Ashlyn wondered if it was the same one. Hers was long gone, peeled in shreds from her broken body by a healer outside of Landi on the southern continent. So many battles, so many wounds - if someone had told her eight years ago that she'd still be alive today, Ashlyn probably would have died of frigging shock.
Skye brushed a hand across Restlyn's shoulder as he passed. It was a strangely affectionate and infuriatingly platonic gesture that he'd obviously done a million times before, because Restlyn didn't return or even acknowledge the greeting.
Skye hung the jacket on the back of his chair. "Sit down, Ash," he said to her, motioning towards the empty chair next to his. "I'm glad to see you're still here this morning."
"I said I would be," she reminded him quietly as she moved to take her seat.
"I know, but…well…I'm sure you've changed a lot since the last time I saw you," he replied, grinning, "but eight years ago I wouldn't have trusted you as far as I could throw you."
"Which was probably, like, a mile back then," Ashlyn said automatically, pleased that she could still banter comfortably with another person. Eight years hadn't made her a reclusive dimwit, then . . . that wasn't terribly surprising. She had been kind of a loudmouth anyway, so if the solitude had made her slightly less obnoxious, then it was probably for the better.
She smiled when Skye started laughing at her response. Gods, he was gorgeous. Gorgeous and clueless and tagged with dibs from Restlyn, obviously, but there was nothing wrong with looking, right?
"I wasn't going to say anything," Vargo spoke up. "You have changed, though, Ash. You grew up, gave up the stick figure. Looks good on you."
"Thanks," Ashlyn said. She wasn't really comfortable being praised by Vargo, of all guys, but anything was better than the treatment she'd received from Aaron the night before.
Jackson came into the kitchen then, once again immaculately dressed in a suit. "Good morning," he said tiredly, smoothing his hair as he took the last seat. "How’s the oatmeal?”
"Hell if I know," Aaron spoke up, raising a mug. "But the coffee's pretty damn good. Almost as good as Sara‘s."
A collective grumble went around the table, and Ashlyn hid a smile behind her hand, remembering how annoyingly persistent Aaron had always been when it came to bragging about his girlfriend’s coffee. Clearly some things hadn’t changed in the last eight years.
After forcing down a few mouthfuls, Ashlyn dipped her spoon in her oatmeal and watched the honey drip from it. She knew she was hungry (her stomach had more than proved that), but she didn't know how much more she could swallow. It was still raining outside, and she couldn't shake that caged animal feeling.
"So, Ash," Restlyn said, sitting on a barstool next to the counter with a bowl and spoon in hand. "Have you decided what you're going to do yet? Stay with us or…leave again?"
"Leave?" Trace, the Spartan girl that Ashlyn had seen with Drake at North Camp Inn, repeated. "She can't leave. This war is her fault, she can't walk out in the middle of it!"
"Shut up, Trace," Restlyn said flatly.
"I'm just saying -"
"Yes, we've all heard what you have to say," Skye interrupted. "Now it's time to hear Ash."
"Why is this even up for debate?" Ashlyn said, uncomfortable with so many people staring at her. "She's right - this war is totally my fault. It sucks, but I can't leave you guys to clean up my mess. I'll stay and do whatever's necessary to make it right." She pushed her chair back and stood. "So are we staying here, or going somewhere, or what?"
"Staying here," Restlyn said, at the same time as Skye replied, "Going somewhere."
There was a pause.
"What," Vargo cracked, and snickered.
"We're leaving," Skye said, glancing at Restlyn. "We were planning on heading to Cosmea to pick up some more powerful stanes, and do some research on Toryn customs for the, ah, replacement of reigning royalty."
"Or we could stay here and just pick your brain," Restlyn said. She ignored the pointed look that Skye gave her. "All I know right now is that you can't exactly waltz into Toryn and kick Devlyn out. I’ve been trying to remember, but it’s just been so long - there must be some sort of traditional custom, a particular method of impeachment that we could use."
"There is," Ashlyn said, nodding.
Silence.
"So shoot. Whaddya gotta do?" Aaron questioned finally.
"Oh. Um," Ashlyn began, feeling stupid, embarrassed and not at all relaxed speaking in front of other people, "even as the rightful heir to the throne, I can't displace Devlyn because he has the approval of the Elder Lord. Right? Didn't you say my dad adopted Devlyn as his son?" she asked Aik, who nodded the affirmative. "So outside of assassination, there's only one way to force him out of lordship, and that's to challenge him to battle."
"We're already battling. Hello, we've been battling. Anybody here who has not been battling for the past three months, raise your hand," Vargo exclaimed, irritated.
"Not that kind of battle," Ashlyn said. "I mean a duel, as in one-on-one combat."
"Oh." Vargo looked appropriately chagrined.
"Devlyn wouldn't let you get close enough to propose a duel," Jackson said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. "He'll kill you the instant he finds out you're alive."
There was a long pause before Ashlyn spoke again. "I guess I could . . . I don't know, challenge him in public," she said. "During a speech, or a city gathering, or something. He wouldn't refuse me if it made him look bad in front of the Toryn people, so he would have to fight me. I think I could . . . I mean, I'm a little rusty, but I've gotten better at fighting, I might be able to beat him." She could feel herself blushing at the self-given compliment.
"You're the best chance we've got," Skye said. "And you're right - Devlyn can't refuse to duel if you challenge him in public. He would risk the people's wrath as well as your father's. The problem would be getting you in there without him knowing."
"We already have the advantage, with Devlyn thinking that Ash is or may be dead," said Jackson. "It would take some effort, but I believe we could smuggle her into Toryn without alerting him to her presence."
"Or we could just drop her from the airship," Aaron supplied. "Right in the middle of the town, and bam - there she is, all ready to fight."
"Yeah, broken legs and everything. Not to mention they would probably shoot your ship down," Trace retorted.
Aaron's eyes widened in horror. "Maybe we should sneak her in."
"The western continent is heavily guarded," Ellis, the third Spartan, said - the first time he'd spoken since Ashlyn had arrived. "It would be extremely difficult even to reach the shores, much less Toryn itself."
"After we hit Cosmea, we’ll have the stanes to not only defeat the Toryn armies, but probably to sneak past them as well," Restlyn pointed out. "We need to devise a plan, that's true, but I think it can be done."
Jackson nodded in agreement.
"We have a proposal," Skye said, banging his fist lightly on the table. "Anybody else come up with something better?" He looked around the table, but no one spoke. "All right then. Let's meet at the stables in an hour. Pack your things, we're not staying."
The meeting was apparently adjourned, and Ashlyn excused herself from the table, astonished that she'd come up with an option that everyone had enthusiastically agreed with.
She retrieved her bags from her bedroom, checking twice to make sure that all her stanes were still in order, and wandered out to the livery, where Suki was waiting for her eagerly. The stables that Skye had mentioned were small, more like a shack with some paddocks attached, but there was a hitching post out front that served its purpose. The ninja draped Suki’s lead rope over the post while she worked on securing her saddlebags on the horse’s back.
Naturally, who should shimmy up behind her but…grossness…Vargo.
"Hey beautiful," he said in his customary greeting.
"Hey loser," she replied, not bothering to look at him.
"Gee, sorry. Tough luck for you I never keep it that way."
"Oh, I could think of a few ways to keep it -"
"Please, Vargo," she interrupted, not wanting to hear any of his undoubtedly twisted fantasies. "I just had breakfast."
He moved in front of her and began to stroke the mare‘s velvety nose. "Come on, Ashlyn. We're probably the only two people here that aren't practically antiques, and we kinda had some sparks back in the day. You telling me you're not the littlest bit curious what the sex would be like?"
She turned to face Vargo, smiled sweetly at him. "Not in the least. I find you freckly and repulsive."
"Ha. Funny. Again with the redhead jokes."
"You know, Skye has freckles too," Ashlyn said, staring hard at her saddlebags as she struggled to reinforce a square knot with one hand. "On him they're pretty damn attractive."
"Yeah, he's real attractive with the cactus hair and freaky eyes. Next thing I know you'll be telling me how hot the vampire is."
She ignored the dig at Drake, and replied stonily, "Well, at least he isn't some pervert who can't look any higher than my chest."
Vargo dragged his gaze upwards, cheeks reddening. "If you weren't glaring at me all the time, I might think about looking at your face more often."
"If you weren't hitting on me all the time, I might think of you as something like human," she shot back. "Now excuse me, but I've got better things to do than swap insults with a loser." She untied Suki from the hitching post and started leading her into the stable.
"Ouch. I'm real wounded here. Next time bring some updated material instead of grade-school stuff," he called after her.
Ashlyn slammed the stable door behind her, making the mare jump. "Jerk," she muttered. "Tell me something, Suki. Why is it that the only guys who are ever interested in me are losers? I don't understand it. I'm like a loser magnet." She sat down on an overturned bucket and blew out a breath.
Suki ignored the rant, nickering softly and touching noses with the black horse in the stall beside her. The sunlight streaming through the rafters sparkled off of her flaxen mane, and Ashlyn reached up to run her fingers absently through the coarse strands.
The door to the stall holding the black horse opened suddenly, and the Toryn girl glanced over, eyebrow quirking when she saw that it was Drake. Anyone else and she might have been embarrassed that he'd heard her talking to her horse, but the vampire probably hadn't been listening anyway.
"Hey," she said grumpily.
"Hello," he returned, running his hand over his gelding‘s neck. Ashlyn smiled slightly. Honestly, she should have figured that he would have a black horse. If they came in blood-red he might have had a difficult time deciding.
The armored glove he wore shone tarnished silver. She found herself wondering if it was heavy for him. Probably not, what with his super-strength and all. This morning he looked passably normal - with no ominous cape, his plain black pants and shirt actually made him look pretty average.
She felt the same thickening of her throat that she'd felt with Drake all those years ago, the not-knowing-what-to-say that really made her babble like a moron. It wasn't that she cared one way or the other what Drake thought about her - in the last several years she'd managed to convince herself that he was pretty much repulsive and more than a little weird.
But he had also been normal once, and in love once, and it was because of these things that he had been turned into a vampire against his will, as a means of separating him forever from the Angel he cared for. Add all that up and you have one definitively angst-ridden, deathly silent immortal type, and someone that a ditzy ninja had no idea whatsoever how to converse with.
"I was talking to Vargo about you," she offered, a little tartly.
He said nothing, and Ashlyn frowned again.
"What's your horse's name?" she asked, trying a different tactic.
"Name?" he repeated mildly.
Ashlyn's eyed widened. "You haven't named your horse? How do you call it? 'Here, horsey?' Gods, that's lame. The poor thing probably thinks you don't even care about it."
The barn door opened. She turned to see Skye striding into the barn, his sword strapped to his back, his gloved hands flexing at his sides. He looked ready for war.
"Time to load up. Aaron’s already in the airship."
"Okay," said Ashlyn, hopping off the bucket. "Drake, I don't know where we're headed, but you better think up a name for your horse before we get there or I'm going to call it something really girly."
"Glad to know the Ash we all know and detest is back," Trace said, coming up behind Skye.
"Yeah well, it could be worse. I could be a Spartan," Ashlyn said affably as she led her horse out of the barn. Trace couldn't think fast enough to make a comeback before the other girl was gone.
Chapter 3
Flour Power
"What's the matter, sweetie? Not hungry?" Ashlyn cooed, holding out a tempting handful of fresh-cut hay to Suki. The chestnut mare cocked her head to the side and stared at Ashlyn, obviously still miffed about the loading argument they'd had only a few minutes before.
"Come on, Suki," Ashlyn pleaded, switching fluidly from Merchant Tongue to Toryn, which was the language she spoke most often to the mare. "I know I should have taught you to load into an airship a little sooner than today, but it's not like there's a bunch of airships just lying around for me to practice loading. And this isn't so bad, is it? Look at all the other horsies that are here to keep you company."
As if she could understand Ashlyn's words, Suki glanced at the other horse in the stall with her - Aaron's mangy brown gelding, Tritan, who was snoozing beside her. Suki’s dark eyes blinked as she surveyed what was possibly the smelliest, most ancient animal known to man. Suki then gave her insipid human owner a pointed look.
Ashlyn sighed. "Okay, then. Have it your way."
She stepped out and slid the latch into place on Suki's stall door. As the airship slowly rose from the ground, Ashlyn remembered her tendency for motion sickness. Her stomach, in stark contradiction to the smooth ascent of the ship, plummeted ominously, and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing the rocking sensation to stop.
The fingers of her hay-less hand clenched the edge of the door slats; tight enough to turn her knuckles white, tight enough to force slivers of the aging wood into her fingertips. The dull soreness in the back of her head from hitting the doorjamb the night before became an agonizing, throbbing ache at the base of her skull. The pain was a relief, in a way, but not enough to still Ashlyn's suddenly shaking world.
"I'll be fine," she said out loud. The tremble in her voice belied the brave words, but she ignored it. "Fine, fine, fine, FINE." With that, she pried her fingers from the door and turned, managing only a half step before her legs buckled and she fell ungracefully to the floor in a tangle of limbs and fresh hay.
"Urgh," she muttered, clutching her stomach. No way was she going to get sick this time. The month she'd spent on the airship before had been downright nasty, but she was an adult now, almost twenty-four and not about to embarrass herself by barfing all over the interior of Aaron's most prized possession.
Particularly not when Skye was in the room next door, waiting to see how much her fighting skills had changed in the past eight years, if at all.
Ashlyn wasn't so sure herself, especially with the weakness in her right arm. It was hard to see your own improvement when you were fighting alone. Certainly her reflexes had been honed to perfection - monsters rarely surprised her these days, a big difference from when she'd first set out on her own and the first blow was pretty much always not hers.
Slowly she climbed to her feet, noting with irritation the grass stains on her knees. Fantastic. She scooped up the smushed hay and tossed a bunch of it into Suki's pen, but her aim was lousy. The hay whacked Tritan on the head and fell to the floor. There was no response from the slumbering gelding. He was probably
dead or something.
She tottered away from the stalls, gaining only a small bit of confidence with every unsteady step. If she hadn't gotten sick already, chances were she probably wouldn't. The only serious issue she was having was the doorway - it seemed to be expanding, collapsing, and moving from side to side all at once.
"Focus, pipsqueak," Ashlyn said loudly, trying to force herself to regain all senses. It didn't help that the ship was still moving, throwing her off-balance even more. She clumsily unstrapped the hira shuriken from her back and thumped herself hard in the forehead, triggering an answering wail of agony from the bump at the base of her skull. It worked. Her world began to steady almost immediately.
Return (Lady of Toryn trilogy) Page 3