Allegiance Sworn (A NOVEL OF THE LIGHT BLADE)

by Kylie Griffin

  Arek’s innards prickled at the promise of seeing Imhara Kaal again. All he had to be was patient. The thought helped bank the outrage seething inside him.

  “My needs?” he asked.

  From his breeches’ pocket, Rassan produced a metal key. Gesturing with his chin to the opposite side of the room, he flipped back the quilt and inserted it in the lock of his ankle restraint. “Through that door lies a bath and clean clothes. The tray Jaclan brought holds your breakfast. The order in which you choose to eat and bathe is yours.”

  Arek’s breath caught as the manacle snapped open. He flexed his leg, working his stiff muscles as elation surged through him.

  “Be cautioned though”—the warrior’s voice dropped, deepened—“should you attempt to attack or harm any of us, we won’t hesitate to shackle you again.”

  Behind him, Barrca held up two sets of wrist and ankle chains. The metal links clinked in soft warning.

  Pick your battles. Yevni’s gruff voice echoed in his head. How often had the grizzled arms-master quoted that saying?

  Previous experience training with the Na’Chi at Sacred Lake had taught Arek the difficulty of gaining the upper hand. Here it would be three to his one, against Na’Chi-enhanced strength and speed. Yevni’s advice was sound—this wasn’t a battle to be tempted by.

  Arek nodded to acknowledge Rassan’s warning and, in seconds, was free of his bonds. As he rose, all three Na’Chi took a wary step away from the bed, their gazes locked on him. He ignored them, rubbing life back into his limbs, then covered the distance to the other door in three long strides.

  Peering into the small bathing room, he grunted softly when it proved to have no windows, just a privy in the corner, and a steam vent set high into the ceiling, well out of his reach. The bedroom door remained the only exit to other parts of the fortress.

  The deep, rectangular pool set into the floor offered nothing but a stoppered jar of soap-sand, a few hooks on one wall, a towel, and the promised clothes hanging from the hooks. For half a second, he considered trying to rip a hook from the wall for use as a weapon, but that decision faded with the opportunity to tend his abused body and gather his strength. A better time would arise.

  Leaving the door open a hand’s width to let in the morning sunlight, he stripped, throwing the dirt-encrusted clothes in a shadowed corner. Privacy paled in comparison to slipping in the dark and cracking his head open, especially when he needed all his wits about him. And as much as he desired to soak away every ache and bruise, he made quick use of the facility.

  Hot water. Clean clothes. Warm food. All things he’d never take for granted again.

  With no desire to perch on the bed to eat, he crouched with his back pressed up against one wall and dug into the simple breakfast as fast as his stomach could tolerate. No one spoke, and the absence of conversation suited him just fine.

  The revelation of there being more Na’Chi than those who existed at Sacred Lake had him watching his three guards as openly as they observed him. The Na’Chi who’d followed Annika from Savyr’s fortress had claimed no knowledge of any others of their race among the Na’Reish. Yet here, according to Rassan’s claims, half the population of Kaal Fortress possessed Na’Chi blood.

  Generations of them.

  In a Na’Reish stronghold.

  How had they remained undiscovered for so long?

  What had Imhara Kaal said last night? We live differently than the other Clans. Had she been speaking the truth?

  Arek scraped the last of the milk-boiled grain from the bowl with a crust of bread, his gaze flitting between the three warriors. The idea that a Na’Reish demon tolerated half-bloods defied belief, but the presence of them here suggested it could be so.

  And that raised another, more incredible situation. His perception of Imhara Kaal could be incorrect.

  Yet what of making him a blood-slave?

  His gut twisted, no longer able to ignore her teeth marks on his forearm. The small puncture wounds remained red, bruises decorating their edges. His fingers tightened around the bowl until his knuckles whitened.

  She’d taken his blood to bind him to her, to stop him escaping. The act deliberate, calculating.

  Damning.

  In that, she was no different from any other Na’Reish he’d come across.

  Arek grimaced, replaying everything that had happened to him since waking up in the bed. His gut burned every time he thought of Imhara Kaal, and every fiber of his being revolted at the idea of being her blood-slave. But now the presence of the Na’Chi confused the issue.

  Confronting such conflicting facts proved . . . unsettling. Something he detested. Everything inside him demanded he take action, but what could he do? There was no clear path for him to take; yet another frustration to add to the growing list.

  A knock at the door drew Arek from his thoughts. Jaclan looked to Rassan, only opening it when the older warrior nodded. Neither he nor Barrca moved to greet the woman, denying him the advantage of a turned back. Good training, he conceded, and shifted his attention to the visitor.

  “Rassan, you asked for me?” The woman was human, her hair more gray than black. She greeted the Na’Chi with a smile; the warmth of it made her dark eyes sparkle. Her face was long, her tanned skin marked well with lines of age and experience. She mightn’t have been wearing healer green, but the simple shift belted around her and the suede leather bag at her side labeled her as one.

  Her boot sole scraped on stone as the healer took an awkward step into the room, favoring her left leg.

  “Nayvia, thank you for coming.” The Na’Chi warrior took the hand she extended, a gesture of greeting and assistance in turn. “Arek has injuries that need seeing to.”

  Arek placed the empty bowl aside and pushed to his feet as she turned her gaze on him.

  “Welcome to the House of Kaal.” She held out her hands and he placed his on top of them. She made sympathetic tsking sounds as she examined his abraded wrists. “It’s an honor to meet one of the Lady’s Light Blades. Your arrival has been much anticipated. That Rassan was able to sense your presence and save you from Meelar is a blessing.”

  Arek’s gaze flickered behind her. “You’re Gifted?”

  The Na’Chi warrior inclined his head. “I have an affinity for detecting Her power in others.”

  Nayvia made a noise in the back of her throat. “Your skill is remarkable.” Brown eyes lifted to meet his, the warmth in them genuine. “Rassan’s helped discover some of our most talented students.”

  Students? Arek remained silent as Nayvia ferreted through her pouch. She withdrew a jar and uncorked it. The heavy mint odor of Vaa’jahn assailed his nostrils. She smeared it over the raw wounds on his wrists, then the healing cut on his head. For a few heartbeats it stung, then his skin went numb.

  “If you have questions, Arek, ask them,” Rassan said. “Our answers will be freely given.”

  His head snapped up, wondering how the warrior had known, then released a short huff of breath. How many times had Varian, his Na’Chi friend, cautioned him to contain his scent? Their senses were as acute as any Na’Reish. He had to be more careful from now on. “You have a school? Here?”

  “I suppose it does come as a surprise to you.” Nayvia’s dark gaze glittered with undisguised amusement. “We have tutors and guilds like the ones you have at Sacred Lake. Potentials are identified and taught to harness their Gifts to benefit the Clan. Human and Na’Chi alike.”

  Arek search the healer’s face for any sign of untruth and found none. For the first time he realized her cheek did not bear a slave-tattoo. Lifting a hand, he gently turned her head to one side then the other, looking for it elsewhere.

  She cocked an eyebrow at him, then nodded in silent understanding. “You’ll find no mark upon me or any other human here.” She touched a thin gold band encircling her throat. “You’ll see all of us wearing one of these or an armband with a moon inside a sun etched onto them. We honor the Old Ways, but outside these wa
lls, the Na’Reish believe they’re the mark of Kaal ownership. The absence of slave-tattoos are a deviation excused as one of Imhara’s many eccentricities.”

  The woman spoke of the Na’Reishi female with affection in her voice. So had Rassan.

  “Are you injured anywhere else?” Nayvia asked. Arek turned and pulled up the back of his shirt. The woman hissed, her fingertips pressing softly against his skin. “I recognize Meelar’s handiwork in these lashes.”

  She set to work spreading Vaa’jahn over them.

  “You’re lucky to have survived his hand.” Rassan’s voice vibrated with cold anger. “His liking for the whip has taken many lives.” Arek glanced over his shoulder and took in the chiseled tightness of the warrior’s visage. “One day I shall take great pleasure in wrapping it around his throat and ending his.”

  Arek raised a brow. “You hold no love for the boat-master?”

  The black flecks in Rassan’s eyes expanded, almost blotting out the violet as his pale black lips curved into a humorless smile. “None at all.”

  “Done,” Nayvia said.

  Arek nodded his thanks.

  Rassan gestured to the bedroom door. “Come, it’s time you saw Kaal Fortress.”

  Arek’s heart tripped faster as they exited the bedroom. Watch, listen, use that knowledge to your advantage. A wry smile twitched on his lips as Yevni’s words echoed in his head. Never one to sit back and accept an unfavorable situation, he’d take the training master’s advice.

  Along the walls of the corridor, huge woven hangings portrayed scenes of Na’Reish life: fields being harvested, hunting, daily chores, and leisure sports and pastimes. The colors were faded, and contrary to what he’d expected. Not one picture depicted a battle or war.

  “The weavings are some of the oldest within the fortress.” Rassan brushed a careful hand over the nearest as they passed. “Keep looking around, Light Blade. Observe. I suspect by the time we reach the library, you’ll have many questions.” His violet gaze linked with Arek’s, level, steady. “Imhara awaits us there. If you can hold on to your anger, she’ll provide you with all the answers you seek.”

  Chapter 9

  IMHARA’S pulse quickened with the sound of voices in the corridor outside the library. Her fingers tightened around the clay-fired mug in her hands as she recognized Nayvia’s and Rassan’s voices. Arek would be with them, although she didn’t hear him conversing. From her vantage point at the window, she’d watched the small party of Na’Chi, healer, and Light Blade as they’d wandered the bailey, stopping to meet people along the way.

  Arek spoke to some of them, but at that distance, she hadn’t been able to gauge his facial expression. What had he talked to them about? More importantly, what impressions had he formed?

  Would he assume the whole situation an elaborate act staged to deceive him? Heavy cynicism saturated his scent last night, so that train of thought was possible. Or had he been able to see past it and consider the whole situation more objectively?

  The nerves in her stomach intensified. In a few seconds she’d find out. Mother of Light, she hoped he’d be more receptive to listening to her this morning than he’d been last night.

  Reaching for the pot of k’sa sitting on the desk, she helped herself to a fresh cup, her fourth for the morning. No longer so piping hot, the creamy liquid poured a little thicker. The nutty aroma and strong flavor steadied her nerves.

  As the small group appeared in the doorway to the library, Imhara placed the mug aside and propped her hip against the edge of her desk. Nayvia and Arek were the first to enter, her hand resting on his arm as she limped her way in, a warm smile of greeting on her elderly face. “Blessed morning, Imhara.”

  “It is, Nayvia,” she replied, with an answering curve of her lips. “The Lady favors us with fine weather at the end of the season.”

  “She does indeed. Makes up for the blizzards we have in the dead of winter.”

  Arek stood silently at her side, his twilight blue gaze fixed on her, the weight of it sending a shiver down her back. The scruffy, dirt-stained man from last night was gone, and in his place stood one who’d turn heads at any slave auction. Or any other gathering, if truth be known.

  Arek’s height matched the Na’Chi standing behind him. That put him on eye level with her, too, a pleasant change, considering most humans tended to be shorter than her. While he wasn’t as solidly build as Rassan or Barrca, broad shoulders and hard, striated muscle flexed beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. Dark breeches molded over long legs like a second skin, outlining powerful thighs and calves. Evidence of years of hard work, although on the auction block his physique would have been mistaken for a lifetime spent toiling on a farm, not the battlefield.

  A coveted asset, and one enhanced by his striking features, particularly his hair. It was long and loose, falling in waves to just below his shoulders, and not entirely dark blond as she’d first assumed. The morning sunlight highlighted a number of colors: light yellow, red, brown, even a few strands of pale gold.

  Between his body, striking features, and incredible hair, Arek was an enticing package. One she couldn’t help but admire and appreciate, firstly as a female and then as her persona as Na Kaal.

  She was doubly glad Rassan had discovered him. Had Arek gone to auction, a slave of his caliber would have been destined for the Isha, a private event known only to and frequented by a select number of Na’Reishi, those with predilections similar to her alter ego’s.

  With reputations to protect, private rooms within the venue provided the secrecy guests required. Bidding was done in silence, the transaction completed after the sale. Arek could very well have found himself bought by some Na’Reishi to serve as a personal blood-slave.

  Or worse.

  And having witnessed the darker tastes of those other Na’Reishi, Imhara rebelled at the thought of Arek suffering such a fate.

  She controlled her shudder and instead tilted her head in greeting. “Arek.”

  He stiffened at her use of his name. She ignored the bitter odor of mixed emotions that cloaked him. Curiosity, confusion, and wariness, mixed with the deep, familiar scent of hatred.

  She waved a hand toward the lounge. “Please, come in and sit. Jaclan would you fetch a fresh pot of k’sa and extra mugs?”

  “Not for me, thanks, Imhara.” Nayvia smiled her apology. “As much as I’d like to, Effina is close to her birthing time and I promised to visit.” She gave Arek’s arm a squeeze. “I have enjoyed our time together, Light Blade. Be well, everyone.”

  An awkward silence prevailed once the elderly healer and younger Na’Chi left to see to their respective tasks. Arek remained just inside the doorway, Barrca and Rassan flanking him.

  Soundlessly, Imhara released a long breath. Arek’s refusal to come any closer grated, yet she didn’t fault him. Not after what she’d done to him last night. She smoothed her hand over the leather-bound tomes stacked on the desk next to her and worried the worn edge of one with her thumb.

  No matter how many times she’d run over this meeting in her mind, the actual reality of facing him was no less daunting. Yet it had to be done.

  “I asked Rassan to bring you here so you could read through these,” she began.

  Sliding the first tome off the stack, she quickly flipped through the first quarter of the book to a page she knew almost by heart. Spinning it around on the desk to face him, she retreated to the other side of the room.

  As she’d hoped, Arek ventured to the desk after her withdrawal. Rassan shadowed him, ever mindful of her safety.

  “The journal belongs to Rezzen Kaal, my sixth-great-grandsire, and Na of this Clan just before the Great War between our races.” Imhara hooked her thumb in the pocket on her breeches. “The entry I’d like you to read starts at the top of the page.”

  For the longest moment, Arek stared at her, his mouth tight, the corners of his eyes crinkling, as if he were about to refuse her request, but then his gaze dropped to the open page. Lon
g fingers ran down the side of the parchment as he read.

  His swift intake of breath and sudden slackening expression indicated he’d reached the section she’d waited nearly five years to show the one she hoped would help her take down Na’Rei Savyr.

  She bit her lip when Arek lifted the tome in both hands and retreated to the lounge, all his concentration focused on the words in front of him. She shared a look with Rassan. The small curve on his lips eased the tension in her body. If the Na’Chi warrior responded to Arek’s reaction like that, then maybe, just maybe, her great grandsire’s words might have broken through the Light Blade’s rigid demeanor. She prayed it had.

  * * *

  MOTHER of Light . . .

  Arek nearly gave voice to the oath as his fingers tightened on the hard leather cover. His whole body tingled as he flipped to the next page in the journal, unable to stop reading.

  It was like he was back in the great library when Kalan had brought Annika to Sacred Lake and asked him to find evidence of the Na’Chi’s existence. The breath-stealing shock was the same now as it was back then.

  Uncovering the personal journal of Irat Zataan, the Lady’s Chosen at the time of the Great War, had led to the discovery that the Na’Reish and human race had once coexisted peacefully side by side. The history-shaking revelation had almost destroyed the Blade Council.

  If he’d never read the journal of Zataan or heard his own grandfather admit that the truth had been concealed from the Council for nearly five hundred years, he’d have dismissed what he was reading now—this Na’s accountings—as a work of pure fiction.

  His previous discovery corroborated everything contained on the parchment in front of him. Everything except the shocking snippet of information he’d read three times and still struggled to believe.

  His finger shook as he traced beneath the words on the page and spoke them aloud. “‘I look forward to tonight, when Leesa becomes my mate and we can celebrate the blood-bond. In time we’ll see her Gift mature and grow stronger . . .’”