by Cara Bristol
He had no reason to assume the Sharona he’d encountered in his youth lived in the palace, but he scanned and dismissed each unfamiliar face with a measure of relief. Vengeance could wait until he’d secured his people’s needs.
At last they halted before a chamber, and the lead guard motioned for him to enter.
Better appointed than any the Lahon possessed, the parlor nevertheless surprised him by its modesty. He understood why when a lone Sharona stepped forward from a low divan to greet him. She wore a commoner’s white robe and unadorned sandals. A single long braid of hair draped unassumingly over one shoulder and breast. Duped. How stupid he’d been to assume he’d be granted an audience with the queen.
He opened his mouth, intending to voice his ire, and then noticed the small jeweled circlet atop her head. The royal crown. He blinked. She was the queen!
“This is an unexpected surprise, but welcome,” Ellynna said in a warm voice.
“Shara, thank you for meeting with me.” He bowed as he addressed her with the term of respect. No sense starting off on the wrong foot. She ruled all of Shalondia even though the Lahon were allowed to co-exist as a semi-independent nation. “I am Garat, leader of the Lahon.”
She motioned to one of the attendants. “Bring our guest some refreshment, please.”
“Yes, Shara.” The attendant bowed and scurried from the chamber.
Take your time. He hoped to complete his business before the servant returned. To refuse libation would be rude. To drink it, risky. He did not trust that it would not be tainted.
“You may leave us,” Ellynna addressed the guards.
They glanced at each other. “Shara—” the lead one protested.
“Do it.” Her gaze and tone hardened, eliciting his grudging respect. Her delicate exterior camouflaged her mettle.
The guards filed out.
“Please, be seated.” Ellynna swept her arm in a gentle arc to encompass a settee. Only a crinkle of lines around her eyes revealed she was not a young girl. Pale, smooth skin contrasted with the darkness of her braided hair. Thick lashes framed cyan eyes. Striking. Were she in fever, any Lahon in the vicinity would be doomed.
“Thank you.” He took his seat. “They are right. Perhaps you should not trust me.”
Ellynna sat at the opposite end of the settee. “You travel alone. It would be an insult to your intelligence to suppose you had come all this way to kill me. And if you succeeded, you would never make it out alive. So, tell me why you have come.”
The servant bustled in with a tray. She started to pour the drink from a slender decanter into a goblet, but the queen waved her off. “That will be all, Seela. Thank you.” The servant nodded and departed.
Ellynna poured two glasses then raised hers to her lips. He watched as she swallowed. “More comfortable now?” she asked.
He flushed and took a drink of the spicy-sweet nectar. “Can you blame me for my caution?”
“Perhaps I am the one who should be cautious.”
He averted his gaze. He’d gotten this far, and it had been easier than he’d anticipated, but he wasn’t sure how to open the dialogue. We demand access to your underground spring. Garat scanned the chamber, taking in the many tapestried divans, a large gilded harp in the corner, windows draped in billowy fabrics, and walls graced by artwork depicting the daily life of the Sharona.
Another example of the divide between them and the Lahon. The former’s affluence afforded them the leisure to indulge in art and music. The Lahon had no time for such frivolity. Their devotion was to function. To supplying need. Like water.
He regarded the decanter of spiced nectar. While his people worried how they would survive without the necessities, the Sharona captured the honey from flowers. How many drops had it taken to fill his glass? Not to mention an entire decanter. Sweetness soured in his mouth. He leaned forward to set his goblet away from him, and his gaze fell on the portrait of a girl.
The artist must have loved her dearly to have painted her in such a flattering way. Long waves of gleaming midnight hair flowed to her waist. Her pale skin glowed as if she were lit from within by the Goddess’s own light. Blue eyes absent of guile and warmed by gentle amusement peered out from the canvas. The sweetest smile—as if she’d just sipped from a goblet of nectar—applied a delicate curve to her lips.
There could be no fevered essence emanating from cloth or paint, but a shock wave of desire blasted through him. He found himself leaning toward the painting and jerked back, tearing his gaze away, only to return to it seconds later. Heat flooded his face—and his loins.
How was it possible to feel such yearning for one he’d never met, saw only in an artist’s rendition?
“My daughter, Reena.”
Reena. The one who would be queen by birth and name, and the resemblance to the sitting Shara monarch was obvious. While the queen was a comely woman, her daughter had the face of the Goddess herself. “She is…beautiful,” he admitted. He shifted in discomfort; his manhood was solid as a rock for a Sharona woman he’d never met. The monarch’s daughter.
“She is my greatest joy.” Her eyes flickered in shadow.
“You are fortunate,” he responded politely.
“I pray every day,” she replied. After a long pause, “Do you have a child?”
The innocuous query stabbed him in the heart. “I did. He…did not survive.”
The queen’s face seemed to crumple, and she swallowed. “I’m sorry.” She touched his knee. Her concern seemed so genuine, his conscience smote him. He’d marched into the palace counting on a denial to give the Lahon an excuse to invade. Now he hoped Ellynna would agree and they could reach an accord. For, if not, what would happen to her daughter? Her portrait drew him again. Her shy, warm smile seemed meant for him and him alone.
“I hope you have someone to walk with you in your grief,” Ellynna said.
He thought of Kor. And of little Jerak, a reminder of his loss, but also a comfort. “I do.”
“I’m glad. My niece, Honna, has provided a source of strength and counsel to me. That is she.” She gestured with her chin to another painting set in a corner.
Her! He nearly leapt to his feet. Violent emotions roiled at the odious vision of the Sharona who’d enraptured him, forced his body to obey her command, and later killed his infant son. Tears frozen on the babe’s face revealed he’d been alive when he’d been abandoned, thrown away like refuse. The murderess’s smile did not reach her eyes, which remained cold, calculating. Honna. His son’s killer had a name.
He flicked his gaze to the portrait of the princess. This time, his knowing eyes saw through the mask of innocence to the deceit and lasciviousness that was the hallmark of every Sharona. He’d nearly become enraptured again. And not only by her likeness, but also by the queen’s honeyed words and hospitality. Pretenders all!
Honna. Honorable, her name meant.
What satisfaction it would bring to cast her out, to send her wandering. Let her suffer the bitter winter’s cold without shelter or provender. His needs vs. his people’s. What had opposed, now dovetailed. He would return with a regiment and drive the Sharona from the villages, from the palace. He would allow them to take only the robes on their backs. Which was more than his son had been given.
Garat smiled at the queen. His grin felt as cold and hard as the eyes of the one in the portrait. “I have not yet told you why I have come…”
* * * *
The queen had him expelled and dumped outside the wall.
“If you show your face again, you’ll be shot,” threatened one of the guards who’d escorted him out.
She should have shot him now. It was a tactical error to allow him to live.
Garat entered the woods via the Trail of Rapture, a track worn by the Sharona in search of mates, and by Lahon who found themselves in a needful way. He’d skirted the trail on his way to visit the queen, to avoid Sharona who might be on the hunt, but he took it now for it afforded the fastest route, and
he was confident of his immunity to their lethal charms.
Except for one lapse—when he’d gazed upon the likeness of the queen’s daughter. Such ersatz innocence. How could she be otherwise when she shared the blood of her cousin? No, Reena could not be as virtuous as she’d appeared. Even now, the tug in his loins lingered. He uncapped the unguent and smeared a swath beneath his nose, but it did not erase her image from his mind nor silence the song of her name. Flames flickered under his skin.
Justice would douse the lust.
The queen, for all her hospitality and gentle conversation, had turned icy cold when he’d shared the reason for his visit. Of course, he’d presented his request in such a way she would reject it.
He had identified his son’s killer, and now he fought for revenge, not water. He would use the remaining autumn days to strategize and marshal his forces, withholding his strike until the first snow of winter. By then, the queen would have started to relax, and the Sharona would let down their guard. The invasion would catch them by surprise, and no fever, no EIDs would save them.
Chapter Six
The Lahon did not match Honna’s description. He didn’t seem at all brutish or threatening. Then again, he was much less mature than Reena would have expected, probably a couple of years younger than she. A man, but barely. Gentle fuzz rather than heavy hair or bristle covered his face. He did not hulk about, but seemed tentative, grateful for the attention. Eager. Oh yes, he was that.
Honna gestured for him to enter the hut, and he tripped over his feet. She glanced back toward where Reena hid in the foliage and grimaced. Reena saluted with her canteen, and her cousin entered and shut the door.
With a flick of her wrist, Reena upended the flask and emptied it into the bushes.
The fifth Lahon in three days. If pregnancy resulted, how would her cousin determine which one had sired the child? “If you bear a male child, how will you know whom to deliver the babe?” she had asked after the third mating.
“That will not be a problem.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Enough questions!”
Honna’s decisions did not appear to be based upon reason, and she’d grown more irritable as the hunt progressed. As her cousin’s mental state seemed to deteriorate, Reena’s clarity and constitution improved. The longer she abstained from the medicine, the more energetic she became—and, out of necessity, devious. While Honna’s good humor might have waned, her vigilance had not, requiring timing and ruse to avoid being dosed. What worked the best was asking for the herb right before Honna enticed a Lahon into the hut.
At first, Reena had felt remorse for her deception, especially when her faked queasiness and fatigue elicited sympathetic glances and gentle words of concern. But, in an unguarded moment, Honna had slipped and delivered the naked truth: the ailment would be fatal.
Reena had guessed early on. Awareness had spread with the illness that lived and breathed inside her, like an invisible malevolent parasite gaining strength as it drained hers. She tried to ignore the sensation of a presence inside her, dismissing it as an invalid’s fear. Though she felt much improved, she sensed the disease hadn’t left but had retreated into dormancy.
First her mother, now her cousin had confirmed the terminal nature of her illness.
And that cinched her resolve. Why not spend as much time as she could in vigor rather than lethargy?
The door to the hut opened and Honna emerged, adjusting her robe. She never spent much time inside. How contrary that fever could drag on for months while the act to relieve it took mere minutes.
Cheeks flushed, mouth twisted with revulsion, Honna approached the bushes. If she thinks mating is bad, she ought to try drinking her herb tincture. Voicing any of the dozens of questions that bubbled up would invite rebuke. Reena eyed the door, watching for the Lahon to exit, curious to gauge his reaction. Did Lahon find the act as distasteful as her cousin?
“He sleeps.” Honna’s mouth drooped, and she motioned to a path. “Let’s find a pool. I need to bathe.”
Another contradiction. Why mate with multiple Lahon, only to wash away the seed. “Is that wise?”
“Wise?”
Reena cringed out of habit, but her renewed vigor imbued her with the forbearance to stand up to her cousin. “Won’t bathing rinse away the Lahon’s essence?”
“You’re an expert in mating now?”
“Well, no. However, it stands to reason, if you want to become with child, you shouldn’t wash away the seed.”
“Let’s go to the spring.” Honna motioned, the movement calling attention to her crystal. From a brilliant cyan, it had clouded and grayed. Perhaps the fever had cooled? “What happened to your...”
Her cousin didn’t wait for her to finish the sentence but spun on her heel and charged up the path.
“Crystal,” Reena finished. She sighed then trotted after her into the woods. Vibrant palettes of chartreuse, celadon, myrtle, and viridian, greens as dark and mysterious as the forest itself exploded around her. Flowers in purples, pinks, and yellows splashed color like a painter gone wild.
Fronds and ferns slapped her legs as she hurried along the narrow ribbon of a path. A week ago, she would have needed to stop and rest, but newfound vigor allowed her to keep pace. The scent of earth and wood filled her lungs. The palace gardens were beautiful, but they’d been designed and cultivated to please. This was the Goddess’s own garden, and it took her breath away.
Reena stopped to pluck an illianna bloom. How large and lush they were in the wild! She raised it to her nose and bowed her head to inhale its sweet perfume.
Craaack!
She froze and cocked an ear. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Honna flung over her shoulder. She continued up the track, not bothering to slow down.
“The sound. Like a branch breaking. What do you think it is?”
“I didn’t hear it. If it sounded like a branch breaking, that’s what it was.”
“It sounded like a large branch. Are there wild animals in these woods?”
“None that will harm us. Come. Don’t dawdle.”
Reena attempted to peer though the dense thicket. Trees, shrubs, flowers. Deadfall. Nothing out of the ordinary. She tucked the flower behind her ear and hurried after Honna.
What if one of them was out there? “How about Lahon?” She aimed her question at her cousin’s back. The trail was too narrow to walk abreast.
Honna laughed. “Perhaps you were right, after all. Perhaps there are wild animals out there.”
Maybe a Lahon had been watching them. Her stomach fluttered in the oddest way. “So they use this path?”
“Not normally. They only use the Trail of Rapture when they search for Sharona to satisfy their carnal depravities. Other than that, they spurn us as much as we do them.”
“Then why is the palace seer forecasting they will invade?”
“Because it is written in The Goddess’s Tome that Sharona shall be vanquished by the Lahon.”
“Then it must be true.”
“It depends on interpretation.” Honna sniffed. “I believe it refers to us as individuals rather than us as a nation. Another reason I wish to keep my distance from the savages.”
“If it is in the book, then it must be the Goddess’s will.”
“It is meant as a warning, not an inducement.”
Reena decided to check the tome and read the passage for herself when she returned to the palace. “The Lahon you were with…” She hesitated. “He did not seem very…uh…savage.”
“Appearances deceive. You’re chatty today. You must be improving. Have you been taking the herb?”
Her cheeks warmed. “Of course.”
Her cousin bobbed her head approvingly. “Since you’re doing so well, I’d like to increase the dosage to maximize the benefits.”
There’d be no dodging this time.
“When we get to the pool,” Honna continued, “I’ll fix you a tincture with th
e spring water you like so much. Then I think I should get you back to the palace where I have full access to my medicines. The herbs I brought with me are running low.”
“So soon? I think the fresh air is doing me good. Perhaps we could stay another day?”
“We’ll see how you do after this next dose. I don’t look forward to spending another night away from the palace.”
Because Sharona traveled in pairs and spent days on the hunt, huts were equipped with the basics of a couple of beds with thin mattresses, a fireplace readied with wood for warmth if seasonal needs required it, and a small stand with a basin. Reena had found the temporary dwellings quaint, charming in their simplicity. “I don’t think they’re so bad.”
“You didn’t suffer what I did.”
She hadn’t experienced mating, but she’d imagined it. Put herself in Honna’s sandals and envisioned sexual congress with a Lahon. The men her cousin had chosen on this hunt seemed young and callow, so she retreated to Honna’s original description of great height, muscularity, and hirsuteness, and fleshed him out from her daydreams. He’d have a voice as deep as thunder, eyes as green as the forest, and teeth as white as the moon in the night sky. His hands, though roughened by whatever it was the Lahon did, would be gentle when he touched her. The body hair, which Honna so disparaged, would curl on his manly chest and abdomen before narrowing to his…then her imagination stonewalled. She could not conjure a good picture of that part of the male anatomy. She’d been informed of the mechanics: a Sharona lowered herself onto the Lahon’s manroot, and he pumped out his essence, but no one had described the moving parts in any detail. She glanced at the forest floor. Roots tended to be rough, twisted, gnarled. Could manroots be the same?
Reena frowned. “What does a manroot look like?”
Honna glanced back and curled her lip. “Fortunately, you do not need to worry about that.” She stomped up the path.
“Is mating so horrible that death is preferable?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“That is what you meant.”
“Don’t tell me what I meant,” Honna snapped.