The Reaping (The Moondreamer Chronicles Book 2)

by Tamara Mataya

  A blond dreadlock smacks me in the side as Skortia pushes my butt down. “Tighten your core and stop sticking your ass in the air like a Dancehall Queen.”

  I'm shaking too much to laugh. Sweat tickles the back of my neck and slicks my forehead. I'd blot it with my sleeve if I wasn’t wearing a tank top.

  “Good. Hold for a slow ninety count and then get some cardio in, either the rope or the elliptical. I'll see you later. And don't slack off—I'll be getting a full report about today, so I’ll ride you like a rented mule if you make me look bad.”

  I grunt and keep counting down from ninety. Her toughness is the reason I’m in the best shape of my life, so I can’t be really mad at her. Some people pay extra for a sadistic trainer.

  My abs are screaming when I get to four. I make it to zero and promptly crash to the floor. Plank is my least favorite exercise, mostly because it looks deceptively easy. When my breathing is steady, I shift into downward-facing dog position to stretch everything out. Skortia told me to do some cardio, which I will do after a little breather.

  I push my heels into the floor to stretch my calves out and then bounce on the balls of my feet.

  “I think I've unfairly judged yoga as useless. I'm beginning to see its potential.”

  Surprise and laughter make my arms wobble. “Sakarias! What are you doing here?”

  “Admiring the view.”

  “Hey!” I stand up.

  “Though, you are looking a bit scrawny these days.”

  “Well, some of us have been hitting the gym more than others.” I pat my newly defined abs, staring pointedly at his mid-section.

  He nods and pulls his shirt up. “Yeah, I'm getting a bit soggy.”

  His eight-pack looks more like eight of my fists.

  Now I really do feel scrawny. “It's not a competition,” I say casually. “What's up?”

  “Training.”

  “You're training with me today?” I can't imagine Sakarias needing help with fighting. “Wow. This trainer must be amazing.”

  “I like to think so.” He grins and strips down to a tank top.

  Wait, what? “You're my new trainer?”

  Sakarias nods. “Indeed.”

  The sheer size of his arms gives me a sinking feeling. Without using magic, I have no hope of beating Skortia in hand-to-hand combat, never mind Sakarias. He tips into a handstand and starts doing push-ups. His feet almost touch the ceiling as he pushes up. He's hugely muscular but moves with the grace of a dancer or a predatory cat.

  I am so very screwed.

  I try to go through everything Skortia taught me, but my composure and concentration fade with Sakarias's every handstand push-up. After about fifty, he stands, not even sweating.

  “I'm told, because of your ability to heal yourself, I don’t have to take it easy on you should a major injury occur.”

  The gleam in his eyes freaks me out a bit. “I’m still breakable. That's not a license to go buck-wild.”

  He cracks his neck. “It isn't often I get to spar without holding back.”

  “Um, no, you should definitely still hold back a bit.” Panic slowly makes my stomach swoop.

  “Not in the advanced class,” he says.

  “Yeah, about that. I think I'm more beginner to intermediate, not so much advanced.”

  He drops into a warrior crouch. “No magic. Beyond that—lay it on me.”

  My body instinctively responds, mirroring his position.

  He smiles. “Excellent. You've learned the basics.”

  Maybe my subconscious has picked some stuff up, but I’m out of my depth. Or am I?

  We start circling each other, knees gently bent, arms slightly flexed at the elbows. Gaze sharp, concentrating on his hips and shoulders, I wait for his weight to shift to show me his next move.

  He feints, and I jerk back a step. He doesn't advance. “Come on, Moondreamer. Come at me!” His stentorian voice reverberates in the small room, the vibration rolling against my chest. Fight or flight.

  He comes closer. Somehow I don't think Sakarias will let me get away with waiting to use his momentum against him. He won't charge first; he’s too experienced and won’t let me get away with anything.

  Fight it is.

  He'll see anything coming if I think about it too much. Best to go with instincts.

  This is probably going to hurt.

  I dive forward, aiming to drive my shoulder into his solar plexus. He catches me with one arm and pins me against his side across his hip, holding me by the stomach like you’d grab a cat or dog.

  He holds steady while I thrash as hard as I can for the longest ten seconds of my life.

  It’s useless.

  I heave a sigh, as the fight leaves my limbs and I relax, dropping my head, letting my arms and legs dangle toward the floor, held up by him.

  How embarrassing.

  Sakarias gives me a shake. “You done?”

  The shake shifts me a few inches back.

  Perfect. “Nope, not done!” I go from rag doll to rage doll, throwing my arms up, grabbing his shoulder, spinning in his grasp. I hoist myself up, wrap my legs around his waist, and cling to his back.

  It occurs to me as I put him into a sleeper hold that he hasn't moved.

  This can't be good.

  I brace for him to grab my arms; instead there’s a tightness around my ankles, then the room twirls around and my back is introduced to the ground.

  Unable to even gasp for air from the stunning impact, I lie still with my lungs shuddering.

  The ceiling spins in an off-putting way. There aren’t any cartoon birds circling my head, which is a little something for the plus column.

  Sakarias's smug face whirls into view and finally stops moving after a few hard blinks. “That was pathetic. Enthusiastic, but pathetic. We've got some work to do.”

  I will the dizziness away and jump to my feet.

  Sakarias frowns. “No more using magic unless something breaks, or I see blood. Or both. Let's start from a grapple this time.” He walks closer and grabs my hands in his giant ones. “Go.”

  I push and twist and pull, trying to find a weakness, anything I can use as leverage. He's either got none or is hiding them flawlessly.

  Screw it. I sweep my leg out, which he easily dodges, and I swing an elbow toward his face. It makes contact—with his hand.

  He yanks me up and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Get out of this hold, Moondreamer.”

  Okay, I'm officially sick of being thrown around like a noob.

  I arch my back, pulling my upper body toward the ceiling and flop down hard. He moves to adjust for the shifting weight, and I take advantage of his slightly loosened grip by flipping my leg over his head. My face smacks his lower back, and I lock my ankles together with my knees just in front of his face and squeeze my thighs together in a choke hold around his neck.

  He pulls at my legs, but I refuse to give in. I’m not cutting off his air—I’m cutting off the blood flow, which will knock him out faster. He stumbles backwards toward the wall to slam me into it. I swing up and push against it with my arms, bracing as hard as I can, and he goes down to one knee. Thanks for teaching me this move, Skortia!

  “Does that mean I win?” I laugh. “I can't believe—”

  He abruptly throws himself onto his back, cutting off my victory speech. I manage to twist free and get my head out, but all six foot eight of him lands on my torso, forcing the air from my lungs with a quick whoosh and a high-pitched squeak.

  Damn it.

  He rolls off and lies on the ground beside me.

  I need a minute.

  He’s actually smiling. “Until you got cocky, that was going well.” His voice is hoarse and yet he’s enjoying himself.

  Dragging myself over to the wall, I lounge against it and unleash a few groans while I assess my body. There are no serious injuries, but I hurt like hell.

  He stands and steps toward me.

  I hold up a hand. “I ju
st need a minute to—”

  “No magic. Unless you're seriously injured?”

  I shake my head.

  “Then it's best to learn from the pain and learn how to control it. You’ll likely have to fight while injured at some point. It cannot be permitted to interfere with your senses.”

  Damn.

  He tosses me a water bottle, and I sip from it, not taking as much as I'd like. I'd rather not have a belly full of water when fighting; I feel like vomiting as it is from him landing on me. “Where did you learn to fight, Sakarias?”

  “It’s in my nature.” He inclines his head. “A Selkie is born with a sword in his hand, ready to fight from his first breath.”

  “Geez, that must really suck for the mothers.”

  His explosive laughter hurts my ears. “If you can crack jokes, you're ready for more sparring!”

  Sadistic bastard. I groan and get to my feet.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The fight Sakarias knocked out of me rears its ugly head for round two when I see Ashria sitting alone at the kitchen table. This is the first opportunity I’ve had to confront her, and I’m all over it like a dirty shirt. Striding toward the table, I suck in a deep breath, ready to let her have it.

  “Would you like some tea?” she interrupts.

  “I would like some answers.”

  “One does not preclude the other.” She doles out milk and sugar like she was anticipating this moment with pleasure. Judging by the two cups, she probably knew this was coming.

  I ease into the chair with the stiff dignity of a queen and sip from the cup she's poured for me. Irritatingly, it's perfect. She knows exactly how I like my tea, yet fails to notice how her words with Draven are eating me from the inside out.

  Her smile is brittle and slow, like she’s only just remembered how to do it.

  I'm determined to wait her out until she speaks first. I search her face for an answer, finding only a reminder of our resemblance. She looks young enough to be my older sister rather than my mother. My hazel eyes are a darker version of her more golden ones and tilt less dramatically at the corners. Our dark auburn hair is the same, only hers is more lustrous. Same shaped mouth, though my lips are fuller.

  I'm a softer, watered-down version of her. More human. More ordinary.

  “What would you like to discuss?”

  I manage to swallow the mouthful of hot tea, instead of spitting it across the kitchen. “For real? Are you seriously asking me that?”

  “I assume this is about my conversation with Draven.”

  “Yes.” The word hisses from me like a tire leaking air. If I keep my voice down, I might not scream in her face. I hear that's bad for keeping lines of communication open.

  “Very well.” She sets her cup down. “I don't need to impress upon you the seriousness of the situation we are facing.”

  I avoid shouting ‘I know’ because for her to insinuate that with all the crap I’ve been doing these past few weeks is beyond insulting. “No, you don't.”

  “We are at war—”

  “No, we aren't, technically. We're trying to stop one from starting.”

  “Everything I have done was to ensure your safety, and the well-being of the Fae.”

  I swallow my tea instead of spitting outrage. “The things you've done to protect me, to help your people, haunt my dreams.”

  “Mine too.” Her downcast eyes and sad voice knock the wind out of my sails. I'm seeing the woman behind the Moondreamer myth. The protective mother instead of the head of the corrupt Fae Council.

  She smiles and this time it seems natural, softening her expression so much it takes years off of her. “You know, I kept you with me for a while after your birth. Not as long as I would have liked, but for a while.”

  “How long?” Curiosity smoothes the rough edges of my anger. A bit.

  “Thirteen months and three days.”

  “Really?” I'm surprised it was that long. I had no idea.

  “Yes.”

  “Were you planning on keeping me?” And changed your mind, I don’t say.

  “It wasn’t that simple. I had to wait and see if you were like me or your father.”

  “If I was a Moondreamer.”

  She nods. “We haven’t really spoken of your heritage. What do you know of us?”

  “That even among Fae, we’re rare. Tipper told me that Moondreamer bloodlines run through the mother, and that there are no male Moondreamers.”

  “That is correct.”

  “How does that work?”

  “Think of it as a recessive gene.”

  “You’re more...I don’t know. Concentrated than I am.” I don’t say ‘less human’ because that feels like an insult.

  “I’m closer to the original source than you are. I’m not really a full-blooded Moondreamer—there aren’t any. The chances of even having a Moondreamer decrease with each generation. If you had a baby boy, he would favor the father every time. If you had a baby girl, there’s only a chance she’d be a Moondreamer.”

  “So there was a chance I could have been completely human?”

  “Yes. I kept you with me until I was sure. And because I wanted you. From the moment you were conceived, you were so wanted. I kept you with me until I was sure you weren’t only human. You were such a well-behaved baby. You never fussed or cried, unless you were hungry.”

  “I still get grumpy when I haven't eaten.”

  She smiles. “I never would have given you up if there'd been a way to keep you safe at my side. As soon as I knew you were like me, I worked on putting spells in place to prevent you from accessing your powers until you turned twenty-one.”

  “Why not block them completely for the rest of my life if it was so dangerous?” Not that it’s what I’d have wanted.

  “I always intended to find you again someday when you were old enough to understand.” She pauses, brushing non-existent crumbs from the table. “I knew there was a very real chance I wouldn’t make it to your twenty-first birthday. I wanted it so if I wasn’t there, you’d be old enough to handle the situation but young enough to be open to the possibilities.”

  She left me with Dad and Janelle—mother, no, stepmother from hell. Powerless. She told me when we met at The Sowing that she'd done it to keep me safe. I had no idea she’d blocked my powers—I assumed that they just sort of awakened for everyone when they reached the age of majority. It makes sense—the High Fae Council had hinted that they knew of my existence and she couldn't take the chance that I'd be taken in The Reaping and added to the army.

  But we've never really talked about any of this because there hasn't been time.

  I'm making time now. “How did you keep your pregnancy hidden from everyone?”

  “Glamours.”

  Of course. “Did anyone at all know about me?”

  “No.”

  She got pregnant and had to keep it a secret from everyone. It must have been scary and lonely.

  “That must have been hard.”

  “It was.” She says it matter-of-factly, not looking for sympathy.

  “And then you just gave me to Dad? When did you guys even meet? Were you together for very long? Was I planned?” The questions that have preyed on my mind for weeks come tumbling out.

  “You were definitely a surprise. I wish I could tell you that we were very much in love and planned you, but it's not the case. However, your father and I did...connect in a very real way. He made me laugh.”

  “Dad's not funny.”

  “Maybe not anymore. Time has a way of dulling the shine from our lives, wearing us down. I'd gone on, I guess you could call it a vacation from Council responsibilities. It was just after Aine...” She looks down. “I was about to take on the mantle of Head of Council. I needed a break, was desperate to get away from everything. Your father had a way of making me forget about all that. I was happy with him and still affectionately remember our time together.”

  “How long were you together?”

/>   “Just the week and then I accepted Head of Council. I knew my life was over and that I had to put my wants aside for our people and end all of it, The Sowing, The Reaping. I was so sure I would be the leader our people needed. I was a lot more reckless in those days. I was going to bring them down in terrifying fashion, freeing our people.”

  “But?”

  She smiles. “I discovered I was with child.”

  My heart stops beating. I swallow hard. “So all those people had to go through the following Sowings because of me? The Reapings?”

  “Do not look at it like that, Syxx. They weren't ready for freedom. They weren't willing to fight for it.”

  It's something she's said before and not something I agree with. Who knows what would have happened if they'd had the chance or seen a glimmer of hope for themselves? Now we'll never know what those people could have done or been. We're all just left with the giant mess we're in. Thinking of it makes my head pound. “And so you left me with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Janelle.” I fail to keep the resentment out of my voice.

  “Yes. And she did well with you.”

  I scoff so loud I hurt my throat. “I did well in spite of her. She gets no part of my accomplishments.”

  “She was your mother.”

  “She doesn't know how to be a mother.”

  “Maybe not. It can't have been easy for her—raising another woman's child as her own.”

  My hand curls into a fist at my side. “People do it every day. I can't believe you're defending her!”

  “Janelle and your father were dating when he and I...connected.”

  Her quiet words slam into me. “Dad had an affair?”

  “Not quite. It was early in their relationship; they'd only been dating for a matter of weeks and were not exclusive. Janelle never knew about me until I left you with your father. By then, they'd been together for nearly two years. Though we’d been together ages before, and nothing would come of it, Janelle still felt betrayed.”

  “No doubt.”

  “She never wanted children. Your father, on the other hand, was quite ecstatic about it.” She smiles. “Moondreamers—making wishes come true, whether we want to or not.”

  “Janelle never wanted kids?”