FION'S DAUGHTER

by Brenna Lyons

  “He killed one of my other guards. Vela, my mentor, was forced to purify me after the act. Loric— The man’s blood stained my skin. That it was unavoidable made no difference to Celdin. He had killed another of Fion’s Children in front of two priestesses and without our consent to kill.”

  “Would you have given consent?”

  “If I did not respect his decision, I would have banished him from my home,” she answered honestly.

  Ro nodded, something resembling pride in his dark eyes. “Would you permit me to ease your pain?” he asked formally.

  “Yes. I would appreciate it.”

  *

  Ro watched Deliya, as she touched Novin’s cheek and nodded wearily. She had worked tirelessly, giving the young man six injections of the antidote in as many hours before destroying her healing circle and deigning to eat a bit of food.

  She weaved on her feet as she stood, and Ro took to his own, striding to her and warning off the man, who merely reached out to steady her, with one of his most menacing looks. Deliya was not theirs to touch as any woman of his household was not theirs to touch. He only tolerated them staring at her so directly, because of the novelty of one of Fion’s Children in the flesh walking among them, like a pale apparition.

  Deliya shivered as Ro’s hands closed on her shoulders and he pulled her back into the shelter of his chest, but she didn’t stiffen as she did earlier. He savored the feel of her in his arms for a moment, realizing the show he made for his men. None of them would dare touch her, as long as they believed Ro had an interest. He sobered at the realization that he did have an interest in the stunning beauty with the cunning of a warrior and the bearing of a queen.

  “Come,” he whispered. “You should sleep. You have worked long and hard tonight.”

  Deliya yawned widely. “Novin will not be able to ride for at least five days. Your men will have to build a carry litter to be borne between two hottel. My two choc mares are sedate enough and accustomed to working a plow in tandem. You are welcome to use them.”

  Ro nodded, kneading his hands in her shoulders. “In the morning,” he assured her. He brushed his lips over her neck, healing her while he fed his power off of the arousal her scent raised in him. Deliya smelled of her herbs and sweat — and female. Ro hadn’t had schente in nearly two weeks. He wouldn’t risk them so near the fighting.

  “He should drink more of the tea while we travel,” she continued in a voice that wavered slightly. “Every few hours.”

  “It will be done.”

  “I have prepared the tea,” Deliya informed him.

  Ro kissed her neck, his healing forgotten.

  “A mug full,” she rushed on. “It may be cold. We need not stop to build a fire.”

  A stab of jealousy settled in Ro’s gut. Had she eyes for nothing but the damned foolish boy she treated? He turned her toward his shelter.

  Deliya didn’t meet his eyes. She crossed her arms over nipples that stood out as mountain peaks beneath her man’s tunic. “Food. Only broth and juice for two days. Then Novin may have bread and vegetables. No meat until he can ride steadily — perhaps six days. If he—”

  Ro turned her to face him, and Deliya stopped speaking. She licked her lips and took a deep breath. He smiled, breathing in her scent. Yes. She was aroused.

  “Ro?” she asked, her voice low.

  He shook his head. This was not the time and place for this. “You saved Novin, and you saved me my cousin’s displeasure. I am in your debt. I thank you.”

  Deliya turned from his arms and hurried toward the shelter, smoothing her pale braid. “A ridiculous thought,” she snapped at him. “His father would be angered to have Novin die of a poison when he sent him off to die in battle.” She made a sound of disgust.

  Ro matched her pace. “Actually, Andrel did not send him. Novin is an adult and decided to come despite the fact that he is his father’s only heir.”

  “He has no other children?” she asked curiously.

  “No other sons,” he explained. “Only two daughters.”

  “Magden,” she cursed. Deliya made the same sound of disgust.

  Ro ignored her comment. “Andrel charged me with keeping his heir alive. So, I keep Novin at my side to keep him safe.”

  “Safe?” she asked in disbelief.

  He shrugged. “Safer than he would be anywhere else,” Ro admitted. “Tell me. What would you have?”

  Deliya furrowed her brow over troubled green eyes. “Have?”

  “I am in your debt,” he repeated.

  She stepped around Donic and settled next to the fire at Ro’s shelter, reaching for her armor. “I do not understand.” Deliya didn’t look at him as she strapped on her leg armor.

  “Why are you doing that?” Ro asked.

  “It is the way of my people to never leave ourselves unarmed when the enemy is near.” She looked to Novin then back to her work. “Unless we are performing acts of Fion’s mercy,” she qualified. “Then you trust that the Mother will protect you.”

  “Or die,” Donic growled.

  Ro sent him a quelling look and knelt beside her, stilling her hands with his own. Deliya’s fingers trembled beneath his.

  “Let me protect you,” Ro offered.

  Deliya moved her hand to the next fastener. “It is not our way,” she whispered.

  Donic made a rude gesture that Ro pretended not to see. Her dismissal hurt Ro much more than he wanted to admit, even to himself. Donic was a minor irritation by comparison.

  “What does it mean to have a Magden man in your debt?” she asked, reminding Ro of their original conversation.

  “A Magden king,” he explained. “It means you may ask anything within my power to grant you, and I will comply.”

  Deliya looked up, her eyes full of hope. “Deliver me to my mother.”

  Ro’s heart stuttered. He should have realized she’d ask for that. “That is not within my power,” he choked out.

  “Why not?” She swallowed hard, and pain filled her eyes. “Rintal fell,” she whispered. “When she sent me away— My people have not come for me, because they think I was at Rintal when it fell.” Deliya started on the next fastener furiously. “You must take me to Gidlore. My people would have fallen back there.”

  They had. It had been the site of her mother’s last stand. Ro took a deep breath to steady his nerves and reached for her hands, intent on breaking the truth to her gently.

  Deliya hurried on, creating her fantasy of the glorious fight of her people. “Gidlore is closer to here. I should have asked you to take me there to begin with. It is less of an imposition,” she rambled on.

  Ro clasped her hands, pulling them from her armor gently. Deliya looked up into his eyes, wary, perhaps even knowing and denying what he had to tell her.

  Donic snorted at her plans. “Gidlore fell seven years ago,” he informed her coldly. “They say your mother was the last to fall.” He laughed harshly. “If you live, the stories are wrong.”

  “He lies,” she said weakly. Her eyes pleaded with Ro to tell her it was not true, that Donic was playing a cruel prank on her.

  “I am sorry,” Ro offered, realizing that he should say more.

  Tears pooled in her eyes, and she straightened her spine, removing her hands from his. Deliya swallowed slowly and blinked back the tears, looking every inch her regal heritage.

  “Liars,” she breathed.

  Ro looked at her in surprise, barely keeping his balance as she punched him across the cheek. Deliya grasped the rest of her armor and bolted toward the thicker trees. Ro struggled to his feet with a curse, pushing the open-mouthed Donic out of his way as he gave chase. She would go to the stand where their war-buck were tethered. Deliya had too much honor to steal a beast. She would take her own or none, and that distraction would slow her down.

  Ro sprinted the length of the row of mounts, still at a full run when he grasped Deliya and knocked her blade from her hand. She let loose another punch with a frustrated grunt. R
o ducked it easily. It took several long moments and several more ducked punches before he had her body trapped between his and a thick tree trunk.

  “Stop this, Deliya,” he ordered in a low voice. “You cannot run off into the night.”

  “I am a priestess of Fion,” she insisted, “and I am safer with jaglin than with lying Magden.”

  Ro tightened his grip slightly, as she attacked again, panting as they came face to face. “I am a Magden king,” he assured her, willing his voice not to shake. “My vow is worth more than my life.”

  “Then it is still worthless,” she spat. “When you make an enemy of Fion’s Daughters, your life is worthless.”

  “You are the last of Fion’s Daughters, and for that, I am sorry. If Mag granted me the power to turn back time, I would do so and defend your people with all of my armies. I cannot undo what is.”

  “You owe me a debt.”

  “I do,” he agreed.

  “Take me to Gidlore. Prove to me that my people are no more.”

  “I cannot. Gidlore is behind Lengar lines. I would do it, if I could.”

  “Convenient,” Deliya decided. “A useful excuse to keep me here. Whatever you hope to gain by holding me, you will not win. My mother— My people will leave me to Fion’s protection. They do not bargain. Not even for me.”

  Ro shook his head. “I wish I could assure you that there was someone left to bargain with, but your Goddess is the only one left for me to beg from, not that I would know what to ask her for.”

  “We shall see,” she promised.

  “Meaning?” he asked suspiciously.

  “If I am not your prisoner, I am free to take my herbs and war-buck, my armor and weapons and part company with you here — in the morning, if it disturbs you to have me leave in the night.”

  An icy finger ran down Ro’s spine. “To Gidlore in Lengar lands?” he guessed.

  “To Gidlore and whatever fate the Merciful Mother has set for me.”

  Ro shook his head. He’d seen more than enough of Fion’s mercy. Their Goddess hadn’t saved Deliya’s people from their fate. Her chosen? What good is She? Not good enough for Leiana, and not good enough for Deliya!

  “No,” he stated emphatically. “I will make you a bargain.”

  “Fion’s priestesses—”

  “Do not,” Ro ordered. “If I can prove to you that Gidlore is cut off from us by Lengar troops on the two sides we travel, will you concede that it is lost?”

  Deliya didn’t respond. Her breathing hitched in the darkness. Was she trying to hold back a sob?

  “Promise me you will not run from me,” he asked. “Promise me that you will not travel to Gidlore alone as you threatened, and you will keep all that is yours, including your weapons.”

  “And, if I refuse to make that vow?” she replied calmly.

  The image came into his mind abruptly. “I will shackle you to my side all day and tie you to my bed at night,” he vowed. Oh, but his body liked that idea.

  “You have left me little choice in the matter,” she noted wryly.

  “Your word, Deliya.”

  “I give it. I will not run from you.”

  Ro nodded and backed away, settling her to the ground and guiding her along with his hand on her elbow. “Good. Then we will retrieve your blade and go back.”

  “Where,” she began.

  “My bed.”

  Deliya planted her feet with a gasp.

  Ro sighed. “I will not lay an unwelcome hand on your person,” he promised. But, would that he were welcome—

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Calm yourself,” Vela ordered.

  Deliya rubbed her eyes and looked at the darkness outside the window in confusion.

  “What can I possibly tell her?” Loric demanded.

  “I said calm, boy.” Vela’s voice went dangerously cold, a tone Deliya had only heard once before.

  Loric’s voice dropped to a whisper.

  Deliya pushed up from her bed, smiling that Loric was back, despite whatever mischief had landed him on Vela’s bad side at sometime before sunrise. He had been gone for weeks. Deliya had missed his company and his training.

  “Calm,” Vela ordered again. “Nothing has changed,” she whispered fiercely.

  Deliya furrowed her brow. Loric had always been excitable, as young men often were, but Vela rarely had to order him to do anything more than once. Three times was unheard of.

  She headed to the door, straightening her knee-length tunic over her chest.

  Loric paced the main room, his white-blonde hair wind blown and his clothing torn and stained. “Deliya is an adult now,” he growled.

  Celdin rubbed his temples. “You knew this was a possibility,” he stated. “You knew there was a chance of failure.”

  “I wanted to—” Loric stilled as he turned back and saw Deliya in the doorway.

  “What difference does it make that I am an adult?” Deliya asked, a niggling of unease settling in her stomach.

  Vela continued her sewing, as if Loric weren’t acting like he’d seen Lengar in her shed. “Loric wanted to surprise you with a gift that he could not get. He is upset.”

  “What gift could possibly upset you that much?” she asked Loric.

  He blushed, looking to Vela and Celdin miserably.

  Vela shook her head, clucking her displeasure. “The silly boy heard me talking about the Peak Chol flowers. He hoped this would be the year they would appear.”

  Deliya hid her smile behind her hand, as Loric darkened. The Peak Chol were a children’s tale about a legendary flower that only bloomed late in the fall every six years at the crag above the Surian basin. Priestesses had had young trainees scouring the crag for centuries based on that story. Deliya had looked for it herself every birthday from her tenth to her twelfth.

  Loric sighed at her amusement. “I promised you a wonderful gift. I failed you.”

  Deliya strode to him, kissing his cheek. “You gave me a wonderful gift. You came back.” She kissed him again, lingering over his lips. “I missed you,” she whispered.

  “You did?” he asked hopefully.

  “I did.”

  “Enough to consider training with me later today?” he hinted, nipping at her ear.

  “Enough to consider training with you now,” she assured him. Deliya didn’t have to stroke him to know that Loric was prepared for her with that little enticement. “After all, the spring festival is less than half a year away, and I will have to face the challenge.”

  The room went unnaturally still. Loric’s breathing was harsh in her ear. He nipped at her again. “Promise me that I can challenge you,” he pleaded.

  A thrill shot through Deliya at that question. Loric didn’t dare ask her to choose to promise with him, but his possessive feelings were hard to miss. If he challenged her and she promised with him, Loric would be the only man to touch her sexually in her life. Most priestesses had many lovers from their training to the challenge to their promise — if they took a true mate.

  She feigned consideration. “It would not be a challenge,” she suggested. “Perhaps, I should choose another.”

  Loric moved back half an arm’s length. His look of disbelief melted into staunch determination. He’d taken the bait she’d laid out for him. Men were so easy to anticipate. Deliya crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow at him.

  “Now,” he agreed, guiding Deliya to her room. “If you make a single sound this night, the challenge is mine.”

  “Did I promise that?” she asked in an innocent voice.

  Celdin chuckled at their play.

  Loric leaned close to her ear. “I did,” he growled in a low voice that Vela would miss.

  Deliya blushed at that. What if Celdin had heard it? Or Vela? “You think to order one of Fion’s priestesses?” she challenged. Deliya had been asking Loric that since he’d begun her training almost two years earlier.

  “Never,” he laughed.

  But, he did. Loric dar
ed to dictate their sexual relationship to Deliya throughout her training. The training required a certain amount of instruction on Loric’s part but not as much as he engaged in.

  Deliya shivered as her body prepared for him, her sheath wet with her juices and her breasts coming to little points that begged for his tongue. She loved that Loric was so sexually dominant, though Mother Leiana would surely disapprove of Deliya allowing Loric’s antics to continue.

  Loric swung the door shut and stripped off Deliya’s tunic smoothly. He leaned to kiss at the tips of her breasts. “You did miss me,” he crooned. “I smell how much you want me.”

  “Will you make me wait until daybreak?” she asked impatiently.

  “I should. Saying you would let another man challenge you,” he chided.

  “Let?” That was going too far. “I choose who I take to my bed, Loric. You would do well to remember that.”

  Loric pulled off his tunic and dropped it to the floor. He unfastened his trousers and pushed them off over his bare feet. Loric led Deliya to her bed and settled her on it, on her knees, facing away from him.

  He didn’t touch her. Loric’s breath teased her shoulder. Deliya leaned into him, swallowing a groan as the hard lines of his chest pressed into her back. He shifted, playing his muscles over her. His cock teased at her buttocks in promise of pleasures yet to come, his hips circling against her. Still, his hands did not stray to her body.

  “Lay forward,” he instructed. “Up on your knees but with your arms folded under your head on the bed.”

  Deliya hesitated then complied. She closed her eyes, as Loric’s lips traced down her spine. He kissed at the bundle of nerves at her lower back. Loric didn’t need to say more. She shivered in the unspoken promise of heirs by him, of his healing as Deliya eased them into her mother’s hands.

  Loric shouldered her thighs wider and tasted at her depths. Deliya bit her lip and let her mind wander.

  Would she conceive the night of her challenge, as Jolia had? Deliya secretly hoped she would. It was the ultimate blessing of the Mother to conceive at challenge — only slightly less a blessing to conceive on the promise night.