Hers To Choose (Verdantia Book 2)

by Patricia A. Knight

  The remains of a human figure hung from chains on the wall. He knew it to be human only because he had chained the girl there himself. Ahhh, shite! She has skinned the woman! The smell wafting into his nostrils proved too much for his rebellious stomach.

  He remained bent over for many minutes, vomiting the contents of his stomach onto the floor until there was naught left but bile, and at last only dry heaves. Wiping the strands of drool and he dared not wonder what slimy stuff from his mouth, he finally straightened and staggered to the bloody hunk of raw meat suspended in front of him. As he reached to release the metal cuffs, the mass moved. Oh, fuck, the woman’s still alive. It seemed there was a bit left in his stomach after all.

  * * *

  Sylvester whimpered in self-pity as he shoveled dirt over the bundled form at the bottom of the shallow grave. He would take to his own grave the sick, sucking gargle of sound as his blade severed the windpipe of the Oshtesh woman; the precursor to more nausea, saliva welled in his mouth as his stomach lurched at the very memory of that sound. He wiped his tears on the arms of his jacket and kept shoveling doggedly as he mentally composed the message to Doral DeLorion. I’ll have to wait until the bitch is well and truly gone from Sylvan Mintoth.

  * * *

  Sophi rode quietly beside Eric. The soft dirt of the road winding away from the garrison at Silver Grove Gate muffled the rhythmic “clopp-clopp” of their horses’ hooves. On either side, knee-high grass dotted with purple and yellow wild flowers formed a garland skirting the travelers’ path. A light breeze swirled the treetops, rustling through the bright green leaves high overhead and further covering the sounds of the four cavalrymen behind them. Golden columns of sparkling sunlight speared through the green canopy. A smell of rich loam and fragrant flowers perfumed the air. Through the silvery trunks of trees, she could see a narrow, fast-flowing creek, burbling happily over rocks in a laughter of white foam.

  “You are quiet.” Eric’s green eyes caught hers in a questioning glance.

  “Mmm.” She smiled. “I didn’t remember this land being so lovely. Everywhere you look it is lush, green paradise.”

  “Verdantian blood nourishes this soil. Your brother and High Lord DeTano defeated platoons of Haarb mercenaries to re-take this region—a tactically brilliant battle, though they were outnumbered three to one. Staggering numbers of Verdantians died here.”

  Even paradise comes with a cost. She let her horse amble along easily on a loose rein, lost in her thoughts. “Were you there?” Sophi asked.

  “Yes.”

  Her heart hurt for everything not said in his clipped response. Much like the vast, severe splendor of the desert, the verdant beauty of the peaceful forest wove together the tattered blanket of her soul. For the first time since her capture by the Haarb, she found the strength to speak to someone other than Mother Lyre of her time as a slave.

  “The Haarb overran the estates of House DeLorion in the beginning days of the invasion. Krakoll immediately transported Mother and me off-world as pleasure slaves for his lizard men. We spent four years on a hyper-light battle cruiser.” She straightened in the saddle.

  “I know very little about how we won the war and even less about the astonishing fact my brother is now part of a Tetriarch on the Verdantian throne. Poor Doral. Poor Mother. I don’t think I spoke more than ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ that first year after I returned. The Haarb forbade us to speak. They feared we would magick them. Our keeper enforced that dictate ruthlessly. I watched from an arm’s length away as he tore the tongue out of Lady Cyril deKappo because she asked for water. We were never to speak—never. Silence became ingrained habit.”

  Sophi dared a sideways glance at Eric. His grim gaze remained forward. “There’s more, isn’t there?” he prompted.

  “Yes. When I finally escaped that existence and returned home, life at the royal court of Verdantia presented a—challenge—for me. There were so many people – so many men. I could hardly summon the courage to leave my bedroom. I suppose you will think me pathetic but for the first month or so upon my return, I was most comfortable in my closet. And, well . . . the social obligations were completely beyond me. I developed sick headaches anytime I had to appear in public. Doral tried so hard. We both tried so hard. But I was getting worse, not better.

  So, my brother took me to the Oshtesh. I lived in the single women’s encampment. They required nothing from me—just handed me a bow and a quiver of arrows and instructed me to practice. For two years, from day’s dawning to sun’s setting, I sent arrows into a target in every conceivable fashion, and I began to talk.” Sophi again glanced at Eric. His grim expression remained the same.

  “As my willingness to speak returned, my desire to be in the company of others came back with it, and each day became better and better. I moved into the household of Primus G’hed. Mother Lyre, Primus G’hed and my flight sisters healed me.”

  She listened to the birdcalls, the scolding of a squirrel and the running babble of the creek.

  “Would you like a greatly abbreviated version of events while you were gone?” Eric said.

  She studied his classically handsome profile as he rode beside her, his eyes straight ahead. “Yes. Yes, I would.”

  He cleared his throat. “How much education have you had in the Lesser and Greater Rites?”

  “Book learning only,” she replied. “I suppose because they are sexual rites, Mother delayed my magickal education until I turned sixteen, so I had not begun the practical studies when the Haarb took me. I can recite some of the Lesser Rites. I know the power activating our planetary shield comes from sexual intercourse between a Seventh Level magister and a Seventh Level magistra during the Great Rite.”

  Eric nodded. “Yes. The invasion began with the fall of our sigil towers. Certain Seventh Levels failed to perform their sacred duty to renew the energy within the diamantorre. The Haarb brutally tortured them to reveal the secrets powering the energy shield and with that knowledge, breached our defenses. Then began the wholesale butchery of our noble houses, our magisters and magistras. The slaughter was extremely thorough.”

  His solemn voice moved her to glance at him again. He locked eyes with her. “As horrific as your slavery was, Sophi, you escaped an even worse fate. At war’s end, we found mass graves holding hundreds upon hundreds of bodies.”

  “You think death was worse than what I suffered? Some women sought out death rather than remain alive in that hell-hole.”

  The haunted pain in Sophi’s eyes struck Eric as deeply as an enemy’s blade and he wondered, again, what had happened to her. They rode in uncomfortable silence for a few moments before he cleared his throat and continued.

  “Our energy wall shrank to that encompassing the sigil tower of Sylvan Mintoth. Almost the entire might of the Haarb forces besieged our capital and waited for the sigil tower to fail. It took three years, but their patience met with reward. The diamantorre began to flicker out. A dark time for Verdantia.

  “Elder Patricio summoned High Lord DeTano from the battlefield to the High Enclave in Sylvan Mintoth. Patricio ordered DeTano to perform the Great Rite with our last remaining magistra, Fleur Constante, our Principessa Royale. They neglected to tell him she was a Fifth Level novice.”

  Sophi gasped. “A Fifth Level! It’s a wonder she didn’t die. How could they ask that of her!”

  “She did what she was born to do.” A faraway look filled Eric’s eyes. “I’ll never forget that day. One moment a swarm of enemy host and the next minute…” He shook his head. “Empty tents and riderless horses stretched for miles around Sylvan Mintoth. It took weeks to search their encampment but the results were unequivocal. The mercenary forces had vanished.”

  “How did the Elders of the L’anziano and the docenti explain that?”

  “The Senzienza discriminated between Verdantian-born and off-worlders and consumed those beings not of our planet.

  Sophi drew back. “Wait. What are you saying?”

  “I am saying,
Sophi, She deconstructed their mass into energy and absorbed them. Verdantia, the spirit of our Planet.”

  “Impossible. People don’t just turn into light and drift into space.”

  “And yet it seems they did just that. Verdantia manifested herself through the bodies of High Lord deTano and Queen Constante during their performance of the ritual of the Great Rite.” Eric shrugged. “At least that is the current theory. It changes from week to week. During the sacrament of the Great Rite, the Senzienza spoke to High Lord DeTano. Commanded him to ‘find the other’.” He chuckled then continued. “The L’anziano went berserk searching the historical records for a clue as to what She meant.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  Eric shot her a wicked grin. “I guard the Queen Constante’s personal chambers. I know everything that goes on in that palace.”

  Sophie swayed in rhythm with her mount. She knew the rest of the story. “My brother was the ‘other’, wasn’t he?” She watched Eric’s face, amused by the lifted eyebrow and wry smile he turned her way.

  “Clever woman. It was not so obvious at the time. The planet herself summoned another Tetriarch, a ‘rule of three’. When Queen Constante, Primo DeTano and Segundo DeLorion make love, massive amounts of energy empower all the diamantorre in all the sigil towers that still stand.”

  “And there are thousands of miles between those towers,” Sophi marveled. “Those three love each other dearly. I saw that clearly in the brief time I lived in the palace.”

  Eric grunted. “It was not always so. The Tetriarch had a tumultuous beginning. Now, yes, they love each other deeply. It gives me hope that such a thing can still exist.”

  Sophi’s eyes flashed to Eric, then away. “Your father and mother were not a love match?”

  His scornful laughter answered her question.

  Sophi winced. “I’m sorry. My mother and father adored each other. I never thought Mother would remarry after Father died. The L’anziano hounded her into a joining with Marquis Hugo Contradina. It was a mistake. He abused her. Doral stopped that when he came home.” At great cost to himself.

  A wistful smile pulled the corners of her mouth. “I know people fear Doral and I suppose it is justified, but he is a wonderful brother to me and I love him very much.”

  “What happened to Hugo Contradina?” Eric asked.

  “He is now dead.” Sophi hoped her clipped tone would forestall any further questions about Hugo Contradina’s death. Let Eric assume what everyone else did—that the Haarb killed him. She would protect Doral’s secret to her grave.

  They walked side-by-side in silence for a while. She knew Eric studied her.

  His voice pulled her from her thoughts. “I take it my reminding you of your brother is not a bad thing.”

  “No.” She shook her head. Meeting his gaze, she repeated, “No. Not a bad thing at all.”

  Sophi thought this portion of her journey idyllic, especially in contrast to their grueling flight across the wastelands. She suspected Eric kept the first day’s march short and their pace easy to allow her to recover from their desert ordeal and she was grateful. He called a halt in mid-afternoon, leading the group into the courtyard of a charming inn.

  “Thank you, Commander. Today was a most pleasant ride. I am barely wearied.”

  Eric grinned. “Then I accomplished my goal, Flight Leader. I wanted to reach this inn with you rested and relaxed.”

  Sophi caught the wicked gleam in his eyes and sat her horse, nonplussed. He intends to have sex with me tonight. She must have written her thoughts on her face for he laughed aloud.

  “My plans are for a sumptuous dinner, a luxurious bath and an early night, that is all, sweet Sophi.” He laughed at her confusion.

  He swung down from his horse and held out a helping hand. Her emotions scattered like a covey of birds flushed by a circling hawk. She laid her arms around his neck as he gently gripped her waist and slid her slowly down. Her immense cavalry horse was a huge departure from the wiry desert pony now recovering in a stall at Silver Grove. Eric held her face-to-face for a long moment. She could feel his warm breath. Then he set her on her feet and leaned toward her. He is going to kiss me! Her lips parted in anticipation.

  His mouth brushed her cheek and stopped by her ear. “But my door will be unlocked,” he murmured.

  He drew the reins over her horse’s neck and with a mischievous wink walked off toward the stables, both horses in tow.

  She stood in the middle of the inn’s courtyard for several long moments in total bemusement. A thought meandered up from her subconscious. I want him. She gave a small shake and entered the inn.

  The interior of the inn charmed her as much as the exterior. Her eyes roamed the spacious public room, with a large hearth at one end and tables scattered about laid for eating or a convivial game of cards. One wall held books, floor to ceiling, with two chairs drawn up in a corner in an intimate grouping. Efforts to make the atmosphere gracious and welcoming had met with success.

  A head of graying hair popped up from behind the bar. “Mistress, how may I be of service?”

  Sophi returned the smile of the inn’s proprietor. “Two rooms, please, and stabling for six horses. We have four guards with us. May the guards shelter in your stables also?”

  The round jowls of the portly innkeeper swayed as he nodded, his eyes fixed on her face with a look of witless enthrallment.

  Oh, bother. “Sir?” she prompted.

  At her question, he came to himself with a shake. “Yes, miss. I can offer three rooms for the price of two, so your guards needn’t doss down in straw. Will you desire dinner? We have a nice joint of roast hartbuck and fresh vegetables, some Emporian cheese, the best they make.”

  “That would be very nice, thank you.” Sophi smiled.

  “If you will just make yourself comfortable, miss.” The innkeeper gestured to the grouping of chairs by the bookcase. “We’ll get your chambers aired and the linens refreshed.” With a nod, he slipped to the back as he hailed, “Mrs. Turner! Mother! We have guests.”

  Slipping off her quiver and propping her bow against the wall, she relaxed into the welcome softness of the upholstered chair and ran her eyes over the selection of books within reach. Movement caught her eye. An older woman’s head popped around the corner, peeked at her, then disappeared. In a thrice it happened again. She heard the low, whispered tones of Mr. Turner and, presumably, his wife.

  “Mr. Turner, it’s her, I tell you. Get our best chamber ready and I’ll call down to the village for Jillie. A lady like her ain’t used to doing for herself.”

  “Mother, your eyes fail you. No woman of that class walks in here in filthy robes, just as common as you please, much less Tetriarch DeLorion’s sister.”

  “You’re wrong you ignorant, addle-pated stump. It’s her, I tell you!”

  “And I tell you, you’ve slipped a cog, you old bat.”

  A smile tickled Sophi’s lips. She rose and crossed the room and then looked around the corner at the old couple. They stood face-to-face like fighting Bantam cocks. Sophi cleared her throat loudly.

  Mrs. Turner did not appear to hear her. “I seen her mother. There’s no mistaking a DeLorion. That blond hair, them aqua eyes—” Mr. Turner gave his wife a hard nudge.

  “Ohh! Ahh, m’Lady!” Mistress Turner dipped a comically awkward curtsey.

  Mr. Turner creaked into a semblance of a bow. “We was just discussing if there be enough of Mother’s apple tardy—or should we go to the village for fresh fruit, miss? Ahh, ma’am. M’Lady,” he stuttered.

  She could not help her mouth-stretching grin. “Either will be lovely. Thank you.”

  “And would Lady DeLorion like a bath before supping?” Mistress Turner slyly elbowed Mr. Turner and bobbed into another odd curtsey.

  “That would truly be heaven, thank you, Mistress. And please call me Sophi.”

  Mistress Turner elbowed Mr. Turner so forcefully he grunted. Sophi had done many hard things in the la
st few weeks. Not laughing aloud wasn’t the most difficult but it did require significant self-discipline. She found she simply didn’t have the heart to refuse their courtesies, though she would rather do without “Jillie” from the village.

  Rubbing his abused flank, Mr. Turner speared a glance at Mrs. Turner. “Yes, m’Lady. We’ll fire up the boiler so’s you can have a nice hot soak. I’ll get right on it, then.”

  Sophi turned back into the room to see Eric straightening from his slouch against the doorframe. Just how long have you been standing there?

  Road dust coated his heavy leathers. The dark shadow of his beard outlined his cheeks and jaw. He desperately needed a shave. All I really see is how handsome you are.

  “I bespoke two rooms and dinner for us,” Sophi said. “The innkeeper offered us a third for the guards.”

  “Thank you.” Eric prowled slowly across the room to join her. His warm green eyes spoke to her about sensual, lingering touches. She slouched back into the comfortable chair, trying to ignore the pounding of her heart as it attempted an escape from her chest.

  His gaze captured hers as he sprawled his large frame into the chair opposite. The intimate grouping allowed his long legs to bracket her. His well-worn leathers drew tight against his groin, in a provocative display of masculine assets. A sparkling shiver surged through her, incited by the hot gleam in his eyes. Swallowing became difficult. She pressed her hands into her lap to stifle their nervous twisting.

  “Tell me of your desert horses, Sophi. The two we rode on our flight to Silver Grove impressed me immensely.”

  His low baritone rolled through her senses like distant thunder and carried the promise of a carnal storm of cyclonic proportions. Gooseflesh pimpled her skin. The hard bud of her nipples pressed against the rough weave of her robes.

  His head lolled back against the chair. The half-lidded gaze he fixed on her spoke of human passion—not appreciation of mere horseflesh. His eyes whispered erotic mysteries while his lips formed commonplace conversation. She concentrated hard on speech.