“Pander to my ego. What else am I right about?” He pushed her hair away from her face and ran a knuckle down her cheek.
“You glow.” Without opening her eyes, Sophi frowned slightly. “Not really a glow,” she mumbled and snuggled further into his chest. “Nimbus. Yes, you have a gold nimbus.”
Well, shit.
Chapter Thirteen
The long shadows announced early evening as Sophi propped herself up from the haven of Eric’s arms. At some point, he had covered them with a light blanket and it slipped across her back. Blinking sleepily, she met Eric’s wide-awake eyes watching her, a bemused expression softening his features. A smile quirked her lips. “I am astonished Adonia or stepfather hasn’t appeared to roust us.”
“Adonia did. She stood over me like an avenging angel come to slay a fiendish demon. Consideration for you stayed her tongue. Please tell me, what have I ever done to that woman?”
“You were born an aristocrat. It is enough.” Sophi sighed and stroked his cheek. “Did you get any sleep? Or were you ‘on guard’ the entire afternoon?”
He shrugged. “I rested. I have less need for sleep after, well . . . after.”
“After you died?”
“Yes.”
“So it is more than just the glowing thing,” she said.
“Yes, I have more stamina, more endurance. I don’t know what else.”
“It makes you uncomfortable. I can tell.”
“Well, I’d just as soon not glow.” His eyes held unease as well as laughter. “Off me, wench. Dress yourself, then I think we should rejoin the others.”
Sophi rose, dragging the blanket with her and collected the clothes they had hastily discarded hours earlier. She chided herself for falling asleep, for not returning to Adonia and the others. It was a testament to how thoroughly she had lost herself in Eric—her golden man. Her lips curled in a wry smile. He is such a dichotomy. Savage warrior and tender lover. Insensitive at times but then surprisingly patient. Secure enough in his masculinity not to consider a female inferior or less worthy of respect for their abilities. Thank you, my brother. You chose well.
A comfortable silence surrounded them as they organized the little they had and redressed. Eric faced her with a long sigh, then straightened. He held the tent flap back for her as she ducked out. Standing just outside the tent, Eric gazed around. “What is the name of this place?”
Sophi scanned the sheltered camp with its stunted trees and scraggly bushes. “It is aptly named Forsaken Grove.”
Eric turned a slow circle, examining the area. “For me it’s now the ‘Enchanted’ Grove.” He paused for one last look then turned. “Stop lolly-gagging about, Flight Leader. Let’s go.”
A smart slap on her buttocks accompanied his command. After a yelp of surprise, Sophi followed. “I’m not the one lolly-gagging,” she complained to his back.
Maeve was the only woman who greeted them at a cold campfire. “Flight Leader, Adonia and Layna have ridden ahead with the men to scout the area. The Primus doesn’t stay in one spot for very long and we are not exactly sure where Krakoll is. Our scouts say he is on the move.” Her eyes flashed to Eric.
He returned the challenge in her eyes. “More dispatch riders from Silver Grove rode with an alert to Sylvan Mintoth. I warned them to watch for ambush. Our own people betray us. By my estimation, we should see the armies of the Second Tetriarch moving toward Sh’r Un Kree in two or three days’ time. The cavalry will be the first to arrive.”
“I had thought to see them before now,” Sophi admitted.
“Something must have happened to Eudora and the first dispatch rider from Silver Grove.”
She nodded her head. “As you say. We have been betrayed by our own people.” Sophi turned to Maeve. “When did Primus G’hed and the rest leave?”
Maeve considered her question for a moment. “Perhaps mid-day?”
“And it is early evening. We shouldn’t have too long to wait for their return.” Sophi shivered in the rapidly cooling air. As the sun sinks it takes its heat with it. Strong arms wrapped around her and she was pulled into a body radiating warmth.
“Come, let’s move out of the wind and I’ll provide us some heat.” He walked her back against a cluster of boulders and sat them at its base. Fishing in his vest, he pulled out the diamantorre. “Maeve, please move in tightly. This diaman crystal will not glow with the brightness of fire, but, still, I’d like to block out as much from sight as possible.”
Eric placed the amber crystal on the ground in front of their tight semi-circle. He mentally composed himself then murmured some ritual words. Sophi recognized them as the Lesser Rite for Small Flame. As he did so, the amber glow seemed to pulse with activity. Her bare face and hands felt the warmth before the rest of her and she closed her eyes with a groan of pleasure. Maeve gave a startled gasp, which she stifled almost immediately. Sophi opened her eyes to see a soft aura of pale light surrounding Eric.
Maeve watched him as if he were a soul-stealer rising from an open grave. “What sort of magick do you work?”
Sophi put her arm on Maeve when the woman shrank away from Eric. “Don’t be afraid. Eric merely unlocked some of the energy stored in the diamantorre. You could have done it.”
“Well, is he supposed to glow like that?” Maeve halted her creep backward but still regarded Eric with suspicious eyes.
Sophi bit back a gurgle of laughter at the put-upon look that crossed Eric’s face. “Eric is unique. I don’t think many people glow.”
“What do you mean, I could have done the same thing? I thought you had to be an aristo and have sex to use those magicks,” Maeve said.
“A misconception,” Eric answered. “During ritual sex, a magister gathers the energy coming from and flowing through his magistra. He channels that force into a diamantorre. Once a crystal is fully energized, anyone can unlock that power. It merely takes disciplined mental concentration. Do you want heat? Do you want healing? If you concentrate on how you want the stored energy to manifest, you can do exactly as I did.”
Sophi continued when Eric stopped. “This is not discussed or known among the desert people. But here’s how it works, Maeve. Eric and I have a genetic marker that allows our planet-mother to use our bodies as conduits for Her electro-magnetic energy. We have an affinity for our planet, if you will. Consider our nobles as a small group of fellow Verdantians who work hard to make life easier for everyone. A Seventh Level magister or magistra has studied for many years. They are far more ‘servants’ than ‘served’.” Warm satisfaction ran through her at the approval on Eric’s face. Sophi placed her hand on his muscled forearm and murmured, “I am finally beginning to understand.”
“Huh.” Maeve looked at the glowing diamantorre inches from her. “So I can do this?”
Sophi and Eric nodded.
“Huh. Turn it off,” she ordered.
Sophi flashed her eyes toward Eric. She didn’t have the training. He would have to do it. Acknowledging her unspoken request, he composed himself. The muscles of his face smoothed in silent concentration. His eyes gazed at something unseen in the distance. At first, nothing happened. Then gradually, the light died and the heat cooled until the diamantorre was just a pretty amber rock lying between them. “Now, how do I turn it on? What are the magickal words?” Maeve said.
Eric smiled slightly. “Another misconception. Any concentrated thought directed strongly is enough to activate the diamantorre once it’s been charged. Magisters and magistras are taught ritual words because the intensity of sexual arousal involved in energizing or recharging a large diamantorre can wipe all reason. We need a rote formula to fall back on—a mantra, a chant, so ingrained we can repeat it without thought.”
Maeve looked at Eric with an open-mouthed frown. “Just concentrate?”
“Yes. Think of heat, of warmth and nothing else. Think it repeatedly. Think nothing else.”
Maeve’s gaze pierced the amber rock as if it were an enemy to be slain with t
he arrows of her eyes. Her brow creased and she stopped breathing. Letting her breath out in a gust, she grunted and inhaled again, stabbing the rock with her eyes. Nothing. She looked up in frustration. “I’m doing something wrong.”
Eric smiled slightly. “The discipline to focus your thoughts so nothing intrudes requires practice. Don’t be discouraged. Think the word, ‘heat’—and nothing else. Try again—and Maeve—breathe.”
Do it! Do it! Anxiety for Maeve’s success vibrated through Sophi.
This time Maeve relaxed her body and closed her eyes. Opening a lid, she pinned Eric with a one-eyed stare. “It’s okay to close my eyes?”
“You may do whatever you need to help you concentrate. If closing your eyes helps, close them.”
With a grunt, she closed them and relaxed. Maeve inhaled deeply and for long, anxious moments Sophi watched Maeve’s ribcage rise and fall—and rise and fall. Please, please work. The amber crystal began to emit a soft glow.
“Maeve! You are doing it! You are doing it!” Sophi whispered.
Maeve’s eyes flew open and she peered at the diaman crystal then picked it up in her hand and examined it. She turned a disappointed face to Eric. “This would make a good hand warmer but that is all. Why doesn’t it glow hotter?”
Sophi could see Eric struggling to master his amusement. “Try again. Keep your thought pure. And Sophi...silence.” Sophi shot him an apologetic look and sat back, determined to confine her excitement. She was learning, too.
Once again Maeve closed her eyes and steadied her breathing. This time her results were much more gratifying. The heat didn’t approach the level Eric had achieved, but the diaman stone radiated noticeably more heat and light it had after her first effort.
“Look at that! Look at that!” Her exultant voice bounced off the rocks surrounding them. “I did magick!”
Sophi and Eric leaned back against the rocks and smiled at Maeve’s fist pump of jubilation. Maeve grinned broadly and turned to Eric. “Well, guess you can teach an old dog after all. Huh. Now, Commander, turn up the heat.”
With a tip of his head, Eric’s face became a smooth study of concentration. Sophi watched as the diaman crystal increased in radiance and intensity until it became too bright to look at.
“Wow,” murmured Maeve. “But, it is going to take some getting used to that glowing thing you do.”
Eric grunted. “I’m just a man.” He wondered if he said it to convince Maeve or himself.
Maeve probed Eric with questions about the magisters and magistras of the ‘lowlanders’ and what uses the diaman rocks could be put to. Time passed quickly, but Sophi’s muscles still protested her movement as she stood to greet Adonia and Layna when they slipped into camp. The medica nodded, never leaving her horse.
“The Primus and about twelve of our men are not far behind but neither is that band of mercenaries that kidnapped you and this time they bring Fell wolves.”
Sophi and Eric looked at her sharply. “Explain,” Eric demanded.
Adonia bristled at his order but she answered. “It is as you said, Flight Leader, their captain has tracked you. Although that magickal show you indulged in this morning would have brought us to the attention of a blind man.” Adonia scowled hatefully at Eric. “Perhaps forty or more are camped between us and Mother Lyre. We must skirt around them. We don’t have sufficient numbers to take them on.”
A quiet baritone called from the rocks behind them, “You do now.”
Sophi cried out in unrestrained joy and turned. The inexpressibly wonderful sight of a tall, blond man of almost ethereal beauty met her eyes. Her beloved brother. He slipped effortlessly down the rocks, followed by at least a dozen others. Sophi recognized their uniforms—Blue Daggers. With a joyous shout of “Doral!” she ran to him, leaping into his arms and wrapping her legs around his waist. He held her tightly and with a low chuckle for only her ears said, “Release me, Bitsy. You are ruining my image. No one will believe I’m a fearsome assassin.”
With a small sob at his use of her childhood nickname, she strangled her brother in an enthusiastic hug, then regained her feet. “You have never cared about your image and you don’t want people to fear you. I knew you would come. I knew it.” She swiped at her wet cheeks as she stood in the circle of his arms and beamed at him.
Her brother’s blue eyes wandered her face and form intently. I must look like I’ve been dragged behind a galloping horse. His eyes returned to her face and a soft fingertip traced her split lip. He put her away from him gently, then turned an icy stare on Eric. Suddenly, Sophi knew why people feared Doral.
“Neither your command nor my sister has prospered in your care, Commander DeStroia.” Her brother radiated cold menace as if an archangel had suddenly turned demonic avenger.
Eric bowed. “It seems not. I take full responsibility, Segundo.”
“Consider yourself relieved of your command. And keep your distance from my sister.”
Eric opened his mouth then snapped it shut. With a tight grimace, he acknowledged Doral’s cold words. “Sir,” he bit out.
Sophi listened to their interchange with a growing sense of undiluted outrage. She rounded on her brother. “No! No, no, no! You are not doing this. You are not doing this!”
Doral’s expression of blank consternation would been comical under different circumstances. Then she turned on Eric.
“Are you going to meekly let him separate us? Strip you of rank? Aren’t you going to fight for me—for the woman you love? For the woman Verdantia has chosen for you?” Eric returned her furious outburst with an expression of tight-jawed restraint—and silence.
She wanted to howl with frustration as Doral and Eric stood speechless, the former wearing an expression of disgruntlement and the latter, controlled anger. “Idiots. You are both idiots!”
With a shaking finger, she poked Doral repeatedly in the chest. “No. No. No. You can’t do that to him. He doesn’t deserve it. You can’t do that to me! You asked me to consider him and I have. I choose him. I am free to choose! He is mine!” Frustration and outrage shattered her composure. With a wild glance at the large audience she had suddenly acquired, she turned and fled to Primus G’hed’s tent.
Doral’s growl of, “Talk to me, DeStroia,” trailed her as she ran.
Sophi jerked back the tent flap accompanied by the sound of tearing material as the tie-strips ripped from their moorings. She paced back and forth in the small space, arms folded tightly across her chest. How can Doral be such an autocratic dictator? My brother never gave Eric a chance to explain. I know Doral loves me but I have some say in this! And how dare Eric not fight for me. What kind of love is it that rolls over without a fight? How…Sophi halted mid-diatribe. Now I’m being an idiot. There isn’t time for this. There are greater issues at work here. She inhaled a long shuddering breath and regrouped.
She stood, straightened her shoulders, pulled down her robes and marched determinedly out of the tent. Once outside, she cast a gaze around for her brother. There. A group of them stood speaking—Primus G’hed, Eric, Stephania Rickard and Doral. As she started down the slope to join them, Doral and Eric shot apprehensive glances her way. Yes, you should be apprehensive. Doral said something to the group and separated himself from them, meeting her halfway down the slope. He halted her resolute progress with the simple expedient of standing in front of her. She put her hands on her hips and stared straight ahead at his collar bone.
He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I may have been too quick to judge Eric.” Doral placed his hand on her shoulder and she looked up. Love and apology shown from his eyes. “I rode from Sylvan Mintoth knowing only the Haarb sought to retake you and that my information was weeks old. Sophi, I…” He closed his eyes and pulled her into an all-enveloping embrace. “I can’t lose you again.”
Her anger vanished as if it had never been. “I am so glad you came,” she whispered. “Thank you for coming for me.”
His arms wrapped her closely but his body sagged
with fatigue and she wondered when he had last slept. She kept her concern to herself. Her enigmatic, iron-man brother would never confess a physical weakness to her. She returned his hold and they stood there for long moments. Finally, Doral sighed and released her.
“Primus G’hed tells me I should address you as ‘Flight Leader’.” One eyebrow rose in inquiry and a slight smile lurked in the corners of his mouth. “It is obvious you have regained your lively tongue. What other changes await me?”
She looked him straight in the eye. “Well...you were being an idiot.”
Doral rolled his eyes heavenward as if asking for patience from the divine being. “Sophi,” he ground out.
“The Oshtesh restored the old Sophi. You made a wise decision in bringing me to them. You made another wise choice with Eric DeStroia. He is special. I don’t have words to tell you how special.”
“So I am beginning to understand,” Doral murmured. “Now it seems we go to war with you as the prize.” His worried face studied her and he took her hand. “Come, Bitsy, we have some strategy to plan.”
When they rejoined the others, she went to stand beside Eric and gently slipped her hand into his. His eyes found hers with an expression of thankfulness.
“Sophi, I—”
“Shhh.” She placed her fingers on his lips. “We’ll talk later.”
He frowned. “Yes...later.”
* * *
Eric had thought there would be no later. Rarely had anyone infuriated him as thoroughly as Doral. But he hadn’t risen to his elevated rank without hard schooling in biting his tongue and the imperative skill of picking the right time and place for battle. The middle of the guerilla camp surrounded by suspicious Oshtesh and curious Blue Daggers was neither the time nor the place to confront Doral. Defeating the menace that imperiled Sophi, indeed all of Verdantia, dictated a unified front. So Eric bit his tongue bloody. We’re not finished, Segundo.
To Eric’s intense gratification, an unlooked for defense by Primus G’hed enlightened the Segundo without a word from Eric. Sophi must have spilled her soul to her surrogate father. The Primus gave Doral an astonishingly comprehensive narrative of the past few weeks. At the end of the recitation, Doral shifted his stance and looked off, his gaze unfocused. It was obvious he fought an uncomfortable, inner battle.
Hers To Choose (Verdantia Book 2) Page 18