The Rise of Nazil- Complete Epic Fantasy Trilogy

by Aaron-Michael Hall

  His heart beat quickened, watching her spin around the room. She appeared more a child at play than the woman that he loved. No, it wasn’t merely love, he was in love with her. His father was wrong. Sahma would’ve made a wonderful wife. Gwendolyn was beautiful, but she wasn’t Sahma.

  “That beauty is only enhanced by your presence,” he said, closing the doors behind them.

  She giggled, giving him a tight hug. “Thank you, Jarin, you always know how to make me smile.”

  “There’s nothing more beautiful in all of Faélondul.” He gently slid a ringlet from her face, fighting the urge to kiss her. “We can stay as long as you’d like.”

  “Truly?”

  “When you’re with me, Lady Sahma, all your desires will be met.” He bowed.

  “I’ve missed you so much, Jarin. It seems like years since I’ve been able to see you.”

  “It does. I remember the first time that I saw you. We were across from each other in the dining hall. I couldn’t stop looking at you then, just like now.”

  “I noticed you looking at me. Couldn’t you tell?”

  “I did. That’s why I asked to escort you to the garden. I wanted to learn everything about you, Sahma, and I didn’t want that night to end.”

  “Neither did I. It was such a wonderful night.” Her smile grew, stroking the golden clasp on his cloak. “You looked quite handsome, Lord Swayne. Every detail was perfect: your trews, waistcoat, and cloak with black leather accents and gold piping. Even your hair was flawless. It’s grown longer now.”

  “You remember what I was wearing?”

  “I remember every detail of our first night together, and our time since.”

  “I thought that only I looked fondly upon our time together. It’s precious to me, Sahma, just as you are.”

  His eyes spoke much more than his words conveyed. Sahma knew he found her attractive, but she was sensing more now.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  Jarin smiled, kissing her hand again. “I’m much better now. Your visit has helped me forget some of our troubles in Yarah and focus on the beauty of it.”

  “There’s so much beauty here,” she said, looking around and missing his point.

  Jarin never released her hand, leading her to the rear of the room. “Do you remember telling me about these?”

  “The butterfly bush,” she said as a smile took in her entire face. “Of course, I remember, Jarin. Oh, they’re lovely, just lovely.”

  “Not nearly as lovely as you,” Jarin said, moving her against the wall. “The night we met changed everything for me. I wanted to tell you how I felt, what I wanted, but I couldn’t. I’ve never met anyone like you, Sahma. Please, I’ve dreamed about this since first we met.”

  Leaning down, he drew her in closer, covering her lips with his. When she pushed away, he met her eyes, caressing her cheek.

  “Please, Sahma, just this once,” he said, kissing her again. She permitted the kiss for a moment, but when his tongue encircled hers, she gently pushed him away.

  “I had to know. I had to.”

  “Now do you see? I’m like any other woman. There’s no difference.”

  “No. There isn’t anyone else like you. Never will there be,” he said, attempting to kiss her, but Sahma leaned away.

  “Jarin, you have a beautiful wife, and I have Ahvixx. You’re dear to me, and I’ll always love you, but I’m in love with my husband. If things were different, I’d love you endlessly. But that isn’t the way.” ]

  Jarin shook his head, kissing her again.

  “Jarin?” Gwendolyn gasped, dropping her basket.

  As Jarin spun around, his arousal was evident.

  “Gwendolyn!” He glanced at Sahma, and then back to his wife. “It—it isn’t what you think, truly.”

  “Your father said that you were escorting the guests to their chambers,” Gwendolyn said, as tears streamed down her cheeks. “I—I went looking for you and—and saw your personal guards. They said you were coming here. I thought you were waiting for me like you promised. I thought—”

  “Beg pardon, Lady Swayne,” Sahma said, stepping forward. “Jarin was waiting for you. When he told me he was to meet you here, I asked if I could accompany him. I love the gardens, and with the cold season, I haven’t been able to visit.

  “My husband is meeting with the Caretaker, and all of us are the dearest of friends. I was hoping that once you arrived, we’d finally be able to meet.” Sahma smiled, trying to remain composed. “I hope that you and I will become friends, too. Mayhaps we can dine together this evening. I know my husband is eager to meet you as well.”

  Gwendolyn shook her head, looking at Jarin. “You were embracing her. I saw it.”

  “Of course,” Sahma said, drawing her attention. “The fault was mine. Even the Zaxson can tell you about my propensity for hugs. It was merely a greeting for a friend that I hold dear to my heart.”

  “And the kiss?”

  “A kiss of welcoming, nothing more. Just like this,” Sahma said, softly meeting the lips of the stunned woman. “Now, I should leave you to your privacy. Jarin mentioned how much he was looking forward to spending this time alone with you.

  “Thank you again for sharing your mother’s garden with me, Lord Swayne. It’s beautiful.”

  Lamentations

  Pentanimir rose up in bed, feeling the place beside him empty. Wiping the weariness from his eyes, he looked across the room, seeing Brahanu standing in the entryway of the adjoining room.

  Pentanimir slipped from the bed, enfolding her in his arms.

  “They’re fine, Brahanu,” he said, kissing her neck. “I understand why you want to visit Cazaal, and it’s all right. We’ll take care of them in your absence. I understand, truly.”

  “I don’t want to leave them, but I can’t bear it,” she said, turning to embrace him. “They’re our sons, Pentanimir, and yet not so. They should be at my breast, not in the practice chamber.”

  He pulled her in tighter, understanding her grief. They didn’t have sufficient time to enjoy their sons as children, and soon they’d be men grown. He could offer nothing to ease her pain; he felt it too.

  “I know, and I don’t blame you. After what you endured to bring Tardison forth, it’s understandable for you to feel a greater sense of loss with this acceleration. We’ve had him such a short while as a child, and now, he’s nearly a man grown.”

  Pentanimir lifted her face to his, kissing her brow. “He’s still our son, Brahanu, regardless of anything else. He’s here with us. Both he and Ayrmeis are our sons.”

  “I know, and my love for them hasn’t faded. We’ve overcome so much since first we met. All the lives that were lost and the suffering we’ve endure.” She shook her head. “Did I cause this? Did my choices, my selfishness bring us to this point?”

  “No, Brahanu, no.” Pentanimir closed his eyes, holding her close. “Our love wasn’t a mistake or a curse. It was the catalyst for Faélondul’s liberation. Yes, we’ve lost those we loved and suffered through this war, but we’ve been blessed, too. We have our sons with us here. There are many others who can’t speak the same.”

  “I just feel as if our happiness will be forever tainted.”

  “I love you, Brahanu, and knowing that you return that loves brings me more joy than I’d ever hoped to experience. Whatever might come, that love will persevere.”

  He led her to their bed, drawing her down on his chest. Not everything she’d said was wrong, and he lamented those truths.

  As she wept in his arms, he thought about the attack on her caravan, and what the AsZar had revealed. He couldn’t bear the thought of being without her: in either life. The love they shared was everlasting, and it appeared that the turmoil in Faélondul would be the same.

  After wiping away her tears, he kissed her tenderly. “I love you, Brahanu. Our sons have a purpose beyond our understanding, but the Guardians are here with each of us.

  “I’m the Zaxson, but Tardi
son will be Faélondul’s true leader. We must prepare our children for what’s to come.”

  “Yes, but they’re not children anymore. They’re almost men grown.”

  “Whether eight and ten or one-hundred and ten, they’re still our sons. You need time away from Nazil, and I understand that. You’re not merely mourning due to our sons, you’re mourning the loss of your parents and Itai as well. I do understand,” he said, kissing her again.

  “I—I don’t want to leave you.”

  “And I don’t want you from my side, but it’s needed. Being in your home will help with your healing, and I’ll ensure that you’re safe. Upon your return, I’d like us to take a trip together. We need this time, too, Brahanu.”

  “How, Pentanimir? You can’t leave Nazil.”

  “I’ll explain everything in time. I want to visit the Dessalonian Falls again. I want it to be like it was in the beginning. Do you remember?”

  “I do. But how? How would it be possible?”

  “Temian has agreed to help. We need this time together, time to reclaim what’s been lost. I love you, Brahanu. No matter what happens, that love will always be.”

  “I love you too, more now, than a season ago. Always, I’ll love you.”

  Pentanimir reached the clasp on her robe, sliding it off her shoulders. “As I’ll always love you,” he said, moving over her.

  Forbidden

  As Wosen approached the stairs, he halted, rethinking his actions. The guilt began seeping into his consciousness, but he managed to silence the warnings urging him to turn back.

  Taking a step down, he shook his head, still moving toward the practice hall. Images of Hibret entered his mind, but even that wasn’t enough to quell his irrepressible need to continue. The ache he felt was almost debilitating, and his thoughts repeatedly returned to this. He had to go.

  Wosen’s love for Hibret was never in doubt. They’d made love numerous times not long ago, and talked about their future children. His steps slowed then. He pictured Hibret’s beautiful eyes and soft, curly hair. A smile creased his lips, remembering their lives in Bandari.

  For a moment, his motion ceased altogether. Wosen raised a hand to his lips, recalling the kiss he’d stolen from her on the banks of the Raphar. “I do love you,” he murmured, gripping the balustrade. “I can’t—”

  A loud shout echoed down the corridor, wrenching him from those recollections, and causing images of his wife to diminish.

  Wosen had learned the training schedules of most of the guards, and Symeon and Ayrmeis’ sparring chamber was at the far end of the training hall, isolated from the others. There could only be one person using the facilities now, and she was the reason that he’d come—the reason his mind continued to search for answers and his heart seemed divided.

  He moved forward, running his fingers through his hair. His breaths were heavy, as an intoxicating heat surged through every part of him. For a moment, he leaned against the wall, trying to compose himself.

  Taking a deep and steadying breath, he straightened his posture, knocking and entering her practice room. When Thalassa noticed him in the doorway, she immediately ceased her training.

  “Why are you here?” she asked, setting her weapons on the table, and wiping the sweat from her face. Her hands trembled, feeling her arousal peak.

  Wosen took in all of her: his eyes following the glistening sweat rolling down her face, to her neck, her chest, and ending between her breasts. The leather vest she wore teased him, exposing her toned arms and back while allowing him a glimpse of cleavage.

  Wosen licked his lips, continuing his examination. Thalassa had always had a sinewy, yet feminine build. He’d loved that about her. Her ferocity as a warrior didn’t detract from her beauty as a woman. In fact, that ferocity enhanced her beauty, and as he admired her body, he hoped such ferocity extended beyond her fighting prowess. With that thought, his eyes moved down to her waist, past her round, shapely hips, to her toned thighs. A twinge erupted in his groin, imagining himself between them.

  “Wosen?” she said, yanking him from his fantasy.

  “Pardons, I—I just wanted to apologize for my recent behavior.” He lied. “Not only was it unbecoming of a Chosen Guard, it was disrespectful to you.”

  “You’ve already apologized, Wosen, and we don’t need to discuss it further. It was a momentary weakness that won’t be repeated.”

  Thalassa meant those words, but continuously fought to control her thoughts and the febrile desire swelling inside of her. She didn’t understand why or how this was happening, but her body ached to join with Wosen, and that escalated her fear.

  “Yes,” Wosen agreed, watching longingly as Thalassa tossed her braid over her shoulder, lifting the waterskin to her lips. He licked his lips again, imagining her full lips enwrapping parts of his body.

  “If this is why you’ve come, it isn’t necessary.”

  “It is to me, Lady Ishida. I needed to apologize, but I also wanted to ask if you’d like to practice?”

  “You want to spar?”

  “If you’re agreeable, yes. Our contest wasn’t at an end when last we sparred. I’d like to know if my skill has improved since our time in the Dessalonian Mountains.” He smiled, seductively, feeling the throb increase. “I wasn’t well-practiced then. However, I think you’ll find me a satisfying partner now. That is, if you’re willing to try.”

  Thalassa’s heart raced, knowing she should decline his request and leave. She attempted to speak the words, tried to urge her legs to move, but she could only stare at him, envisioning him entangled in her whip. She fought against the raging ecstasies in her mind, feeling an eruption of heat in the pit of her stomach that intensified those images.

  Thalassa looked at him from toe to head, grazing her lips with the tip of her tongue.

  “You want me?” She teased, bringing forth her whip.

  Wosen was certain that she meant more than what she said. He wanted her, but now, he knew that she wanted him, too. He tossed his cloak and belt aside, slowly unclasping his tunic. As he slid it away, Thalassa’s pleasured expression confirmed what he’d already surmised.

  The last time she’d seen him unclothed was in the Dessalonian Mountains. Then, his body was emaciated and scarred from his torture. Much was different. After the Guardian’s healing, Wosen had regained what he once was, and with his training, he’d become muscular and overwhelmingly appealing.

  He grinned, noticing her enamored stare.

  “I do,” he said, walking to the weapons wall. As he tested a sword’s balance, Thalassa lashed out with her whip, wrenching the blade from his hand.

  Wosen opened his mouth to protest, but she was coming on in a fury. She punched left and then kicked out with her right leg, contacting his thigh, side, and then his shoulder before he could even hope to respond.

  “Do I even have the opportunity to arm myself?” He asked as she spun away. “Or will we practice without swords?”

  “Do as you please, Sir Neufmarche,” she said, slashing out with her whip. Wosen reached for the leather strap only to have it enwrap his wrist.

  She crouched, delivering a sweep kick that sent him crashing to the floor. When he tried to disentangle himself, she dove forward, pinning his arm to the floor while drawing her dagger, positioning it across his throat.

  “It isn’t honorable to disallow me an arm.”

  Thalassa grinned, standing and retracting her blade. As he reached for his ensnared wrist, Thalassa pulled hard, spinning around a wooden beam before entangling his free wrist in her whip, and then twisted, securing his arms over his head.

  “Thalassa?” he said, struggling against the tight bonds. “What is it you do?”

  “Only what you wanted. Isn’t this why you’ve came?” she asked, unclasping the fasteners of her vest. As her breasts burst free from the confining leather, Wosen’s mouth gaped, and the rise in his trousers was intensified.

  “Lady Ishida—”

  “Thalassa,” she
corrected, gliding the tip of her dagger down his bare chest and torso. Wosen sucked in his breath, feeling both excitement and fear simultaneously. He struggled against the straps, but stopped, feeling the tip of her dagger tracing his groin.

  “Tha—Thalassa?”

  She tossed the dagger aside, falling over him, and pushing a breast to his lips.

  Wosen didn’t argue. He took all that she’d allow, wanting much more.

  “Is that the extent of your skill, Sir Neufmarche? Mayhaps I was wrong to think that you could satisfy me,” she said, forcing both forward at once.

  A guttural growl escaped his lips as he increased his efforts, biting as well. He moaned, his eyes rolling back as the unexpected sweetness of warm milk streamed into his mouth.

  When she felt her excitement peak, she rose up, removing the rest of her clothes and bestriding his face. Thalassa called out, pressing herself lower as Wosen’s unrepressed intimate kiss sent surges of escalating pleasure throughout her entire body.

  “Gods!” She said, stunned by his ability to deliver exactly what she needed.

  “Why do I hunger for you so?” she said, untangling his wrists and allowing him to stand.

  Wosen didn’t respond. The draw was all that mattered, as he released the ties of his trousers, turning her around. With a powerful thrust, he joined his body to hers.

  “Thalassa,” he moaned, sliding a hand around to stimulate her more.

  He relished each brutal thrust, strengthening his effort with her every command. Clutching her braid, he pulled hard, wrenching her head back, while biting her neck.

  Once her moans joined his, he allowed his completion, savoring the warmth of her release.

  The explosion of pleasure was unlike anything either of them had ever experienced. It suffused them completely, removing all else from their minds.

  After several moments, Wosen continued: gently at first, until Thalassa commanded it otherwise. For several turns of the glass, they didn’t relent, both satisfying the other’s commands, and relishing both the pain and pleasure of their joining.

  With a final release, he slid out of her warmth, kissing down her back. “Since first I saw you, I desired you.”