The Stones of Resurrection

by Tameri Etherton

  Like most men, he didn’t know what she needed. Would never understand her cravings. Would never give her what she sought. Only one man had ever satisfied her.

  The concubine’s body trembled against hers, then stiffened with his coming release. It was too soon. “Wait,” she panted and pushed against him.

  With a strength few would guess she possessed, she twisted both their bodies until he was stretched on the wall, her legs straddling him. His grin sent wicked shivers through her, and she ground against him, pressing her pelvis hard, trying to find her own release.

  He gripped her waist and thrust as much as he could in his position, moaning loud enough the entire palace could hear. Marissa returned the moan, her head lifted to the night sky. So close. Just another moment more. But he cared not about her pleasure and emptied his seed with a satisfied yowl.

  He rose up to kiss her, and his rank breath assaulted her senses, the scruff of his beard grated against her delicate skin.

  “Princess,” he huffed as if he’d run a league, “you do me a great honor this night. I look forward to our next encounter.”

  “I’m afraid, my dove, that will never happen.”

  Confused, he searched her eyes. “But I thought…”

  Before he could finish, Marissa tightened a thread of Mari around his throat. His eyes bulged and he made gasping sounds that delighted her. “What? That I would help elevate your position? You should’ve thought less about your own ambitions and more about satisfying my needs. You’ll not make the Eirielle with the empress or with me.” He was an idiot like all the rest who thought he was special enough to make the Eirielle. Poor lambs, they were nothing without their delusions.

  Marissa tugged on her Mari, loving the way it cut into his skin. “Your ShantiMari is nothing. You are nothing.”

  He struggled beneath her, trying to find purchase on the seawall. His arms flailed to the side before swinging wildly toward her, his hand wrapping around her neck.

  The wild gyrations, coupled with the loss of air from his strong grip, sent her over the edge and she trembled with her own release. His eyes, so full of life a moment before, stared at her with silent horror. His hands went slack and dropped to his side. Pinpricks lit her vision as oxygen flooded her brain.

  The lovely violence he’d inflicted on her was overshadowed by his inconvenient death.

  She pulled the remaining dregs of his Shanti around her. In his power, she sensed his connection to the water. Taking another’s ShantiMari without their consent violated everything she’d been taught, but it wasn’t as if he would need it. Besides, the effects only lasted a short while.

  Slowly, she removed herself from his lifeless body and stood panting as she stared at the churning sea. Her tryst with Lliandra’s lover could never be discovered. She would’ve found a way to silence the man, with bribery or blackmail, but now he’d put her in a difficult position.

  She paced a semicircle, tapping her nail on her bottom lip, every so often scraping hard enough to draw blood. Moving quickly, she pulled his breeches up and retied them. Next, she arranged his hair and vest, tucking in his frilled shirt.

  With a swirl of her Mari, she flung his body over the wall, regarding it coolly as it bounced down the cliff to land with a satisfying thwump on the rocks below. With any luck, he wouldn’t be found and if he was, the empress would think he’d slipped.

  It took her several minutes to straighten her skirts and arrange her mussed hair. Satisfied that no evidence of her mother’s lover remained on her person, she returned to the palace where she danced and drank until the morning rays touched the ballroom windows.

  Chapter Six

  The air clung to the ground in a dewy crispness that belied any hint of the heat the afternoon would bring. Sunlight had yet to make its way above the mountains as birds awakened to greet the day with song. Rhoane listened with keen interest, but they sang of nests and food. Nothing untoward lurked nearby. When he and Taryn reached the small clearing where he’d corralled the horses, Rhoane felt her fear as if it were his own. Not of Zakael, which he still sensed, but of the beasts themselves. Anxiety clung to her like a thick cloak, but she said nothing as they readied the horses.

  He took his time saddling her horse, instructing the mare to be gentle with her rider while making certain the cinch wasn’t too tight. Cynda was young enough to challenge Taryn’s abilities, and the last thing Rhoane needed was for the Darennsai to break her neck from a fall.

  Glowing orbs of his ShantiMari bobbed ahead of them, lighting a little-used trail that hugged the mountainside. Cedars with gnarled trunks bent into grotesque shapes arched over the trail. Thick limbs dangled like fingers, ready to grasp unsuspecting riders. Taryn shivered as they stepped around a wayward branch. Fallen needles from giant pines crunched beneath the horses’ hooves, filling the air with an earthy scent. Taryn inhaled a deep breath and then another before her shoulders relaxed a fraction.

  “You are smiling,” Rhoane said to her.

  She lifted her face to where the light broke through the branches. “It feels good to be out of the darkness.”

  The sun’s rays danced across her hair, making it even more golden. The desire to reach out and stroke it, to pull her face closer to his, rushed through him. She glanced at him and held his gaze. Despite the tragic events of the previous day, there was a subtle confidence in her he found immensely attractive. Her beauty left him breathless, even though she didn’t seem to realize the effect she had on him. Nor did she realize the Eleri garments he’d given her clung to her curves, enticing him with wicked thoughts.

  “You’re staring.”

  Rhoane cleared his throat and reluctantly turned away. Every so often, she glanced behind them until Rhoane assured her there was no danger from Zakael.

  “Are you sure? I just thought I saw something.”

  Rhoane scanned the area but could see nothing amiss. “In time you will learn to trust in ShantiMari and our ways. There is no danger.”

  A drerfox darted across their path, and Taryn’s mare pitched to the side. She sat frozen in the saddle, white knuckles buried in Cynda’s mane. Her frightened stare went past him, and her breathing sounded in deep, even breaths. When he placed his hand over hers, her rapid pulse strummed beneath his touch.

  A memory—hers—pushed into his mind. She was young and Brandt stood next to her, telling her she must learn to ride horses. Taryn resisted. When he placed her in the saddle, the horse spooked, taking off at a full gallop. The memory vanished as quickly as it had come. Once again, Rhoane struggled to keep her thoughts from his.

  Since her arrival in the cavern, he’d been deflecting her thoughts and emotions as much as he could. Whether it was her cynfar or their bonds, he knew not, but trying to keep his mind free of hers was a constant struggle.

  “I am sorry, Darennsai. I did not realize your fear of horses was so deep.”

  Taryn blinked as if she’d forgotten he was there. “I’m not afraid.” She shook her shoulders and straightened in the saddle. “I just don’t like being surprised.”

  Her fingers relaxed beneath his, her pulse calmed. For a moment longer, he rested his hand on hers, letting her warmth seep into him, fill him. Before she could pull free, he removed his hand. “If you are ready, we should continue.”

  They rode a short way before Taryn spoke again. “When I was little, I was thrown from a horse. Brandt made me get right back on, but I never forgot how it felt to hit the ground. I could never understand why he insisted I take lessons. I guess now I know.” The youthful honesty in her face included a twist of defiance, as well.

  “Do you prefer to ride in carriages?”

  Her laugh echoed across the valley. “Not in the sense you’re thinking.” Bit by bit, she told him of the world she came from and of her life with Brandt. Some of it Rhoane understood; other parts of her story made little sense to him. Images shuffled through his mind of contraptions and buildings that defied his imagination. Emotions swept over him—
Taryn’s longing for what lay beyond the cavern, her love for Brandt, and her fear of Aelinae. He should shut her out, but he lingered even when he knew it wasn’t safe.

  Several stories she shared made them both laugh, and in time, her mood lifted. The dark anguish she held on to faded until he could sense no more than a dab of her anxiety.

  They stopped for lunch, letting their horses roam while he unpacked a sparse meal and heated up some grhom. Taryn took delicate bites of her food, eating little more than she had the night before, which concerned him. Their ride to Talaith would be difficult, and she would need her strength.

  He handed her a cup of grhom, saying, “You and Brandt shared a good life. It is clear that you loved him very much.”

  “He was all I had.”

  “It must have been lonely for you.”

  “At times.” She stretched her back and grimaced. “How much longer will we be riding today?”

  He wanted to tell her she was home now, among friends who loved her. That she would never be lonely again. Instead, he pointed away from them. “We will follow the river until we reach the glens. We should be there by nightfall. Myrddin and the others will meet us in the morning.”

  A momentary look of apprehension crossed her features, and it struck him once more how young she was. “Then what?”

  “We will just have to see what the day brings, will we not?” His light tone belied the heaviness in his heart from thoughts of the coming days.

  The horses grazed near the river while he and Taryn relaxed, both happy to be out of the saddle. Their conversation centered on their surroundings, with Taryn asking questions about the names of trees or animals she saw, shaking her head each time.

  “It’s like a fantastical version of where I’m from. The plants and animals are similar but also different. Like that fox we saw earlier—his fur shimmered and his fangs were much too long.”

  “A drerfox, more dangerous than his cousin the fox. Those fangs are coated in a poisonous sheen that immobilizes his prey.”

  She stood on tiptoe, reaching toward the sky. “Everything is clearer, more focused here. I feel as if I could just stretch and tickle the clouds.”

  Rhoane reclined on his elbows while she inspected the area. It had begun; her sight was sharpening, and soon she would be able to hear what Aelans could not, even her own blood as it pulsed through her body. She was becoming Darennsai.

  If only Brandt had prepared her for the changes, for what was to come. Nadra shouldn’t have sent her away when she was nothing more than a few moments old. He shook his head to clear the dangerous thoughts. If Taryn had stayed on Aelinae, she’d most likely be dead. Zakael’s presence in the cavern confirmed Valterys knew of her existence. How he’d found out and for how long he’d known were the questions that distressed Rhoane.

  A flash of fur darted beneath a bush. “See that over there?” He crept near Taryn, pointing to where a winged catlike creature crouched low, her tail whipping behind her. “Watch how she hunts.”

  Taryn stared in fascination as the animal’s haunches twitched just before she leapt forward, snatching a squirrel from the trunk of a tree. Her iridescent wings beat fiercely, lifting her into the air as she flew off with her catch dangling from her mouth.

  “She’s beautiful. What’s she called?”

  “A carlix. She is as ancient as these mountains she calls home. Only darathi vorsi are older than her kind.”

  “What’s a darathi vorsi?”

  “The Aelans call them dragons.”

  A light sparked in Taryn’s eyes and her dark brows arched. “You have dragons here?”

  The ache of loss seared through him. It was a physical pain that never truly went away. “They disappeared several ages ago. No one knows why, but one day they were simply gone.” He lifted his face toward the sky, hoping to see the magnificent beasts flying overhead. “My people had been their caretakers since the beginning of time. It was a period of great mourning for us when they left.”

  “I’m so sorry, Rhoane.” She took his hand in hers, and their runes sparked to life, glowing in the afternoon sun. “Are they going to keep doing that? It’s a little annoying.”

  Her touch eased his pain, making his sadness float away on the wind. “They will quiet down in time.”

  “You make it sound like they’re alive.”

  “In a way, they are.”

  “Because they’re made of ShantiMari, right?”

  “Exactly. The runes will evolve and change, as does your path.”

  Her laugh came out more of a snort, followed by another laugh that caused a cascade of even more giggles until tears were streaming down her cheeks. She rolled on the grass, holding her sides, and convulsing with suppressed laughter. “Oh God, I’m so sorry.” Taryn wheezed between hiccups.

  Rhoane held himself in check, not wanting to laugh at her expense, but amused by her gaiety. A snicker escaped his lips and she smiled up at him.

  “Laughter is good medicine. That’s what Brandt always said.”

  “I remember. It was one of his favorite sayings.”

  She flung her arms out to the side and gazed at the cloudless sky. “I don’t have a path. I can’t even avenge Brandt’s death. At least, not against someone with ShantiMari when I have nothing.” Fresh tears slipped beneath her hair.

  “You have many things, Darennsai. You just do not know them yet.”

  They packed up their lunch and rode on, their easy banter returning but more subdued. At length, Taryn asked, “That war you told me about, with Rykoto and Daknys—what started it?”

  Rhoane rode beside her, surrounded by trees on the mountainside, the river several paces to their left, but if he so desired, he could close his eyes and be on the battlefield where his ancestors had fought alongside their goddess, Verdaine. It was the way of his people to share a collective memory of every event that occurred.

  On that day, with the sun warming his face and Taryn riding beside him, he chose not to relive the horrors of the wars.

  “When Nadra, the Great Mother, and Ohlin, the Great Father, created the planet of Aelinae, they assigned four gods to rule over the land: Kaldaar, Rykoto, Daknys, and Verdaine. We call them the elder gods. Each was beholden to his or her respective territories. Rykoto the Northwest, Verdaine the Northeast, Kaldaar the Southwest, and Daknys the Southeast. For many seasons, they ruled in peace, benefiting from the people who worshiped them. It was a glorious time for Aelinae. All races lived in equal prosperity.

  “The elder gods flourished, as well. They created younger gods to rule the emerging minor kingdoms and often mated with their people, strengthening the bond between race and god. These children carried the blood of gods, what we now call ShantiMari.”

  He glanced at her profile. She was watching him with curious intensity. “Is this a tale you have heard before?”

  “Not exactly, but it sounds vaguely familiar. Continue, please.”

  “Daknys had a daughter with Rykoto, Julieta, who ruled over the Summerlands. Her people adored her, and she never chose favorites. Or lovers. They say she remained unspoiled.”

  “A virgin goddess?” Taryn grinned. “Interesting.”

  “Truly, since the gods were well known for their love of pleasures of the flesh. It was this virginal quality that attracted the attention of Kaldaar. He became obsessed with the workings of Light and Dark ShantiMari, but he took his curiosity too far. He is the father of the Black Arts.”

  “I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that his followers weren’t nice people.”

  Despite himself, he chuckled. “There will always be men and women, of Light and Dark, who abuse ShantiMari, whose hearts are not pure, but practitioners of the Black Arts have no soul. They are devoid of goodness of any kind. The Blackness consumes them until they are but a shell of their former selves.” He suppressed a shudder. It was Kaldaar and his minions who nearly destroyed Rhoane’s people in the wars. Black ShantiMari was an insidious, destructive evil that l
urked in the shadows of every living spirit, waiting to be coaxed out of hiding.

  “So, what did this Kaldaar do to piss everyone off?”

  “He manipulated Rykoto, convincing him that Julieta was destined to be his sole concubine. The mother of all future Black Arts practitioners. A high honor to some.”

  “You mean sex slave. Not such a high honor if you ask me.”

  “I agree. Part of the problem with the Black Arts is that any woman who practices them becomes barren. Without progeny, the bloodlines would thin and eventually become extinct. Kaldaar found a way around this by taking a virgin sacrifice and suffusing her with the seed of his strongest devotees. With that one offering, she would bear him many offspring until she died.”

  “That’s kind of disgusting.” A cloud passed in front of the sun, and she looked over her shoulder as if the shadow trailed them. A moment later, sunlight broke through, and she turned her attention back to Rhoane.

  “So, Rykoto gave his daughter to this creep so he could rape her and use her as a brood mare?”

  It was a brutal way of saying it, but that was how it happened. “When Kaldaar was finished with Julieta, Rykoto took a turn, believing his seed mixed with Kaldaar’s would create a more powerful supplicant. No one is certain why Rykoto wanted to support his brother in his Black Arts, but you can imagine her anger when Daknys heard of the ordeal.”

  “If that was my daughter, I’d cut off their balls and kill the bastards. You don’t fuck with family.”

  Rhoane blanched. He had no doubt that was exactly what Daknys had wanted to do. “And they would deserve nothing less. Daknys, however, did not kill them. She took her daughter away, hiding her from the two gods for many seasons. When Julieta finally returned, it was without a child. Some say Daknys destroyed the seed within her daughter; others say she allowed the birth of one child and then cleansed Julieta’s womb. What we do know is Daknys begged Nadra and Ohlin to intervene. They banished Kaldaar to the edge of nothingness. Exiled from Aelinae, without a world, without his followers, without sanity. As for Rykoto, he fought back. Before he could be exiled, he brought his armies to war.”