Reaper of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy)

by Debra Holland

  Daria held out her arm. Shir landed lightly on Daria’s wrist, not like the thump her mate, Shad, made when he overshot, then grabbed for Khan’s elbow. Shir scrambled up Daria’s arm to cling to her shoulder, golden eyes eager.

  Daria reached up and stroked the furry head. Beneath her hand, Shir moved her head like a cat, relishing the touch. “Been exploring, little one?” she murmured, cuddling the monkey-bat close to her chest.

  A shout rose from behind. “Your Highness.”

  Daria’s attention jerked around. She reined in, waiting for Boerk to catch up. He wove through the small herd of horses that trailed behind them. The horses parted but didn’t wander off, obedient to the commands Withea had planted in their brains before they’d left Binch-Alat.

  When the soldier reached her, he grinned, the smile incongruous on his broken-nosed visage. “Round that there hill in front of us, the one scattered with boulders, is the boundary for Ocean’s Glory. By this time tomorrow, we’ll be entering the city.”

  Daria’s pleasure in the afternoon evaporated. She glanced back at the brown horse carrying Thaddis, King of Ocean’s Glory, whom they’d tied upright to the saddle. Not because he was a prisoner, but because otherwise, his weakened, elderly body would fall off his mount. The king’s straggly white hair tossed in the breeze. His empty amber eyes stared at nothing, his mouth hung slack. Thaddis hadn’t regained his senses from the combined attack of Withea, Daria, and Khan.

  Boerk followed her gaze. “We should reach the palace without any problem. No one will recognize the king. Nor do ya look like the beautiful princess who visited Ocean’s Glory eight months ago.”

  Daria raised one eyebrow.

  “Not that you’re not still beautiful and all, princess.” He rushed out the words. “When I saw ya before, ya had on a bright green gown. Ya hair was done all fancy. Ya had jewels and all.”

  Daria laughed. “I understand, Boerk. I was just teasing you.” She glanced down at her pale green shirt with the gold embroidery on the cuffs. She’d worn this shirt or one other for the last six months. Withea had restored the fabric to its former glory, all though now the material was travel-stained.

  Oh, for a bath…with soap.

  “Besides he—” Boerk jerked his head at Khan, who’d halted Nika next to them “—will be enough of a sight for people to stare at.”

  Daria reached over and touched her mate’s knee. “That you shall.”

  Khan placed his hand over hers. “We’ll be a regular circus parade.”

  Boerk’s brows drew together. “Circus parade?”

  “Ignore him.” Daria threw Khan a reproving glance. “Remember, my lord, we are unfamiliar with many of your foreign concepts.”

  Amusement glinted in Khan’s dark eyes. “Yes, habibti,” he said in mock abashment.

  Daria rolled her eyes and turned back to the important discussion at hand—how to get to the palace without being arrested. “If we can just find Counselor Ogan…”

  “I’ll put ya all up in a room I know at the stables, then I’ll go search for him.”

  “I only hope he’ll listen.”

  “Even us guards knew how much Counselor Ogan disapproved of Thaddis’s attack on Seagem. If the King hadn’t been preoccupied with finding ya, the counselor probably would have ended up in the dungeon. Or minus a tongue or a head.”

  Daria shuddered, at the prospect of the sugar dumpling counselor tortured and beheaded.

  “Most people were frightened of the king. Sensed something not right about him. Not like King Stevenes whom everyone adored. But Besolet supported Thaddis.

  Besolet. Daria had visited the jeweled chapel just once to worship the Goddess. She’d found Her to be haughty and distant, accepting Daria’s homage as Her just due. Although when her brother, Cihkel, joined Daria a little while later, Besolet had undergone quite a transformation, becoming playful and flirtatious, and acting as if Daria weren’t even in the room.

  Disgusted, Daria had left, deciding never to return. She didn’t like women who acted that way, much less Goddesses.

  Now she’d have to return, and, regardless of her opinion of Besolet, if the Goddess turned against her and Khan, they would find themselves in considerable trouble.

  ~ ~ ~

  Jasmine headed toward the gate of the slave encampment, nervously preparing to act her way into an elaborate scheme with the guards. Tremors shook her legs, and she was glad of the enveloping chador. She’d never been a good actress. Her mother had always been able to take one look at her daughter’s face and know the truth. But this was different from trying to get out of a chore or to wheedle a special treat. This was a matter of life and death. Lives and deaths, she amended.

  I’ll need to order men around. She hadn’t told Indaran how difficult that act would be. He seemed to accept that she’d be able to do it. But Jasmine wasn’t so sure. In spite of the freedom she’d had growing up, she was still a woman of her culture—a woman who’d experienced the worst abuse of a man’s power. This isn’t going to be easy.

  She, Indaran, and Anza had carefully constructed a story that would keep the guards out of the camp and allow Jasmine to come and go freely. She even thought she’d be able to wangle some extra supplies. Just act as if I have the power.

  She could see Landers, hovering near the gate, a worried expression on his scarred face. Behind him crowded about ten other guards. Jasmine’s stomach tightened, and her heartbeat sped up.

  Landers greeted her with respect, obviously chastened by the idea of being ill. “I have spoken with the others. They wish to hear your report.”

  The men pushed forward, but left enough distance between them.

  Jasmine repressed a smile. They think I might be contagious. I’ll play upon that fear. “There is indeed illness in the camp.”

  Several men sidled back, apprehension on their faces. The rest remained impassive.

  “Headache, fever, nausea are the symptoms. I understand some of you have headaches, but do any of you feel feverish, nauseated?”

  Two men raised their hands. Ah, the hypochondriacs.

  The others shifted away from them.

  “Come closer,” she ordered the two men. “Do you feel nauseated?” she asked the first.

  He’d shaved his head, perhaps in order to look more intimidating. And he’d succeeded. He shook his head, then ran a hand over his smooth pate. “Feverish.”

  She put her palm on his forehead, then took his wrist to count his pulse. “You do seem a bit warm.” She repeated the process with the other man, then turned to Landers. “Excuse these two from their duty for the next few days. If we act swiftly, we may avoid them having any serious illness.”

  Landers pulled on his chin. “We should have a priest or priestess excuse them.”

  “I don’t think this is the time to bother the priests and priestesses. Do you? Plus, you might infect them,” she said pointedly.

  Fear jumped into his eyes. “No, healer. They may be excused.”

  “Now,” Jasmine ordered the men. “Go straight to bed. Drink plenty of fluids—water…” she stumbled over her instructions, about to say chicken broth. Do they have chickens here? “Broth. Rest. If you become nauseated, send someone for me. I’ll be staying here, trying to stop the spread of the disease. Ontarem won’t be pleased if he loses his slaves.”

  “Yes, healer.” They turned and left.

  “Now, for what’s needed in the camp.” She tapped one finger on her cheek, appearing to think. “Bring blankets. More food than usual. Broth. Lots of broth. I need to strengthen the others as well. I don’t want the whole camp getting sick. I need berst leaves,” she said, hoping these people knew of the medicinal herb growing in the swamp. “Can you get some?”

  Landers nodded. “We have the supplies in the army’s warehouse.”

  She cast him an approving look. “Excellent idea.”

  “Should I check with the temple about this?”

  She shot him an annoyed look. “Do not
bother the priests and priestesses. They have bigger concerns than this. I alone will report to them.”

  “Yes, healer.”

  “The slaves are to remain inside the fence. I don’t want them venturing into the city and infecting others.”

  “Many will protest their lack of a workforce.”

  “Tell them that it’s better to have a few weeks without their slaves, than to bring sickness, and perhaps death onto themselves and their families.”

  He swallowed. “Yes, healer.”

  As for the rest of you.” She glanced at the other guards. “Resume your duties, but report to Landers if you become feverish or nauseated, understand? Do not—” she emphasized the words “—go into the camp. I want you all to stay healthy. Leave me to take the risks. I will station someone near the gate whom you can call to if you need to summon me or anyone else.”

  They nodded. One or two appeared relieved.

  “Do any of you have any questions?”

  No one moved.

  “Good. I will wait in there—” she tilted her chin toward the gate. “Bring me the supplies as soon as possible.” She pivoted and strode, shoulders straight, through the gate, pulling it closed behind her. Then she kept going, not daring to stop, because her knees were shaking so badly, she thought she might collapse.

  Reaching the nearest straw bale, Jasmine plopped down and leaned over a bucket. She scooped up a dipperful of water and wet her fear-dried throat. Dropping the dipper back into the pail, she pressed her still-shaky knees together.

  I did it!

  Now Indaran and his crew would be free from discovery, and the people here would be better fed and warmer at night.

  But how long can I keep up the pretense?

  ~ ~ ~

  By the time they arrived at the city of Ocean’s Glory, Daria’s insides had wound tighter than a toy top. On her earlier visit, she’d spent one day exploring the city. At the time, she’d been fascinated by the differences between Thaddis’s kingdom and Seagem. Now, as they followed Boerk through a back street to the palace, the sight of the massive edifice looming over the smaller homes they passed just made her heartsick.

  The horses’ hooves crunched over the broken shells covering the roadbed. Two-story houses made of pale-orange sunstone lined the street, each snug against the other. The homes opened right onto the street, with only one wide shallow step in front of the doors. The flat rooftops held gardens, grown for pleasure and sustenance. Shutters in shades of green, blue or brown framed the windows, and flowers burst from matching colored windowboxes, sending a sweet fragrance drifting their way to mingle with the briny tang of the sea.

  Daria inhaled deeply. How she’d missed the smell of the ocean, the moistness in the breeze.

  Although she rode outwardly relaxed, she carefully scanned her surroundings. On one side, a young pregnant woman stood with a toddler on her hip, exchanging gossip with her neighbor. Two doors up, three little girls huddled on the step, heads bent over a game of mon-ckac. Several boys chased down the street, spinning and dodging each other’s pokes and slaps. And a man with a heavy pack on his back knocked at the house across from the gossiping women.

  The people glanced at Daria and her companions as they passed, their gazes sliding over the riders and fastening on the train of horses behind them, animals that moved without being herded or led. A perfect way to hide in plain sight.

  Every day life. The kind she’d observed when she used to ride or walk through the thoroughfares of Seagem. A life she’d once taken for granted. A life that no longer existed because of the ruler of these people. Part of her wanted to blame them, shout in anger at what they’d allowed their husbands, sons, brothers to do to her city, to her people. The other part of her knew these people weren’t to blame. Thaddis was. The soldiers had been following his orders.

  She turned to Khan, riding next to her. His face was alive with curiosity, his dark gaze roaming everywhere.

  He sensed her scrutiny and smiled. “I’m gawking like a tourist. In fact—” he glanced behind them at Boerk. “I should ask Boerk to play tour guide.”

  Daria smiled politely but didn’t bother to ask what a tourist was. She’d learned being mated with the off-world man required her to learn a whole new language. So far, the idea had been exciting…and a bit intimidating, but now she felt too drained and apprehensive to make the effort to understand him.

  The sunstone palace dominated their surroundings, sparkling in the late afternoon sun like an enormous peach-colored jewel. Memories of the past assailed her. Sailing into the harbor of Ocean’s Glory. Her talk with Cihkel about his love for Elanath. How she’d wondered if she’d ever find a love for herself.

  And I have. She glanced at Khan. He was the best part of this whole tragic situation. He and Withea. I just wished…. Mist obscured her vision. I miss them so, my father, Issa, my brothers.

  Khan nudged Nika closer, reached out, and took her hand, enfolding it in his.

  The understanding in his eyes made the tears spill over and flow down her cheeks. Daria wiped her face with her sleeve. “I thought I’d made peace with my family being gone. And I have, I really have. It’s just that the last time I was in this city my family was all alive.” She twisted in the saddle to look back at the human wreck that was Thaddis, his horse following placidly behind them. “But at least I no longer feel the hate.”

  “The loss will always be there, habibti.” His tone was warm with sympathy. “But it’s good you’ve relinquished your hate.”

  “Withea healed me.” She squeezed his hand. “And you.”

  “You reached out to Withea. So, you opened the door to your own healing.”

  “You’re right.” She sniffed back her tears. “I just didn’t expect being in this city to make a difference.”

  His gaze turned distant, and she knew he thought about his own past losses. “That’s what happens when someone you love dies. You’re prepared for the times you think will be difficult—holidays, for example. And it is hard, but perhaps not as bad because you were expecting to miss them…to be emotional.”

  She blinked to clear her eyesight.

  “The unexpected times are almost worse,” he said. “The grief sneaks up and bites you, all the more painful for you not seeing it coming.”

  Daria sniffed and nodded.

  “The sadness will always be that way, habibti. But with time, it will become easier.”

  “I know.”

  Boerk slowed his horse and came between their mounts.

  Khan dropped her hand so they could ride on either side of the man.

  Boerk pointed ahead. “We’re coming to the inner wall of the palace. There’ll be a small gate leading to the stables. Most of the guards know me, so we shouldn’t have any problem getting inside.”

  Daria blew out a tense breath. “I hope that will be the case.”

  “Don’t worry, Princess. Just follow my lead.”

  “Silence, fool,” she hissed, looking around to see if anyone had heard him.

  He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. I won’t let it happen again.”

  The road ended at a wide double gate guarded by two men. At the sight of the feared black uniforms, Daria’s stomach tightened even further. She’d spent months in terror, evading soldiers wearing those uniforms. If it were up to her, she’d never see one again.

  Boerk rode up to the nearest guard and swung himself off his mount. “Wattard, ya old rascal.”

  “Boerk, ya reprobate.”

  “What’d ya do ta get yourself guard duty here?”

  “Better than the latrine duty ya pulled when ya got drunk and destroyed that tavern down in fishtown.”

  Boerk extended his arm to grip the other man’s.

  Daria started to relax.

  Wattard pulled Boerk close, as if he were about to hug him, then fisted his other hand and punched him in the stomach.

  Boerk doubled over and crumpled to his feet.

  Daria gasped, resisting reaching f
or her sword. She’d better see how events played out before causing a spectacle.

  Next to her, Nika skittered a step, as if Khan’s hands had tightened on the reins. She didn’t dare look over at her mate, not wanting to draw attention to him.

  Wattard stood over Boerk. “That’s for the money ya owed me and didn’t pay up.”

  Boerk choked, stumbling to his feet. “Couldn’t.” He forced out each word. “Rode with King Thaddis the next day. Not back until today.”

  “I want my money.”

  “I’ll have it to ya within the next two hours. Let me finish up, and I’ll be back.”

  “Ya’d better.” Wattard pushed open the gate. “Or the next time I’ll use my sword to cut off…” He gestured toward Boerk’s groin.

  Boerk turned his back to the man, grabbing the reins of his horse. “Just ya try it,” he said under his breath, too softly for the guard to hear. He pulled on the reins, not bothering to remount. With a jerk of his head, he indicated they should follow him.

  Once through the gates, they entered a large area paved with broken shells and bordered with open-faced stalls. The back of the keep and towers rose behind the stables. Piles of hay clumped in hillocks to their right. Busy stable hands bustled about leading horses, grooming them, and carrying tack or buckets.

  This wasn’t a part of the royal stables. This must be where the soldiers’ mounts were kept. They passed the muck heaps. The pungent smell of horse droppings filled the air.

  Moving stiffly, Boerk guided them to the very end row of the farthest building. This one was enclosed like a barn. He pushed aside the side door and motioned them inside. A large hay-filled loft dominated the high-roofed structure. Down below was a single row of box stalls.

  They dismounted, leading the horses to the stalls and pulling off the tack and saddles. Daria picked up a currycomb and began to groom Teifa.

  Boerk untied Thaddis from his slumped-over position on the saddle, lifting him off his horse. Then he helped the former king totter over to the nearest empty stall and settled him on the hay.

  Thaddis lay back and rolled into a ball, seeming to immediately fall asleep.

  Daria stared over the partition between the stalls, watching the slack mouth that had once firmed with ugly anger. The withered skin draped in wrinkles over the proud bone structure. The king was recognizable, but barely.