FION'S DAUGHTER

by Brenna Lyons

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Abrin 30th, Ti 10-459

  Deliya looked up from her writing, as Ro strode into her room, then gaped in amazement. He was armored and armed. His jaw was tight in fury and his step heavy as he went about collecting his belongings. Deliya watched him breathlessly, annoyed at the sense of loss she felt at the idea of him leaving her room.

  “Ro?” she called uncertainly. “What has happened?”

  “Jurel’s troops have broken through our lines. I cannot ask my men to fight him alone.”

  Deliya sighed in relief that she cursed herself for feeling. “How long will you be gone?”

  Ro shrugged, as if it was of no consequence how long he lingered in battle. “Two weeks, perhaps. Longer if it takes that long to remove Jurel.”

  She nodded, her mind reeling. What did this mean with regard to their agreement?

  As if reading her mind, he sighed. “I vowed to win you within the four weeks or release you,” he managed in a tight voice. “I will live to my vow. If there were any way to avoid this battle, I would. I would convince you, no matter the cost — if I could risk my people in good conscience, but I cannot do that.”

  “You are asking me to leave?” Deliya whispered. She should be happy that she had what she wanted, but the thought of never seeing Ro again made her heart ache.

  Ro turned to her. “Never, but I cannot live with you and not touch you. I cannot even for an heir from you. If you will not contract, my men will take you to a home further in Magden lands where you will be safe. You will have land to grow your crops and men to protect you, to farm your land for you. You can rebuild your people as you wished.

  “The choice is yours. I failed by leaving you. I know that. If you choose to stay, I would thank your Goddess Fion for showing me mercy. I do not anticipate that I will be thanking her. Will I?”

  Deliya stared at him in open-mouthed wonder. He was walking away and giving her the freedom she’d asked for, and she couldn’t find the heart to thank him for that gift.

  Ro nodded and turned to the door, pain in his eyes.

  Deliya ran to him, touching his arm. “Wait,” she pleaded.

  He looked back in surprise, the hope in his eyes melting into a wary reserve. “Yes?”

  She hesitated, torn. Deliya couldn’t promise him his contract, but she couldn’t let him leave this way either.

  “Deliya, I have no time for games,” he warned.

  “Let me anoint you,” she burst out. “Let me ask for your protection.”

  “What?” he demanded, his fury returned.

  Deliya darkened. She couldn’t lie to him about what this meant. “A priestess does this before one she cares for goes into battle,” she whispered, pleading with him for understanding.

  Ro looked down at her, his eyes flashing in some strong emotion. “There is only one blessing I want from you. If you cannot give it freely, I do not wish any blessing at all.”

  Deliya sucked in her breath in shock, turning from him. She blinked back tears, reminding herself sternly that Ro didn’t understand what asking for his protection meant to her, and she could not tell him without giving Ro validation of what he wanted most.

  “I thought not,” he growled.

  She cringed, as the door slammed behind him and his footsteps disappeared down the hall. Deliya made her way to the window on shaking legs, watching Ro mount his war-buck. He didn’t look to her window. Ro seemed to make a point of not looking.

  Deliya glanced up as the door opened again.

  A guard she didn’t know walked to the bed and placed her packs on it. He nodded to her, keeping his eyes cast down, as most of Ro’s men did. “His Majesty ordered me to return these to you.”

  “Thank you.” She managed an unwavering voice somehow, though she wasn’t certain how she did.

  “Do you require anything else of me, Priestess?”

  I require Ro. She shook her head. This young man could not give her what she needed most. No one could.

  He turned away.

  “Yes,” she decided. “Where is this battle?”

  “Why would you need to know that?” he asked warily.

  “Do you not pray for those who have gone to battle?”

  “Of course.”

  Deliya waited for his answer patiently.

  The guard sighed. “Jurel broke through at what was once Gidlore.”

  “Thank you. Please leave me.”

  She swallowed a sour wave. Ro went to battle for the land he won for her while he granted her freedom. Deliya shook her head. He had taken the land from Jurel. Ro had to defend it from the Lengar now. It was not connected to his pursuit of Deliya in any way.

  Still, the knowledge scrambled her already muddled thoughts and feelings. What Ro was doing was a noble thing. Could Deliya be any less noble? What would it cost her to give him the remaining ten days when he returned?

  “My sanity,” she decided miserably, “and his.” It would be unkind to build up Ro’s hopes by staying only to fight her hardest to leave him. If he touched her again, Deliya might give Ro his claim. Was she prepared to concede defeat? To set aside the ways of her people and take Ro as her mate?

  “No. I cannot.” Every spoonful of her training told Deliya that she could never compromise on that point. Her duty was simple. Deliya couldn’t muddy the crystal clarity of her duty with emotion. She was trained not to.

  Deliya sank to the bed between her packs, letting tears course down her face. Training or not, losing Ro hurt. She pulled the closer pack open, irritated with herself. There was nothing left for her but asking the guards to take her away as Ro offered. What was the sense in crying about that?

  “None,” she chided herself, her voice holding the same bitter edge Vela’s voice had often held when doing the same.

  Deliya would check her packs, take those few things that were hers and leave. She wiped the tears away impatiently, arranging her crocks and flasks in the time-honored pattern that would tell her at a glance if she were missing any of her wares.

  She set her mind to the task, blocking the troubling jumble of thoughts. “Lizor berry,” she whispered. She set it in its proper place in the center of the pattern. “Gola berry.” To the left of lizor berry. “Walla.” To the right and above lizor berry. “Olum.” Below gola and to the right of lizor berry.

  Crock after crock and flask after flask, she lined up the tools of her healing, until the oils and herbs, roots and distillations formed the calming pattern before her. Deliya laid her abinatine at the base to complete the ceremony and bowed her head reverently, stilling in confusion at the lump in one of her packs. She glanced at the design and assured herself that nothing was missing.

  She pulled the object out, smiling weakly at the flask sealed in green wax. Deliya remembered the flask well. For the first three years of her exile, Deliya had looked at the flask constantly. She’d alternately worried about what bad times were coming and considered opening it when the loneliness was crushing.

  Deliya had only mused for a moment about opening the flask when Loric and Vela died, but Celdin was another matter. Deliya sobbed at the memory. She sat staring at the flask for hours after she tilled his ashes into the soil, the solitude closing in around her. If only she’d known how complete her solitude was, Deliya would have opened it then.

  As it was, she’d forced herself to tour her land, convinced herself that she had not lost hope. Most of the planting had been accomplished. Deliya had food and traps, work animals and knowledge. Her mother would send for her soon and end the torture of waiting for true adulthood while battles raged on without her.

  Deliya did sob at that, curling onto her bed with her sacred stores. She took a shuddering breath. “What do I have now, Mother?”

  She stilled at the answer. “Nothing,” she breathed in understanding. Deliya had nothing but herself and her child. There would be no crops this year. She had no family, no friends, no home of her own. Deliya owned nothing but the medicinals aroun
d her, armor that would not fit over her child in a few short months, a single change of clothing that would likewise become useless, a war-buck and two mares, and the bags of seed she wouldn’t be capable of planting herself when it would need done. Everything around her— Every comfort belonged to Ro.

  Deliya stared at the room around her through her tears. It was strange how hollow her duty felt. If she lived to the traditions, Deliya would be a woman without a people to lead, without a mate, and without hope to give her child of something better. She would be sentencing her child to the same choice. At the same time, Deliya and her child could both have everything wonderful in life if she simply accepted Ro as her mate. Deliya lay her hand over her womb.

  Taking Ro as her mate wouldn’t stop Deliya from imparting her culture to her child. Ro had given his vow that their child would have both worlds at her fingertips. If she turned her back on the traditions Vela taught her, Deliya’s child could marry anyone he or she wished without this anguish. Keeping the traditions meant that she had no hope of a happy life for her child.

  “No hope,” Deliya breathed. “Oh Mother! If there was ever a time that I needed your guidance, this is it.”

  She sat up, using her abinatine to break the seal, her hands shaking. Deliya pulled out the cork, tipping the flask over her hand. It was empty. Deliya bit back a harsh laugh. “Was that what you wanted to tell me?” she demanded. “That I had no one to depend on but myself?” She flung the flask at the wall, curling to the bed and closing her eyes as the pottery shattered.

  The door flew open. “Priestess?” the guard asked.

  “Leave me,” she sniffed.

  He crossed the room but not toward her. “I will get a servant to clean this,” he informed her.

  “I will do it.”

  “You will cut yourself. His Majesty would have my head, if I allowed that.” The guard sifted through the shards then crossed to the bed. A sheet of paper fluttered to the quilt next to her cheek. He turned away. “I will bring a servant,” he repeated with a note of warning.

  Deliya opened her eyes as the door closed, squinting at the paper the guard laid before her. She sat up abruptly, looking at the shattered flask in understanding. She spread the paper that had been stuck stubbornly inside flat on the bed and began to read.

  “Merciful Mother,” she breathed. It was a page torn from the great book. A paragraph was circled in ink much newer than the ink of the book itself, and a missive in her mother’s compact scrawl graced the wide margin.

  Deliya trailed her finger over her mother’s words, reading them aloud, though she heard Mother Leiana’s voice in her memory. “My dearest daughter, my heir—” She wiped away fresh tears at that. “I fear I may leave nothing but this advice for you, and for that I must ask your forgiveness. If you read this, I can only assume that you are alone in the world. Remember your earliest training at my hand. Remember my love for you, a mother’s love for her child. Most of all, remember that Fion leads by example.”

  She scanned her eyes over the passage her mother circled, grimacing that the words were faded and the page tear-stained. Deliya closed her eyes, calling the words from memory and translating them from the ancient tongue.

  “Mag left his throne and took Fion safely home. Mag knelt at Fion’s feet and called her beloved. Fion took the king of gods according to tradition.” Deliya recited it again, her mind whirling. “Fion leads by example,” she whispered excitedly. Fion took Mag as mate. Deliya was Fion’s daughter and Ro was one of Mag’s sons.

  Had her mother foreseen that Deliya would have no mate unless she took a Magden man to mate? Had Leiana known her daughter would reach this desperate moment where she felt she had to choose between duty and hope?

  Deliya ran to her cabinet and pulled on the trouskit, tunic and boots Ro had provided her with for riding. She vaulted down the stairs and sprinted to the stable. The guard tried to wave her down as she rode across the courtyard, but Deliya motioned her buck to a full run and made the opening before the soldiers at the gate could slam it shut.

  She didn’t pause, working her mount hard as she headed to Ro on the trail to Gidlore. Deliya didn’t question her need to go to him now. She couldn’t allow Ro to go into battle believing that he would never see her again, but she had to hurry. Ro had more than an hour lead on her.

  *

  Ro pulled his war-buck to a halt as the shouts behind him caught his attention.

  “What in Len’s unholy underworld is that?” Donic groused of the delay.

  “Len, indeed,” Ro growled, as the flash of white gold hair appeared, streaking through the meadow alongside the column of men. He urged his buck to a run on an intercept course.

  Deliya pulled up short, as Ro blocked her path. He grasped her reins, furious with her. Her mount was sweat-coated and tired from a long, hard run, and her breathing was no better. Worse, her abinatine was not on her belt. Nor was her sword.

  Ro met her eyes, his tirade sticking in his throat. He touched her tear-stained cheek. Her hair was wind whipped and her eyes swollen.

  “Ro, I have to speak with you,” she began urgently.

  Common sense intruded on Ro. He scanned his eyes over the forest warily then over Deliya. The Lengar were near. She could not stay here. “Are you insane? Riding out like this,” he thundered, motioning to her unarmed and unarmored state. “Did you ride like that the whole way?”

  Deliya’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Like what?”

  “Unguarded. Unarmored. Your pace alone would have seen you killed had you been thrown.”

  She grimaced. “Ro—”

  “There is no excuse for this. You will return to my home immediately.”

  “After I speak to you,” she reasoned.

  “When I return. We had time to discuss whatever you wished before I left.” More than enough time, and you did not say anything of importance then.

  “A few moments,” she pleaded, shaking her head.

  “Not here and now. Novin,” he bellowed.

  “Ro,” she barked.

  He ignored her, handing her reins off to Novin. “Take the priestess back to my home. Take four men with you for her safety. Mind that she travels at a leisurely pace this time. If she escapes again, you will face me, your father be damned.”

  Novin grinned widely. “As you wish, Ro.”

  Deliya watched their exchange in open-mouthed amazement. “Ro, this is important,” she protested.

  Ro dragged her mouth to his, taking the kiss he should have taken before he left his home. Her hand splayed over his chest, and Deliya heated in his arms, her mouth urgent against his. Ro released her, shifting uncomfortably.

  “There is only one important thing now.” Ro shifted his eyes to the flat of her stomach. “Go home, Deliya.”

  She nodded. “Be safe,” she whispered.

  Deliya didn’t argue, as Novin led her mount away. Ro took heart in the fact that she did glance back at him several times.

  Novin motioned for the four guards Ro ordered, and Ro sighed in relief at those he chose. He would miss those five good men in battle, but it was more important that Deliya have them for her trip back to his home. The men closed around her, and Deliya rode straight and proud in their midst, her hands on her thighs, battle style.

  Ro sighed. He turned back to the column, cursing his erection as he rode.

  “What was that?” Donic asked carefully.

  It was no secret that his general thought Ro’s arrangement with Deliya was foolhardy, but he had learned to keep his mouth shut about it quickly enough. What was between Ro and Deliya stayed that way. It was unlikely that anyone but Donic had any clue that Deliya carried his child, and Ro wanted to keep it that way until he won his bride. To everyone else within the walls of Ro’s home, Deliya was simply a mistress, though an important one.

  Ro scowled at Donic, regretting already that he hadn’t let Deliya say what she had come to say. It might really have taken only a moment. “I have no idea,” he admitt
ed.

  “She rode out here for no reason?”

  He sobered, remembering her tears. “She had a reason, but this was not the time or place to discuss it.” Ro shook his head sadly. It would be weeks before he would know — if Deliya didn’t escape again before then.

  Ro pushed back his annoyance. When he did see Deliya again, she would know how much this stunt unnerved him. If Ro was forced to hunt her down for that confrontation, Deliya would need the protection of her goddess when he found her.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Veril 18th, Ti 10-459

  Deliya watched Ro mount the front stairs from her window, turning back to the bed as he passed from her field of vision. She pressed her hands to her stomach nervously. Ro was sure to be furious at her for leaving his home and following him toward the battle. From the moment she looked at her bed and saw her abinatine still nestled below the assorted crocks and flasks, she realized just how foolish she had been.

  Would he come to confront her immediately or tend to his needs first? Deliya paced the floor. There was no reason she couldn’t go to him. Perhaps if she offered her apologies before he could confront her— Deliya turned toward the door as it opened.

  Ro met her eyes, closing the door behind him and leaning against it, his jaw tight in barely leashed fury. He must have shed his armor as he walked to come to her so quickly.

  “I suppose you have an explanation for your actions,” he prodded her.

  She went to the table that held her herbs, pulled out the page with shaking hands, and turned. Deliya gasped as she came face to face with Ro. He’d moved swiftly and silently. He must be deadly in battle, she mused. Ro cleared his throat, and she offered him the page.

  He took it from her hand and read it, his face in the same hard, inflexible expression. “And this means what?” he demanded.