Herd Mistress (In Deception's Shadow Book 2)

by Lisa Blackwood

  Overbalanced, he fell forward into Sorsha’s room, his one foot caught on the window ledge prevented him from getting his feet under him and the floor rushed up to meet him. Breath exploded from his lungs with a hiss, and he just lay there, gasping for several moments. When he could breathe again, he turned his head to one side and stared at the space underneath Sorsha’s bed. A storage chest blocked part of the view. He propped his chin on his hands and looked around.

  The floor wasn’t so uncomfortable, maybe he’d just stay here.

  Creatures were never meant to walk on two legs. It was unnatural.

  But here he was; a Santhyrian stallion of royal lineage, helpless and trapped in a man’s body. At the very least, he should meet Sorsha with some semblance of respect. He picked himself up off the floor with a grunt of pain. A blanket was draped over the storage chest. He grabbed it and swung the heavy cloth around his body. The rough texture of the fabric rubbed against his many scrapes and bruises. When the hundred minor wounds screamed at the friction, he changed his mind and folded the blanket over his least injured arm. Perhaps if he sat and draped it over his lap?

  He took a step toward the chair and the thorn scratches running along his rump changed his mind. No, no sitting down.

  He turned his attention to the bed. It had a large draping canopy, and the curtains were already drawn, so no one would see him if they should enter Sorsha’s room before she returned. And the area between the edge of the bed and the wall offered a space wide enough for him to squeeze his body into should he need a better place to hide.

  Bemoaning his own stupidity, he crawled on the bed and lay face down. It could have been worse, he supposed. His bones were whole and only his ego had sustained serious damage. Sorsha would laugh at him for days once he recovered. If his ego was going to take the brunt of the abuse, he might as well milk the situation and see what kind of sympathy he could persuade Sorsha into offering him. With a chuckle, he dropped his forehead to rest on his folded arms.

  Chapter Three

  A latch clicked. Metal grated softly on metal as a bolt was slid back. Shadowdancer jerked awake and looked up in time to see the door swing inward. Sorsha entered, candle in one hand and a goblet of some liquid in the other. He inhaled. Ah, spiced wine. The nightmares must be plaguing her again. She placed the candle in a wall scone as she sipped from the goblet.

  To keep out of her line of sight he eased into a kneeling position, partially hidden behind the canopy’s draping side panels.

  When she untied her robe and tossed it on a chair, the low burning fire in the hearth granted him a lovely silhouette. As she made her gliding way to the bed, he grinned at the elegant sway of her hips, and remembered a little belatedly she preferred to sleep in nothing but her skin—her silent way of rebelling at the restrictions set by Lady Stonemantle. Oh well, time to show himself. She’d snarl and spit like an angry cat if he didn’t make his presence known before she stripped for bed.

  His good intentions hit a little snag when she started to work at the laces running down the front of the night gown. Old wood cracked ominously underfoot. With a sharp snap, the bed shook hard enough he had to grab the post to hold himself upright as one side sagged.

  The bed would have to choose now to complain about the weight?

  “Sorsha, don’t be afraid.” He sent his thoughts out to her.

  She jerked her head up when she saw him. Her mouth dropped open. Then she drew breath to scream but bit the sound off before it had even emerged. Rage sparked in her eyes and she lunged back to the chair and snatched up a harness.

  “Sorsha, it’s me, Shadowdancer.” He put more strength into his mental call. Maybe his Larnkin was still exhausted….or angry at his foolery perhaps. “Sorsha?”

  With a violent twist of her arm, she threw the harness and sheath at him. He ducked a hair too late and the buckle scraped his cheek before it continued over his shoulder to land with a clatter.

  “Sorsha. I’m sorry. I can explain.”

  Her expression didn’t change at his words. She hadn’t heard anything he’d said. Belatedly, he realized he should have thought of the finer nuances of how to communicate if his Larnkin still hadn’t recovered enough for him to use mind speech by the time Sorsha returned. Now it was too late. Panic curled in his stomach and he tried to say her name aloud, but lips which had never known words butchered her name, changing it to a slurred ugly sound. He tried a second time. “Sow..hor…a?”

  “Did you just call me a whore? You….stupid…drunken…swine.” Sorsha snarled and lunged at him with her dagger. “Did some of your drunken friends put you up to this….I’ll give you a tale to sing about in the taverns.”

  Her eyes turned cold—all the rage swallowed back. Calm, she was more likely to land a fatal blow. Now she was truly dangerous.

  Foolish it might be, but his blood surged at the thought of a challenge. When she advanced on him, he flashed a grin. She slashed at him with the dagger in answer. There was no fear in her scent, and his grin grew broader. If this had been Ashayna Stonemantle, he would have run, but Sorsha lacked her sister’s training.

  Sorsha lunged, and he sidestepped. Her dagger cut through a piece of drapery instead of whichever one of his body parts she had targeted. Before the fabric fluttered to the ground, she was on him again. He backed across the bed as fast as he could. Perhaps Sorsha had more training than he’d thought.

  The sheets threatened to trip him, and he fought for balance in this new body while at the same time trying not to get impaled.

  He kicked a pillow at her. She tripped, caught up in her long gown. While she fought the bedding and her nightdress, he darted around one of the stout, wooden posts, and lunged off the bed. He backed toward the window, each step getting him closer to freedom.

  Sorsha grabbed fistfuls of her floor length nightgown and jerked it above her knees with a curse. While she negotiated the bed and her gown, the bed frame gave another dull crack. She braced her legs to stabilize her balance. “I’m going to castrate you.”

  Now that possibility hadn’t entered his thoughts while he’d climbed the trellis. So much for Sorsha’s gentle hands tending his wounds. The need to answer a challenge melted away and he glanced at the window again. He’d be lucky to escape without greater injury.

  Could he climb down before she caught up to him?

  She leaped at him from the bed. He tossed one leg over the sill, and then with a brief glance at her and her dagger, he lunged out the window. He grabbed hand holds to slow his descent, but the ground still rushed up at him. With an organ shuddering smack, the cold boggy ground embraced him.

  Dazed, he blinked up at the night sky and then the rectangle of light coming from Sorsha’s room. A pale angry face with a cloud of dark hair looked back at him. She didn’t say one word aloud, but the way she slammed a fist to her chest, and then brought the same hand up to her neck and flicked a thumb under her jaw before gesturing at him, didn’t look very nice. When she pulled her head back into the room, he quickly sat up and took inventory of his injuries. No blood. No broken bones. Numerous strains and bruises. A few cuts. But he would live.

  A flash of heat raised the hair on his arms to attention, and Shadowdancer felt the smallest trickle of power swirl across his skin. Relief made his knees weak. His Larnkin was recovering. He’d be able to resume his true form soon with any luck.

  Of course his Larnkin would awaken now that the danger was past. How very helpful of it, Shadowdancer groused.

  Another small surge of power twisted through his core and with its arrival, an overwhelming sense of impending doom washed over him.

  He was already moving, darting toward the nearest line of trees when he remembered Sorsha’s fondness for archery. Again his Larnkin’s feeble warning came. Shadowdancer dropped to his knees. A loud whoosh whistled past his ear, followed by a dull thud as an arrow embedded itself in the tree trunk above his head.

  Without bothering to look toward Sorsha’s window, Shadowdancer d
ived behind the first tree and then rolled to his feet. Weaving between trees and shrubs, he made his way deeper into the garden. The fall of arrows made a strange counterpoint to the rustle of foliage until he was finally out of range.

  If he wanted to keep living, he’d better find some shelter where an enraged Stonemantle couldn’t stick his hide full of holes.

  Chapter Four

  Sorsha jogged along the bank of the spring-fattened river. Shadowdancer trotted along behind her, a silent black shadow. For once the rushing of the water and the beauty all around didn’t calm her. The anger she’d been holding in for two days gored her into setting a fast pace.

  She hadn’t seen Shadowdancer at all the day before. He’d been away from River’s Divide, reporting to his elders. Something he said was easier for his Larnkin to do away from all the humans. He relayed events to his people every three days, but this was the first time Sorsha had desperately wanted to talk with him. The invader in her room two nights ago had shaken her more than she wanted to admit. But she couldn’t report the incident for fear the general would increase the guards patrolling the residence, making her nightly visits with Shadowdancer an impossibility.

  He’d held his silence while she vented about the stranger, but every so often, he’d dip his nose down to lip at her shoulder or nuzzle her braid where it thumped against her back as she ran. Slowing and reaching behind, she absently rubbed his velvety nose. “I can’t believe that…that wine benumbed fool. If I’d gotten my hands on him…”

  Shadowdancer came along side, matching her pace so they were shoulder to shoulder. “I imagine he’s thankful you didn’t.”

  She sighed at Shadowdancer’s humorous tone. “It’s not funny. He needed to be taught a lesson.”

  “I doubt he’ll be sneaking into your bedroom again. His pride is probably still bruised.”

  “I did rout him good, didn’t I?”

  “By what you told me, it certainly sounded like it. Though, in the future, you might not want to be aiming arrows blindly into the garden. You might have hit me or one of the other Santhyrians.”

  At his words, her stomach dropped to her toes. “I hadn’t even thought of that. It won’t happen again.”

  They were almost to the dell where she had been taking magic instruction from Shadowdancer when he froze in place. His ears snapped forward.

  With a lightning fast move, he snaked his neck around and grabbed the shoulder of her vest. He backed up, dragging her with him. Off balance, she was forced to stumble in the direction he chose.

  “What’s wrong?” Sorsha kept her voice pitched low. “What do you see?”

  Before he could answer, a shadow stepped onto the path ahead of them.

  Sorsha blinked dumbly at the old man for several heartbeats. Then recognition finally settled in her soul with a cold dread, and her heart started to pound.

  When had he returned from his latest trip back to the empire? How had she missed the news Lord Trensler, the leader of the Acolyte bloodhounds were back?

  Cold sweat ran down her back, but she managed a curtsy. “Lord-Master Trensler, what a surprise to meet you out here. I was unaware of your return. I hope you had a safe voyage.”

  “Not so surprising, I assure you.” His reply was polite enough, but something in his voice sent a shiver up Sorsha’s spine. He continued in his cultured tones. “My ship was damaged in a storm. We had to find a safe port several leagues south of River’s Divide to make repairs. I decided to ride ahead after a fisherman told me the Crown Prince of the Phoenix had returned with General Stonemantle’s oldest daughter. Perhaps you can fill in the details, Lady Sorsha.”

  Damn, the old man recognized her. Then she realized her own stupidity. Of course he would know her. No lady would have the nerve to go riding at night, and only one other woman dressed like a man. And since Sorsha’s sister was taller than most men, Lord Trensler wouldn’t get them confused, even at night. Double damn. At least Ashayna could have come up with a reasonable explanation why she was out at night—practicing scouting in the dark or some such, but Sorsha didn’t have an excuse. Not one Lord-Master Trensler would believe. And if he sniffed out she was learning magic…..

  That just didn’t bear thought. She cleared her throat and plastered on a vapid smile. “Oh Master Trensler, please don’t tell the General I was out riding this late, he’ll be very angry at me.” She flashed him an uncertain smile. “I like to pray at night—with the stars so clear and bright I feel closer to the All Father.” Her smile took on more conviction. “You of all people would understand, wouldn’t you?”

  “Of course, dear. But I doubt very much ‘prayers’ have much to do with why you’re out so late.”

  Sorsha pretended to look startled and then followed it up with an expression of pure panic—not so hard, considering those were two emotions close to the surface.

  Lord Trensler bestowed a knowing look upon Sorsha. She couldn’t believe her luck—she knew she hadn’t fooled him completely, but she secretly hoped he thought he’d caught her about to meet a secret lover. The truth would be so much more damaging. “Oh, please Lord-Master, don’t tell my father I’ve been sneaking off to see a lover. Father will never understand. I’ll do anything; I’ll come to the temple twice as often…I can help with….”

  “I don’t believe you’re here to meet a lover either, not this time.”

  Her stomach plummeted. “Whatever do you mean?” she hedged, hoping to distract Trensler before he could unearth something more damaging.

  “I hardly think you would be going to see a lover with one of the magic wielding ambassadors in tow.” Trensler steepled his fingers, and as he watched her, his eyes narrowed with disdain. Cold emanated from him, his normally charismatic smile taking on an edge of cruelty.

  The chill in Sorsha’s soul increased. Gasping, words would not come. She floundered. Fear gripped her heart when she couldn’t get her body to respond. Her legs felt like lead, her arms dead weights, her fingers jerked but she couldn’t make them grasp the knife at her belt.

  Shadowdancer stepped forward, momentarily blocking Trensler from her view. She could have kissed the Santhyrian. The moment Shadowdancer’s magic flooded out and obscured Trensler’s strange wintry power, the icy fear encasing her heart released its hold and she could draw a deep breath again. Her mind snapped back into focus and she took quick inventory of herself. Shadowdancer must have counteracted whatever the Acolyte leader had summoned. She still shook, but whatever Trensler had done to her was easing.

  Shadowdancer sank his teeth into Sorsha’s shoulder. The small pain focused her mind and she realized the stallion was trying to communicate. If he couldn’t touch her thoughts, the cold sapping numbness had spread to him too. The stallion rolled his eyes at her, the whites flashing with fear. She shook her head at his silent message to run. She wouldn’t leave him to face Trensler alone.

  “Oh, no need to rush off. I was just starting to discover something interesting. I was hoping for more time to get to know each other—so when I meet your sister and the Crown Prince of the Phoenix early tomorrow morning, I’ll be able to introduce myself properly.”

  “I’m sorry Lord-Master, but I really must be getting back. Perhaps we can talk tomorrow?”

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist we talk now.”

  Hooves rustled in the dry leaves of the surrounding forest as five horses broke cover. Their Acolyte riders guided them in a flanking maneuver.

  Sorsha leapt onto Shadowdancer’s back. The stallion gathered himself, and spun away from the new threat before they were surrounded. Dried leaves and rich loam scattered under his hooves as he thundered away from their enemies. Underbrush snatched at Sorsha’s legs and she was grateful for her sister’s stolen leathers.

  While Shadowdancer didn’t slow his pace, he must have found a game trail or other narrow track for he no longer weaved through the forest so violently.

  Unable to see through the deepening dark of the night shrouded fore
st, Sorsha had to trust to Shadowdancer’s superior night vision. Ahead an unknown darkness waited; behind, a known danger—and trapped between the two, Sorsha had never felt so helpless, or useless. If they survived this night, it would be entirely Shadowdancer’s skill which saved them.

  At first she thought her eyes played tricks with her; but no, her eyes began to adjust and the darker shapes of trees loomed up out of the shadows. Overhead, the canopy of interlaced branches was silhouetted against the star speckled sky. No longer totally blind, she relaxed and gathered her thoughts. She reached once again for her companion’s mind. Sorsha came up against…nothing, only a blank void. Her panic surged anew. What had Trensler done to Shadowdancer? Or was it her gift that was gone?

  With each passing moment that she couldn’t summon magic, her panic increased. She bowed her head and squeezed her eyes shut. Then the faint hint of Shadowdancer’s magic, like fog on an early summer morning, seeped into her, chasing away Trensler’s chill.

  As Shadowdancer put distance between them and their pursuers, Sorsha regained more strength. She still couldn’t speak mind to mind, so she settled for speaking out loud. “I’ve never trusted Trensler, but I didn’t know he could do this to us. Are…are you alright?” She had to shout over the wind rushing in her ears.

  Shadowdancer continued his headlong flight through the dark forest.

  “I’ll take that as a no.”

  He rolled an eye in her direction. While she couldn’t be sure of his meaning, the nervous sweat foaming his coat spoke volumes on its own. He continued to gallop away from River’s Divide, weaving his way through the undergrowth. Ahead a familiar ghostly pale trunk, devoid of bark, took shape out of the night. The long dead tree stood to the right side of the path, still guarding the entrance to a small oblong meadow. Sorsha’s sense of disorientation faded. They were heading toward the river.