pieter said. “Opal.”

  Uttering her name conjured her image, and fogged Danbur’s mind with thoughts of what he would like to be doing to her if he had the leisure to indulge in such things. Teasing her. Tempting her. Kissing her… from head to toe, taking special care to linger on all the soft feminine curves in between. He would wager his horse and his sword he could make her scream his name. Without stuttering.

  “Were you aware that she, too, is named for a crystal?”

  This time Danbur had no hope of disguising his shock. “Opal is a crystal?”

  “Indeed it is. Opals are multi-colored, appearing as though rainbow-toned fiery sparks have been captured within their depths. In fact, it was once believed an opal could harness the powers of every crystal whose base color was captured within the opal. Centuries ago, opals were deemed luck-bringers. But in latter years, due in part to the widespread popularity of a story written by a gentleman named Walter Scott, opals became associated with bad fortune, and even death.”

  The old man’s expression soured. “There is no truth in such claims of course. They stemmed from pure fiction. But being named for a bad-luck stone certainly hasn’t helped Opal’s karma. Little Seraphine’s mother hasn’t had an easy life.”

  Danbur frowned as he digested this information. He did not like to think of Opal suffering. Protective instincts roused, he asked, “If the stone is associated with such negativity, why would her parents give her an ill-favored name?”

  “Opal’s mother had been told she would never conceive. But while on holiday in Australia—one of the countries where opals are mined—Kendall Stewart discovered her nausea wasn’t caused by a stomach upset due to unfamiliar cuisine. She was pregnant. She and her husband were understandably thrilled, and the husband gifted Kendall a fire-opal pendant. She was so taken by the gem that when her only child—a daughter—was born, she named her Opal.”

  “A pretty story,” Danbur mused.

  “And a pretty name—if one discounts the possibility of jinxes and tempting fate.”

  “Jinxes?”

  “Simply put they are akin to a minor curse that might cause a run of bad luck.” Pieter’s lips thinned to a tight white line. “Though labeling what that poor girl endured ‘bad luck’ is akin to likening a child’s sandbox to a desert.”

  All the little hints abruptly fit together in one heartbreaking whole.

  Danbur had been raised in a world where females were valued—precious. The punishment for any man found guilty of forcing a woman was harsh. Gelded, stripped of property and rank. Indentured servitude, and in extreme cases, death. Once women newly arrived in Styria understood the way of it, they were quick to comprehend that ultimately they held the power. And they reveled in it.

  Opal was a beautiful young woman. That was an unassailable fact. And she had already proven her fertility by bearing a child. Transport her to Styria, stand her on the Choosing Block, and she would provoke a bidding war that would bankrupt a large portion of the male population… and have the auction broker praying to the gods daily that she did not reject the man who won her before six moons had past, thus forcing the broker to pay Opal half her Choosing price.

  But would any man think to look beyond that beautiful brittle shell?

  To Danbur, Opal had the look of a female traumatized by past events. The difficulty she had speaking, the haunted expression in her eyes, the slightly hunched posture—as though she unconsciously tried to make herself smaller, less noticeable. She was raising Sera alone, without a protector. And from what he had observed she was more than merely uncomfortable around men.

  She had been abused. Raped. He would stake his life on it.

  Rage swelled in his chest. And shame, for jumping to conclusions and judging her so harshly. “Tell me of her past,” he said. “Tell me everything she endured. Tell me who hurt her and I swear I will end them.

  “It is not my story to tell. You must ask her yourself.”

  Danbur beat back the urge to pound his fist on the ground. “Then tell me of my connection to Seraphine. The truth, old man. I grow weary of being kept in ignorance. Tell me why you are so concerned for her.” And perhaps then I will begin to understand why I care so deeply for this child…. And her mother.

  “I must reiterate that the effects of my spell were intended to be temporary,” Pieter said. “My plan was simply to entrap your troop in your namesake crystals and use both them, and the threat of repeating the spell, to barter with those guarding your campsite for the release of the women they currently held. I would then wait for your priest to reopen the portal to your world, and once every last Styrian was through and the portal about to close, I would activate the counter-spell, releasing you and your troop-mates from your crystals. She had other ideas.”

  Danbur stared at the old man, stony-faced. “I may be a warrior but I am no dullard. I understand what ‘temporary’ implies. However I care little for your past intentions. You may claim that all blame lies with this goddess of yours, but the truth is that all of us—goddess, spell-caster, priests, and the warriors who did their bidding—are to blame. And here is another truth. If we were all catapulted back in time and given the opportunity to revise our decisions and alter the course of the future, nothing would change. Nothing. Because everything we did was for reasons that seemed logical and compelling at the time.”

  Pieter rubbed his chin. And then he inclined his head in a gesture of respect. “You are wise beyond your years, Crystal Warrior.”

  Danbur made a “get on with it” motion with his hand. “To put your mind completely at ease, I vow not to rip your head from your shoulders if I do not like what I hear.”

  From the old man’s carefully blanked expression, Danbur guessed he wasn’t going to like what was about to be revealed. The sun’s rays beat down on his head but the heat of this world was weak, and easily ignored. The air was heavy with moisture, and when he glanced up at the sky he saw gray clouds lurking in the distance. Likely it would rain in a few hours.

  He recalled his first mission with his tehun—ten warriors plus their commander. They’d galloped through the portal and found themselves surrounded by a sea of lush green vegetation, and even more alien, pelted by driving rain. Malach, the troop’s second in command, had been stoic, ignoring the streams of water dripping from his nose as though it were a commonplace occurrence. The rest of the troop had taken their lead from him, doing their best to ignore the downpour. Their commander, Lord Keeper Wulf, had drily suggested they all strip and wash the grit of the desert from the cracks of their arses, so they would sit more comfortably on their saddles. He’d been joking of course. But Wulf’s kinsman, Kyan, always chafing at boundaries, had taken him at his word. Danbur had managed to avoid the full impact of the spectacle Kyan made as he washed his cock and balls with undue care, thank the gods. But the sight of the man snatching up his clothing, mounting his horse and riding naked when Wulf gave the order to move out, had been seared onto Danbur’s eyeballs for weeks afterward.

  Pieter’s voice called him back to the present.

  “Very well. No more beating about the bush. Once a crystal warrior escapes his namesake crystal, he has twenty-eight days to initiate and complete the bonding process with the one who called him from the crystal. If the bond remains incomplete once the deadline falls due, he will be taken by the crystal again. However if the bonding process is completed, on the twenty-eighth day, he and his potential mate will both be subjected to a Test intended to verify the strength and veracity of their bond. If both parties pass the Test, the warrior will be freed from the curse.”

&nb
sp; His gazed flayed Danbur to the bone. “Do you understand what I am telling you?”

  “For Sera to call me from the crystal, she must be closely linked to a crystal—seraphinite, I presume.”

  “Correct. Seraphinite is uncommon in this world, but not so rare it can’t be sourced if one knows where to look.”

  “Hence the bond we share, Sera and I.”

  “Also correct.”

  Gods. His fate rested in the hands of a child? Danbur scrubbed a hand over his hair. Sera was an intelligent child. There was still a chance they could prevail. There was still a chance he could be fr—

  “There is no chance,” Pieter said, his implacable tone biting through Danbur’s hopes like a sword through a ripe melon. “The one who calls you from the crystal is destined to become your chosen bond-mate. And the bonding process is sexual in nature. To initiate it you must have sexual intercourse with your chosen mate.”

  Horror curled in Danbur’s belly. If he’d broken his fast prior to this encounter he’d have been hard pressed not to spew the meal all over Pieter’s shiny black boots.

  But the Crystal Guardian wasn’t done yet. “And to complete the bond and thus provoke the Testing, sexual congress must take place thrice within the twenty-eight day span.”

  Chapter Seven

  Danbur lay back on the grass and threw one arm over his eyes. He needed a private moment to absorb the cruelty of the blow he’d been dealt. He was not the only victim, here. Sera, too, would suffer. The little girl had called him from the crystal because she’d wished for a father—a man who would love both her and her mother, a man who would take care of them. He was no scholar, but he understand that Sera’s instant acceptance of him and her subsequent attachment was unnatural.

  There would surely be consequences when he was taken by the crystal in mere weeks. And he could only pray to the gods Sera would not still be connected to him, forced to share his torture. Bad enough to live with the knowledge he wouldn’t be able to hold out forever, that eventually he would lose all hope and his mind would shatter. But to think of an innocent like Sera sharing his descent into insanity was… was….

  There were no words. A shudder wracked him, and he disguised his body’s weakness by climbing to his feet to stare unseeing at the tree shading Pieter’s bench.

  What manner of creature would dangle the chance of freedom before a man, only to impose terms impossible for anyone with a conscience to fulfill? Sexual congress with a child…. Repulsive. Sickening. Any creature who would impose such strictures, who would allow a little girl like Sera to be chosen as a grown man’s bond-mate, was deranged. Amoral. Inhuman. A—

  “A goddess,” Pieter said. “Which some might claim is synonymous with inhuman and monstrous. She does not think the same way we do. She believes she is omnipotent, that she knows best. Even if proven incontrovertibly wrong, she will not deign to alter her chosen course. You would be foolish to believe she can be reasoned with.”

  Danbur mentally shook himself. It would serve no purpose to wallow in a mire of despair. He’d been given a gift—four weeks of freedom. He had no idea what he planned to do with that freedom tomorrow. But today—now—there was one promise he could keep.

  “What are you going to do?” Pieter asked.

  “Push Sera on the swings.” Danbur brushed the grass and dirt from his rear and headed for the playing area.

  “And after that?” Pieter called after him.

  He had no clue, and so he continued putting one booted foot in front of the other.

  “There are still things you need to know!”

  Could that be a hint of panic he heard in Pieter’s voice? Danbur halted and pivoted to face the old man. “Be quick, Pieter. I do not want to keep the child waiting.”

  Pieter had risen to his feet. He looked taller somehow. Menacing. “If you abuse that child I will make you wish for death,” he growled in a voice that raised the hairs on Danbur’s nape.

  “And if that child were not nearby to witness it, I would beat you to a pulp for suggesting such a thing, old man. I am no perverted, sick excuse for a human being who preys upon little girls. Nor do I blame Sera for my fate. She is safe with me. I would give my life for her.” Danbur twisted his lips into a parody of a smile. “In a few short weeks I will be doing just that, no?”

  A flush of crimson painted Pieter’s cheekbones. His jaw worked silently. “I owe you an apology,” he finally said.

  “Save your apologies, old man. The one who should be tendering her apologies to me is your meddling bitch-goddess.”

  “The pains in your belly are symptoms of the unfulfilled bond.” Pieter seemed to sense that Danbur was done, for the words spilled from his lips in a rush. “The further apart you are from her, the more severe your symptoms.”

  A new wave of horror slicked Danbur’s spine and burrowed into his belly. “And Sera? Does she, too, suffer when we are apart?”

  “No. That is your burden to bear.”

  Thank the gods. He would never forgive himself for harming the little girl—even unintentionally. At least now he understood what to expect. And it only confirmed there was little point in visiting Mickey’s “free clinic” to consult a Healer. He turned his back on Pieter and strode toward the playground, his boot heels crunching the fine bark spread beneath the swings.

  Sera waved at him, beaming so widely as she flew through the air that he couldn’t help but grin back at her. “Push me, Dan!” she said. “I want to swing higher!”

  So he did. And the more she squealed with uninhibited delight, the more his heart lightened. No one could steal this moment from him. Not the women clustered to one side of the playground, whispering and shooting him concerned glances while they watched over their charges. Not even the dumpling-shaped older woman with the strident voice who made her displeasure very clear indeed.

  She pointed some device at him, and was promptly taken to task by a large-bellied man Danbur thought might be her mate. “Evidence,” she screeched as the man snatched at the device. “In case something happens to that child and the police need a description. I’ll be a hero. I might get a reward!”

  “Fergodsakes, Susan.” Her companion groaned long and loud and swiped his face with his palm. “You been watching too much of those real crime shows again. The kid’s perfectly happy with the guy. He’s probably her stepdad or something—not that it’s any of your business. Put that thing away before he takes it off you.” He cast an apologetic glance at Danbur as he hustled the woman away.

  Danbur had understood at least some of the exchange. He didn’t take offense, however. He was tall, black-skinned, and heavily muscled. Sera was a delicate, pale-skinned redhead. He was obviously not her birth-father. And it was reassuring to know some inhabitants of this strange, alien world still watched over their little ones. Though he would wager none had given Pieter a second glance—ironic considering the magic-wielding old man was far more dangerous than Danbur would ever be.

  He pushed Sera on the swing, the rhythm so soothing that he lost track of time. And when she finally grew tired of swinging and told him to stop, he stepped back, at peace and wholly content to observe whatever she chose to do next, or participate if she required it of him.

  When the swing’s momentum slowed to a gentle sway, she slithered from the sling and skipped over to gift him another of her precious hugs. “Pig-a-back me, Dan!” she said, peering up at him with those big pleading eyes that he could not resist.

  “Pig-a-back” turned out to be Sera crawling onto his back, wrapping her arms around his neck and kicking him enthusiastically with her heels until he got the hint and broke into a jog. “I believe I would prefer to be your horse than your pig,” Danbur told her.

  “Okay, you can be my unicorn instead! Giddyup!” She dug in her heels again, urging him into a run.

  Danbur sprinted past the group of women, who were now sitting on a rug with their little ones, doling out drinks and food. He noticed their suspicions had thawed to smiles o
f approval. They had accepted him. They understood in the uncanny way of mothers everywhere that he would protect this child with his life—that Sera was precious to him.

  Danbur didn’t know about Sera but he had never felt this… content. There was something missing, however. Or perhaps more accurately, someone. And if he could have one wish fulfilled before fate caught up with him it would be for Opal to be here, too. Reclining on a blanket, her lips tilted in a smile meant solely for him as she watched him at play with her daughter.

  ~~~

  God. Talk about the walking dead. Anyone who believed modeling at all glamorous was delusional. Opal’s feet throbbed. They felt twice their normal size as she wriggled her toes in her canvas slip-ons. Her mind was fuzzy—like her brain had been wrapped in cotton wool. Throughout the journey, a wince-worthy, persistent little pain had drilled into a spot right behind her eyes. And there was one of those flutters at the edge of her consciousness—the “oh shit, I’ve forgotten something über-important” kind of flutter that caused your heart to jump in your chest like a frantic rabbit.

  Desiree had arranged for her doting admirer to drop Opal at Penn Station. And thanks to Annie and Conrad, Opal had been covered for both the train ticket to Philly’s 30th Street station, and the cab home. Even so there’d been delays, topped off by an accident that had forced the cab driver to take a detour. It was now gone midnight. Opal’s disappointment at not being there to tuck Sera in and tell her all about the experience mingled with bone-deep weariness. But there would be no sleeping in and starting the morning in a leisurely fashion. A full workday loomed, and as soon as she saw off the sitter and checked on Sera, she planned on falling into bed. Face first. Fully clothed, even.

  The cab pulled up to the curb and jerked to a halt. Opal pried open her eyelids to confirm she was outside the right house. Even having to walk a few houses up the street seemed an insurmountable task.

  Yay. Home sweet home. She pushed herself upright, paid the fare, and hauled her weary butt out of the vehicle. “Th-th-thanks,” she mumbled, grabbing her overnight bag from the backseat.