Return to Shanhasson

by Joely Sue Burkhart

  “A moment, Khul’lanna,” Dharman replied at her ear. “Wait until the all clear.”

  Of course they would be ever more protective now that Khul had left. Rolling her shoulders, she winced at the soreness. She should have stopped for a bath after drilling instead of immediately going to the late session with her council, but she’d thought the blood and sweat of her exertions would impress them.

  She’d forgotten that they’d been present during Theo’s short-lived rule. According to rumor, the last High King had stomped someone into a bloody pile of meat in the High Court. What would a few minor wounds on her Blood serve to prove?

  Finally, Jorah gave the silent all-clear signal and Sal stepped aside, tossing his head enough that his hair fluttered against her arm as she walked past. She couldn’t suppress a shiver at the sensation. That heavy velvet pelt would feel incredible draped over her like a blanket as Rhaekhar had suggested.

  Blocking that image from her mind, she went about the room gathering her things. Her normal bedtime routine included lighting candles about the bed, making sure the twins were settled in the room next door with a story or four, and rocking them asleep.

  Swallowing hard, she felt down her bond to Rhaekhar.

  Golden as his eyes, his bond filled her with warmth and love. :I kissed them goodnight for you, my heart. All is well.:

  Words weren’t necessary—he felt her loneliness through the bond as she felt his. Flat on his back staring up at the stars, his arms physically ached to wrap around her. :I miss you.:

  :As I miss you. I worry for you, na’lanna.:

  :No more assassins struck today.:

  She felt his weary and wry amusement. :I would have known if they attacked, na’lanna. I felt every long miserable hour you sat with your outlanders this day, and I know how hard you drilled the lads. As skilled as you are now, I believe you could take even Gregar.:

  Emptiness welled up inside her. Tears clogged her throat. Breathing deeply, she forced the grief away. Gregar might be dead, but he was far from gone. :I was taught by the best.:

  :I have one of our daughters on each side of me, and my Blood stand close.: Rhaekhar’s mental voice lowered, a dim rumble like thunder that vibrated through her bones. :Who shall you have on each side of you this night?:

  :I know what you said.: She couldn’t help the sharpness in her emotions. :But I never agreed to such a thing.:

  :I don’t like the thought of you lying alone and cold in that big bed, na’lanna. Think on what I suggested.:

  Mentally, she relaxed, a great tension leaking out of her. She’d assumed he had meant to order her to take the two Blood into her bed, and while she didn’t hesitate to disregard her obstinate warrior’s bossy demands on occasion, there were always consequences. Did she want to anger him simply to avoid a situation that would be far from punishment? The only unpleasantness would be her own emotions, the guilt and temptation she refused to consider.

  :I’ll think on it.: Concentrating very hard, she stretched her heart toward his, straining until she could smell his scent of sun-baked grains and sweet Plains hay. :I love you, my heart. Sleep well.:

  :And you, my heart. If you Dream Gregar, tell him…: Rhaekhar hesitated, and something like a cold wind blew through their bond.

  Concerned, she closed her eyes, seeking to connect with him even deeper. She slid mental hands over him, through his mind and memory, seeking any fear or worry that could trouble him so.

  She felt his phantom caress, the brush of his lips against her ear. :Tell him it’s been entirely too long since we both held you. Perhaps you can think of a way for us to demonstrate for Dharman how it should be done.:

  Dragging herself back from Rhaekhar’s rumbling laughter through the bond, she opened her eyes. Dharman stared at her, solemn and silent, braced for battle.

  “Am I Khul’lanna of the Nine Camps of the Sha’Kae al’Dan? Am I High Queen of the Green Lands?”

  “Aye,” he answered, his voice hard and clipped.

  Calm and sure, she unbuckled the shoulder straps of her armor. “So when I order you to remain outside my bath, you will do so.”

  “My blood is yours.” He helped pull the metal plates over her head. “I shall do as you order without question, Khul’lanna, as long as you accept that I shall feel the slightest harm to you hundredfold. If an assassin takes your life, it is you who take mine. Sal, too, and the rest of your Blood. None of us will survive your death.”

  She despised such talk. Her own duties weighed on her constantly; the thought of dragging these young warriors to their death made her sick with guilt. Frustrated by the tears burning her eyes, she jerked at the belt of her pants. The leather had swelled with her sweat and refused to cooperate.

  Dharman closed his hands over hers, removed her hands gently, and worked at the belt. “Let me assist you, Khul’lanna. It’s my greatest honor to serve you.”

  Disconcerted by his tenderness, she clenched her hands into fists at her sides. “You will continue to guard while I sleep as you’ve done every other night.”

  Dharman might be years younger, but the dark look in his eyes sent chills down her spine. Muscles tensing for all-out battle, she couldn’t deny the uncoiling heat in her belly.

  “Why would you fear taking two Blood to your bed, Khul’lanna? If you tell me to lie with you and do nothing but breathe and guard your sleep, then that is exactly what I shall do. Even Sal would keep his hands to himself unless specifically invited to be more than Blood.”

  “There’s no need—”

  “Great Vulkar!” Dharman jerked away, his shoulders corded, eyes flashing in the candlelight. “You give me so little, Khul’lanna. The least you can do is give me the truth!”

  His outburst shocked her more than if he’d struck her in anger. Calm, stoic Dharman, her young oak in the strongest storm, had never displayed such temper. Tears burning her eyes , she dropped her gaze to her hands. She clutched them together to keep from reaching out to him.

  “You give Sal more consideration than me, your First Blood who commands the others. You tolerate his teasing and play; you let him touch you casually without suspicion; and most of all, you understand his need for small pain. I know every beat of your heart, every thought in your mind as my own, yet you won’t give me the barest concession. Not one thought, not one care, not one touch. When you thought of abandoning your High Throne, you thought of Khul. You thought of Gregar. You thought of your children, your people you’d leave behind to suffer in Shadow. Yet you never thought of me, when I would slit my throat if you asked. What of your Blood, Khul’lanna, we who would die to keep you safe? What of us?”

  Shame swept through her. She’d taken advantage of her First Blood’s constant unswerving devotion without ever considering his feelings. “You’re right. The truth is…” Blessed Lady, she hated the quiver in her voice, the rawness in her throat, the ache in her heart. “I’m afraid.”

  He turned back to her, but she couldn’t meet his gaze. He cupped her cheek, his fingers gentle on her face, but he didn’t force her gaze up. Khul would have, but not her Blood. I’ve taught him well, she thought bitterly.

  “I would drop dead at your feet if I ever frightened you. You should never doubt me. So what are you afraid of?”

  “Temptation.”

  His fingers slid across her cheek and sank into her hair. He tightened his grip and stepped closer, looming over her, close enough his sweet scent of honeycakes filled her nose.

  Her breathing quickened. Her mouth watered. It had been his scent, the hot velvet of his chest against her face, earlier, that had cut through her long habit of denial.

  “You’re afraid of what you’ll feel if you allow me to touch you, no matter how innocently.” He stepped closer, invading her personal space. “You’re afraid of what you might want me to do.”

  Instinctively, she took a step back, but he followed, quicker, until her back pressed against the wall. Cold seeped through her linen shirt, but that’s not why sh
e shivered.

  “I’m not Khul. I’m not Gregar, the Shadowed Blood who tempted you to Shadow. I’m not Sal, who aches for your darkest urges, although what you do to him, you can always do to me, too.”

  “What do you want?” Her voice sounded much too fragile, but she couldn’t catch her breath. He was so big, so forceful and confident, that he was a stranger to her.

  “I want to spread you out against this wall and nag you so hard your nobles will fear the castle walls are tumbling down around their heads.”

  She dropped her head back against the stone, her body instinctively arching toward his. Lady above, she loved Rhaekhar without question, but he only rarely made love to her hard and savagely. Sometimes, that’s exactly what she wanted. Gregar had known it, but stirring his darker urges was always risky. One—or both of them—could end up dead.

  With Dharman, she didn’t feel that cold promise of death and Shadow curled up inside him, just waiting for a chance to overwhelm his control. His bond roared in her mind, as red as blood and as hot as the molten lava that spewed from Vulkar’s Mountain with His fury. But not danger. Could he love her hard, wildly, without ever feeling tempted to butcher her?

  “Absolutely.”

  “Dharman,” she breathed out, trembling.

  He released her and stepped back, the small curve on his lips showing a knowing sensuality she’d never seen on his face before. “And that’s the only word I want to hear on your lips when I’m inside you.”

  Was he stepping out more confidently because of Khul’s absence? Would this blatant sensual challenge have played out even with Rhaekhar standing in this very room?

  Yes, she was terribly afraid her young Blood would have said the exact same thing if both Rhaekhar and Gregar had been standing with her. The very moment she’d pressed her face against Dharman’s chest, breathed his scent, and felt the answer of desire in her body, the strained polite distance between them had dissolved.

  That small moment had fueled his confidence.

  “Go take your bath in private, Khul’lanna. Sleep alone as you requested. If you need anything, anything at all, call my name, whether aloud or silently through our bond. Nothing shall keep me from you, but you.”

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  THE DREAM BEGAN AS MANY OTHERS. She floated on her back gazing up at a large full moon that filled the sky with silvered brilliance. The water was cool, but when some splashed into her mouth, she was surprised by the slight saltiness. The Silver Lake had never tasted like the ocean.

  Or tears.

  The three jagged peaks of Vulkar’s Mountain did not loom on the horizon.

  High above the steep edges of the bowled cavern, the full moon still gleamed, but that was the only familiar element from her other Dreams. She took a step and froze.

  Her body had changed.

  Shining scales covered her sinuous form, a long tail curled at her clawed feet, and impossibly large butterfly wings shimmered and floated about her. Staring down at her reflection in the water, she saw a beast with a large triangular head, vicious teeth and a long, graceful neck like a swan.

  She’d walked as the Dark Mare before, but never a dragon. Staring at the image, she noticed a dark spot on the creature’s chest. A scale was missing, directly over her heart.

  “Allow me,” a male spoke, his voice like the sudden fall of night across the land.

  She jerked her head up, wings cocked, prepared for flight. Sliding across the midnight sky, the moon became her missing scale, lying in a massive clawed foot as black as a starless, moonless night.

  With a gentleness that surprised her, the black claw placed the circled scale on her chest. Light blinded her, a flash of pure silver that burned through the shadows, illuminating a black dragon so large he dwarfed her. He made a small sound of pain and averted his serpentine head at her brilliance.

  “Who am I?”

  “Dim your light, azhar-jalbi, and we will talk.”

  Brightheart. She knew this as an endearment he’d often called her as surely as she recognized him, but from where? Confused, she watched the blazing luminance of the moon dim within her, but she didn’t understand what or how she did it.

  Darker than the night, he crept closer to the edge and curled one taloned foreleg at her in invitation. Why not? What did a dragon fear? With a single leap, she joined him on the edge and stared out over a barren land so baked by the sun the earth had long ago cracked open and died.

  “Here in this land they know you as She Who Hung the Moon.” He cocked his head, opening his mouth slightly in what she assumed was a smile of greeting. “I’m rather new to this land and form, too. I find myself thinking and saying all sorts of strange things, like azhar-jalbi. It’s right, though; this land is right in a way I haven’t felt in a very long time. I must admit, though, it’s very strange to call you brightheart again. I believe I’ve called you much worse over the years, but I can’t say that I regret it.”

  He winked, and she laughed softly. She had a feeling this big hulking brute of a male was bad, even to the point of unadulterated evil, but there was something achingly familiar about him. “Oh, yes, you were more likely to call me thal-jalbi, the coldest heart of all.” Her amusement died in her throat, choking her. Where had that come from? “Do I know you?”

  “You always know me.” He nodded solemnly. “Although we only rarely have an opportunity like this to talk. I’m afraid we’re usually trying too hard to kill each other.”

  “Oh.” She gave him a sly look from beneath her lashes—if dragons had lashes. “Who won last time?”

  “You did,” he replied without hesitation. He stretched out on the sands and looked up at the night sky, the tip of his tail tapping and twitching to some music only he heard. “This place is very strange, its people more savage than I guess even your barbarian horse king living among his herd.”

  She drew back, shaken by an image of a fiery red stallion blazing through her mind. Vulkar. She’d been the Dark Mare then.

  The black dragon chuckled and rolled over on his back, giving her a playful look. “They even expect me to fight. With swords.” He unsheathed his claws and swiped ineffectually at the air. “They call it Dancing the Blades.” He shuddered delicately. “I’d much rather breathe on my enemies and kill them with my poison.”

  He gave a little puff through his nostrils and she scrambled away.

  Curling on his side, he stretched his muzzle out on his front legs. “You were never afraid of my poisons, brightheart. I occasionally sent them just to keep your claws sharp, but I knew you’d sniff them out. You always do.”

  A cold dread pounded in her stomach. She knew this man, this dragon, yet she couldn’t think of his name. “Shadow.”

  “Iyeh.” He grimaced, his sword teeth flashing in the night. “I’ve always been Shadow, but never yours, not since the beginning. Others were sent to tempt you.”

  “Gregar,” she whispered. She remembered the laughing, dark-eyed man who carried an ivory blade as white as this beast’s teeth. Warily, she slipped closer and sniffed at the dark form. “You don’t smell like him at all.”

  The black beast winked at her, breath puffing out again on a laugh. She smelled the acidic taint in the air, but beneath its bitterness, another scent lingered. She couldn’t quite place it. “I know caffe very well indeed, but I never smelled like it. I quite like this scent. The land is so dry, here, that one’s skin turns to leather within moments if not protected. They use an oil—you don’t want to know where it comes from—and each male tends to wear a trademark scent so they can identify each other from long distances.”

  The memory of sandalwood oil crashed through her mind, fire blazing along her skin, her horse king filled with lust. Such frenzy had definitely come from dragons. Heat stirred within her, although fire wasn’t her gift. The black’s scent curled about her, rich, musky sandalwood, spiced with desert sands and night shadows. How could he have possibly known to use sandalwood?

 
; His voice husked with a deep-throated, rumbling purr. “I must admit surprise that you loved the last Shadow sent to kill you. Did you know that your love disrupted years of planning? Yet love him you did, and even more shocking, he died to save you when he should have buried his white assassin’s blade in your heart.”

  Sorrow pierced through her. She tried to stifle the gasp of pain, but he heard. Averting his face, he whispered, “I actually began to consider…dare I say hope…that you might…love me again, too.”

  Such yearning filled his voice. Another memory, this one as ancient as the curse upon this land, flashed through her mind.

  She held him clutched to her breast, wings beating the air, but she couldn’t stop their tumbling spiral from the sky. Down, down, they fell toward their doom.

  He whispered, “Release me. Save yourself.”

  “Never, my love.”

  A tear trickled down her cheek. Holding his breath, he reverently licked the fluid from her scales. She lowered her head and rubbed along his cheek and down his long neck. “What happened to us?”

  “Love happened to us. Great love turned to hatred and jealousy.” The black dragon hissed bitterly. “He never wanted you to love anyone but him.”

  She snorted, shaking her head. “Not my Khul. He’s never been jealous.”

  “I don’t speak of your horse king, but of your Fire, your Red. He won’t like me at all, brightheart. He never does. Perhaps I should save us both the trouble and simply kill you now.”

  She bit him gently, gripping his vulnerable throat in her jaws. “You are welcome to try.”

  He rumbled with pleasure, but raked his claws up her flank to the vulnerable spot beneath her foreleg. A well-placed spear planted there would find its way to her heart. “I could kill you now.”

  “But you won’t,” she whispered, staring down into his liquid ink eyes.

  “I suppose not.” He breathed out a long, drawn-out breath and licked his jaws. “But it’s been so very long since I tasted your blood. Your scent…torments me. It’s never been safe for us to be together.”