Hers To Choose (Verdantia Book 2)

by Patricia A. Knight

  “By all the gods. Verdantia. It’s Her. Just like the last time, when we channeled the energy during the first Haarb war.” Stepping away from the sheltering rock, Doral observed, transfixed, as the seething, opaque radiance spread death across the Vergaza Plain. For the better part of an hour, he beheld a sight only a handful had ever seen—their mother planet manifested in a vengeful display of unfathomable power. All the while, Eric hung suspended in a tornadic column of transparent gold light.

  The cloud rolled across the battle fields. Interior flashes of brilliant light silenced the sounds of steel upon steel. In the roiling wake, only creatures native to Verdantia stood upon Her surface—dumbstruck fighters holding weapons to confront a vanished foe. Doral could only estimate how far the cloud spread—a hundred miles, he thought. Finally, the atmosphere burst with a spectacular display of glorious radiance, as if the very air of the heavens burned. The golden light dimmed, then vanished as quickly as it had arisen. The clear, hot air of the Oshtesh wasteland returned to normal. Eric. Doral ran back to find Eric sprawled on the earth, unconscious. Slinging the man over his shoulder, sword held at the ready, Doral walked onto a battlefield denuded of enemy. Slowly, cautiously, the Verdantian and Oshtesh forces began to filter down the rocks to congregate behind him. He heard their low, questioning murmurs build in volume.

  With the masses of Haarb absorbed into Her essence, nothing living lay between the small force of Verdantians and Oshtesh and the army of the Second Tetriarch. Doral’s mouth quirked in a small smile as the earth again shook under his feet—this time from hundreds of horses bearing down on him at full gallop. As the line of cavalry advanced, Doral spotted High Lord DeTano standing in his stirrups, his flag bearer and esquire riding hard on his heels.

  Carefully laying Eric on the ground at his feet, Doral straightened and held up his sword. Now he sees me. Pulling up directly in front of him, the High Lord of the Army of the Second Tetriarch, and Doral’s very irate lover, dismounted and threw his reins to his esquire. With only a passing glance at the man at his feet, Ari strode to within a hand’s-breadth of him.

  “Bastard!” his lover snarled. In a violent expression of rage and passion, Ari grabbed a fistful of his hair, jerked his head back and smashed his mouth in a brutal kiss. “Gods-damn-you! Don’t ever scare me like that again!” Releasing his savage grip, Ari dropped his hands to his hips and stood rigid with eyes closed, every muscle in his jaw working as he attempted to discipline his emotions. Doral stepped in closer and rested the hand not holding his sword on Ari’s shoulder. The High Lord of Verdantia sagged and the two men stood, heads together, in a short-lived silence.

  Though Ari had clearly not heard it, Doral caught a restrained sob from the direction of Ari’s flag bearer. He looked up and examined the figure intently. I know those blue eyes. Kitten? The blue eyes shining out of the slit in the silver helm widened at his recognition and begged silently with an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Oh, my queen, Ari doesn’t know you are here, does he? You are in so much trouble. With a subtle nod in return, Doral remained silent and endured as Ari’s tongue tore him bloody. Finally mastering his anger born of fear, Ari demanded, “Explain why Commander DeStroia is lying at your feet.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Eric’s rib cage rose in a gasping inhale. An immediate awareness of pain jolted through him. Goddess, help me. She’s done it to me again. I’ve been set on fire from within and left to burn.

  “You’ve come back to us. Quite the display, Commander.”

  He knew that sarcastic male voice. His eyelids refused to open. His mind was not cooperating either, but after worrying at it for a while, it finally gave up a name. Doral DeLorion? Hells’ breath, it would be him. The desert dust filled his nostrils and his teeth closed on grit but an uneasy murmur in the background was the only sound.

  “Doral?” he croaked out of a throat that felt as if the entire Oshtesh desert had been funneled through it. “What happened?”

  Finally his body obeyed and his eyelids cracked open. The blurred faces of the Segundo and High Lord DeTano hovered over him. What’s going on? Damnation, I hate this waking-up-out-of-it crap.

  “What do you remember, Eric? You tell us,” said DeTano.

  “A battle. I remember a battle. Right,” Eric muttered. The actual sound of his words grounded him. And by all the gods I need grounding. “Doral and I were fighting a shit-load of Haarb. I started glowing like a fucking diamantorre, then...Her, and something about ‘The Power of the Two’.”

  He pushed up into a sitting position, wincing as his flesh protested the movement. I definitely feel—crispy. Eric held DeTano’s gaze for long moments, digging details out of his uncooperative mind. Finally he closed his eyes and groaned. “It’s more supernatural shit, isn’t it? You would think I’d be accustomed, after all those years of working the Lesser Rites.” He closed his eyes. “Something pretty important occurred, hmmm?” He opened them again on a very sober High Lord DeTano.

  “Yes, Commander. Something ‘pretty important’ occurred.”

  * * *

  Profiled against the horizon, Ram sat his horse atop a low rise and watched the Narrows. Oshtesh guerilla fighters, Blue Daggers and his band of cut-throats, war criminals and thieves filed by to join the Army of the Second Tetriarch. His second-in-command sent a long, searching glance toward him and Ram dipped his head. Subtly, his men slipped away and joined him, unnoticed by anyone except Eric DeStroia.

  “We are finished here,” Ram murmured to Geoff. “I’m not waiting around for DeLorion to remember we kidnapped his sister. Take the men and head for the gate at Detford Vale. I’ll catch up.”

  Commander DeStroia had reined his mount around to follow their movements. Watching for several moments, the commander drew his saber. Damnation. Ram stiffened and his hand gripped the worn hilt of his own sword, surreptitiously pulling it from the scabbard. Well, by the great Mother’s tits. Eric had extended his arm in a warrior’s salute, his blade flashing in the brilliant light, held it for a long moment, then sheathed his weapon. Ram couldn’t help his sardonic smile at the thought of respect from this man. He raised his own sword and smartly returned Eric’s address. Then turning his horse, Ramsey rode off to join his men.

  * * *

  Clouds of dust boiled around the hooves of three horses as they skidded back onto their haunches in front of a small cavern. Mother Lyre greeted Primus G’hed, Eric and Doral with joy that rapidly turned solemn. “We cannot rouse Sophi.”

  Doral turned concerned eyes on Mother Lyre. “What do you mean?”

  Wrapped in Primus G’hed’s arms, Lyre explained the events leading up to Sophi’s lapse into unconsciousness.

  “Take us to her,” Doral demanded. Mother Lyre led the two men into the small cavern. Sophi lay upon a pallet against the wall. Other than the rise and fall of her covers as she breathed, she gave no indication of life.

  Eric and Doral crossed quickly to her side and knelt. Eric smoothed a long, golden strand away from her lax mouth. “How long has she been like this?” he murmured.

  “Almost a day.” Mother Lyre touched his arm. “She was frantic to know if you survived.” Her eyes swung to Doral and Primus G’hed. “All of you. But, especially you, Eric. She loves you beyond words.”

  “Queen Constante suffered something similar after she and High Lord DeTano worked the Great Rite,” Doral said. “Fleur told me later the constant sound of Ari’s voice made it possible for her to find her way back. He became her touchstone, her anchor.” Doral’s concerned gaze found Eric. “Will you stay with her? Talk to her? It may be the only way we can bring her back from wherever her mind has wandered.”

  “I will do anything for her,” Eric replied.

  Nodding, Mother Lyre handed him a small bell. “Ring this if you need something. Otherwise we will leave you in peace.”

  Ah, sweetling. What has happened to you? He lay down on the pallet, his head next to hers and studied her beloved face. She looked peace
ful, like she was sleeping, only this sleep she might not awake from. Shuttered lids hid her glorious aqua eyes from him. Fear clogged his throat. A storm of emotion ached for release in his chest. Eric pulled Sophi’s unresisting form close against him, gently arranging her robe.

  “Sophi, my dearest love. Come back, sweetling. All those who love you need you. Your brother, Mother Lyre, Primus G’hed...and me. Especially me.” He stroked a gentle finger over her lips, outlining them. “I have just found you, Sophi. Do you know how long I have waited to find a woman I could love? Decades, sweetheart. I want to marry you. I want to see you grow heavy with my child—no, our children,” he corrected himself fiercely. “Little boys who look like me and little girls who look like their mother. And vice versa, though I pity the girl with my face. I want to fight with you and make love to you. I want years and years of ordinary days doing nothing with you. Sweetling, please come back to me.”

  Eric took a deep breath and gathered her even closer. “This is harder than I thought, Sophi. I have never been much of a conversationalist. Well,” he gave a humorless snort, “if you don’t count giving orders. So, I suppose I’ll just tell you about me, and since we have all the time in the world, I’ll start at the beginning.”

  “My parents’ marriage was like most aristocrats of their age—arranged by the L’anziano. Mother adored my father but after she bore him three children as dictated by the geneticists, he pretended she didn’t exist. He paraded a steady stream of mistresses and lovers in front of her, uncaring that he was little by little destroying her....” Eric talked until he was hoarse, until weariness pulled his eyelids down and made his tongue stumble over words.

  * * *

  Eric awoke with a groan. He shifted her body off him and rolled to his side. “I’m sorry, Sophi. I must have nodded off. Well, let’s see, where was I? I think I was telling you about the time I tied my younger brother in a fruit tree and forgot about him. Yes, well, I didn’t exactly forget about him at first. I left him there deliberately because he told on me for eating all the plums Mother had been planning to make into jam. I had every intention of coming back for him. I went off with one of my friends to see the new horse his father had given him. The horse put everything else out of my mind, and I didn’t remember about Randolf until we missed him at dinner. Mother and Father were not happy. I didn’t sit comfortably for a week and to this day, Randolf dislikes pears, which I think is stupid of him as the pear tree....”

  * * *

  “You know, I have been talking non-stop for the better part of two days, sweetling. If I didn’t know better, I would swear I had bored you to death, but I can see your ribs still rise and fall. I know you are alive.” Eric covered his eyes with his arm. “Sophi...please, please.” He choked to a stop, his throat closing. This isn’t working. My love. I can’t lose you—not now. You’re not playing fair. I kept my promise. I came back. With a shuddering sigh, he gathered her into him closely. He rested his cheek on top of her head and put aside the tendrils of desolation threatening to destroy his hope.

  “Let’s see. Did I tell you about the time Randolf and I dyed my sister’s hair green? It was just before the harvest festival. Julia had pranced around all day, gloating that she was going with Jeffrey DeHarding. Mother had told Randolf and me we couldn’t go, we were needed at the estates to help Father. So, Randolf and I decided that....”

  * * *

  Radiance streamed from Sophi as she romped with childlike glee, sending glorious flares into the velvet blackness, illuminating the void with an iridescent kaleidoscope of endlessly fascinating colors. Time passed without meaning. The passage of hours, days, weeks, years, could not affect the pure energy she now was. She had always been like this. She would always be like this. The orbs next to her shared in her play, wrapping tendrils of power around her, pulling her toward them, trying to capture her but she laughed and eluded their game. Occasionally the gossamer tethers joining her with another orb tugged particularly hard. How curious. A strange prompting urged her to follow the tethers. Perhaps later.

  A maternal sentience intruded, interrupting her innocent joy.

  My child, cease your play. It is time to return.

  Return? Where?

  Home.

  Home? You...you are Mother Verdantia.

  Yes, daughter.

  I don’t want to leave!

  You must, child. Others have need of you. We will meet again.

  As Mother Verdantia spoke, her words inexorably tightened the threads joining Sophi to a brightly radiant orb , pressing them together, joining them into one.

  Air sucked back into her lungs. Awareness of smell, taste, touch, hearing, overwhelmed her. Her form felt heavy, cumbersome. Someone’s arms held her close. Her cheek nestled on a warm chest. A voice rumbled in her ear. Fingers stroked randomly through her hair.

  “Mother sentenced us to cleaning the stables for the next three months, but it was worth it. The look on Jeffrey DeHarding’s face when he called for Julia and she appeared with lime-green hair—easily worth a little horse shit under my nails….”

  Eric. I’m lying in a bed with Eric. A slow smile stretched her mouth and joy spread through her in sparkling bursts of incandescence. What happened to me? “Why did Julia have lime-green hair?” she murmured as she snuggled further into his warm security—then screeched as strong arms hoisted her into the air.

  “Sophi! By Her light!”

  Her hair fell in feathery curtains around them. She gazed lovingly down on Eric’s astonished face. Dear man, his handsome features appeared worn, haggard. What has been going on? Like a slow trickle announces the beginning of a flood, the events of the last few weeks slowly tickled her memory, then became a swamping inundation of anxious questions.

  “Eric! You live! The Haarb! My brother! What happened?”

  His arms lowered her into a fierce embrace. He flipped them over, propping himself on his elbows and raining kisses upon her face, interspersed with frantic murmurs of her name. His hands smoothed her hair away again and again. His desperation and urgency roused an answer in her. She wrapped her arms around him and rose into his kisses fervently.

  “I love you, Eric. I love you so much. Thank the Goddess you’re alive. Did my brother make it? Primus G’hed? How did I come to be here? Actually,” Sophi paused for a moment, “where am I?” She tried to prop herself up to see the room better but his heavy weight held her flat on the pallet. “Eric?”

  All she could see was the top of his head. He had buried his forehead in the material between her breasts and remained silent for several long moments. His arms trembled against her as he supported most of his weight. Finally, those wonderful green eyes raised and held hers. Sweet man. What have I put you through? Wet tracks ran down from the corners of his eyes. A shuddering sigh escaped his lips. She raised her hand and gently wiped the wetness from his cheeks. “If I caused those, I am sorry.”

  Eric shook his head silently. “You are back. That is all that matters.” He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, he answered in a steady voice. “We are in a cavern in the foothills of Nathar. As much as I want to keep you to myself, so many people—your brother, Mother Lyre, Primus G’hed—wait anxiously for word of you.”

  He reached for a small ceramic bell next to them and rang it. He settled back against the cavern wall and opened his arms. “Come, sweetling. Let me hold you.”

  Sophi scooted up the pallet and into his arms as Mother Lyre walked in. “Sophi! Sweet daughter! Oh! Oh!” With her hands clasped in front of her face delightedly, she whirled back out and could be heard running, shouting, “Tallen! Tallen! She’s awake! Tallen! She’s awake!”

  Eric cocked an eyebrow and asked, “Who is Tallen?”

  Sophi drew back and looked at him in wry bemusement.

  “Primus G’hed. You didn’t think his lady called him Primus G’hed in private, did you?”

  “I never gave it any thought,” Eric returned. “But now that you mention it, Primus G’h
ed seems rather stuffy for bed-play.”

  Sophi blinked at him innocently. Her shocked, “They have sex?” was followed by an impish grin.

  “Sophi!” Doral burst into the cavern and dropped on his knees, pulling her out of Eric’s arms into a ferocious hug. “Sophillia Gloriana DeLorion, you frightened ten years off my life.”

  “Doral, you are safe!” She had tried so hard not to cry, but the images of Mother Lyre and Primus G’hed, as well as Adonia, Maeve, and Layna, appeared through welling tears of unrestrained thankfulness. They knelt around her in a babble of happy voices with not a single dry eye.

  Arms crossed over his chest, Eric sat back to watch the joyful reunion. His heart warmed with happiness for her. She is so greatly loved. Determination firmed his jaw. I want this woman. I can’t think of anything I have ever wanted more.

  Eventually, all the kisses and hugs were exchanged, explanations given to everyone’s satisfaction and the small cavern cleared of all but two occupants.

  Eric drew Sophi to him, pulling her into his lap and hugging her back to his chest. “Finally!” he whispered. She raised her glorious eyes to him and he leaned in to taste her lips. “I have wanted to ask you this for some time, but the circumstances never favored us. I am not waiting any longer.”

  She pushed away, puzzled.

  “You said to make you willing. Have I? Made you willing?” Joy shone from Sophi’s eyes when she realized what he was asking. It gave him the courage to go on.

  “Will you marry me? I love you. I want a life with you.” He cupped her face and captured her mouth again. “Say yes, Sophi,” he whispered against her lips.