by Milla Vane
Yet now she was soaked from head to toe and the older warrior had his face down.
Maddek looked to her again. He had to raise his voice over the short distance and driving rain. “Draw up your hood, Yvenne.”
At the command in his tone, each of his warriors snapped to attention, faces lifting and bodies tensing before the words themselves registered. When his meaning sank in, they all looked to her.
As slowly as if waking from a dream, she opened her moonstone eyes. Yet slowly was not how she rose from sleep—Maddek knew that well. The past few mornings when he’d roused her, she awakened instantly, her clear gaze piercing him through to his bones.
As it did now, when she regarded him with amusement arching her brows. “Shall I shield myself from the elements as well as you do, Commander?”
Beside him, Kelir snorted out a laugh. Banek grinned. For Maddek wore nothing but his belted linens—and had not even drawn the outer layer up over his shoulders. There was no need, for the storm had formed over the Boiling Sea. He had known baths colder than the wind and rain were.
Yet she had never known the wind and rain at all—or the sun. The heat of the past days had burnished her face, her skin as tight and as hot as if she suffered from a fever.
“When you have a warrior’s strength, you may ride as bare as you wish,” he told her. “I have no use for a frail wife who falls so ill she cannot be bred.”
Her amusement hardened like stone. “I have no use for a husband whose performance in bed can be diminished by my cough.”
A cough would not stop Maddek from burying himself between her soft thighs. Had they not needed to wait for her moon night, he’d have already spent each day riding her, spilling his seed within her silken sheath until his vengeance took root. But he only said, “Draw up your hood.”
Not one of his warriors would have argued. Yet she slowly shook her head, pale gaze never leaving his.
“The rain feels sweet upon my face,” she said.
Her sunburned face. Yet perhaps the downpour against her heated skin was not the only reason it was sweet. The first day upon her horse, she had lifted her face to the warmth of the sun in the same way, though it burned her. Because she’d never known it before. Just as she’d never known the rain.
He held her gaze for another long moment, an odd tightness squeezing within his chest. Finally he nodded and faced forward again.
And the lashing rain was sweet against his own heated skin. How a treacherous, sickly woman warmed him so quickly, he knew not. By all that was rational, he should not desire her as he did. Not the woman who might have lured his parents to their murders. Not the woman who had so coldly plunged a dagger into her brother’s back.
That memory still sat unsettled in his mind. She had skewered her brother as easily as one skewered a roasting pig, with no emotion and no warning. Certainly Cezan deserved to die—and over the course of his life, Maddek had seen far more blood shed, and spilled much of it himself. Yet that had been in the heat of battle.
Yvenne had been as ice.
But the fires of vengeance burned hot in his own blood. When he’d first looked upon Yvenne, he had no thought but to kill her. The moment he’d agreed to take her as a bride, however, little else but bedding her filled his head—of getting her with the child that would hail Zhalen’s end. If she had not been a virgin, he’d have been upon her so often that any soldiers in pursuit would have been at their backs now.
Bedding her would only slow them further. Though Maddek yearned for vengeance, he could not let its fires blind him. Only a sevennight remained until the full moon. She would be beneath him soon enough.
“She has steel in her.” Kelir’s voice was pitched too low to carry to the riders behind them. “More steel than her horse does.”
That was certain. For although she was new to the saddle, Yvenne had not slowed them. Had she been upon a Parsathean horse and they’d set a brutal pace, no doubt she’d have clung like a burr to its back. Just as she had the first eve.
Her horse had less stamina than she did. Maddek had known upon a glance that it was a poor mount, with a stiff stride and shallow chest. The gelding couldn’t maintain a pace faster than a jog trot for any distance, and even before the mud had slowed them, the gelding’s walk had. Instead of the Parsathean horses’ swift and smooth ambling gait, it lumbered along on ponderous steps. Yet there had been few horses to choose from in a village full of farmers who placed higher value on heavy, laboring beasts. Maddek bought the gelding with the intention of trading it for a more suitable mount at the next village. He’d found no better selection there, however—or at any of the settlements they’d passed.
“I should have taken the dun stallion,” he said now. Though smaller than a Parsathean steed, the dun had been the only horse they’d seen worth having, but its fiery temperament wouldn’t have suited a new rider.
Eyebrows drawn and braids dripping with rain, Kelir frowned. “You’d have put her on that fire-breather?”
“I’d have ridden him.”
“And you’d have given your mare to your bride?”
Maddek inclined his head.
Disbelief burst from the other warrior on a hearty laugh. Amusement lighting his eyes, he said, “I suppose putting her on your mare would be easier than teaching your bride to ride. She would not even need reins to guide her mount, because that mare would follow you like a dog.”
So the mare would. Her dam had also been his mount, killed by savages upon the river Lave when she’d been little more than a spindly-legged foal. Recognizing that she had the same steady strength as her mother, Maddek had raised her by hand. When it had come time to ride her, he’d never known a horse better suited to him, or with as much courage and ferocity in battle.
Though for that same reason, better not to ride an untested horse. If he did, Maddek could not be as certain of protecting Yvenne. Fighting to control a panicked mount made it harder to fight anything that threatened her.
But he said nothing, and Kelir cast a speculative glance behind them. “For her third day upon a horse, she does well.”
“She stays on.”
“From dawn until nightfall.”
Maddek grunted, a grudging agreement. For Yvenne did not ride well. She was nowhere near to it. But she possessed an abundance of fortitude. And ever since Maddek had held her against him and they’d raced beneath the night sky, she’d been determined to have her own mount—not just to ride it, but to care for it. She’d insisted on tending to her horse even at the end of day, when her stomach grumbled loudly enough for the entire camp to hear and her limbs trembled with exhaustion and pain.
That effort earned her more respect from his warriors than any skill upon a horse could have. Maddek suspected that Yvenne knew it would win them over.
But even if she manipulated them all, her effort wasn’t false—and it took a toll. Each night when Maddek retired to his furs, she was already there, sleeping so soundly that she didn’t stir when he pulled her against his chest and wrapped his arms around her frail form, shielding her with his body as they slept. The previous eve, she had not even finished her meal first. Her eyelids had drooped with every bite, and she’d finally put it aside, crawling into bed with her dinner half eaten.
And by Hanan’s weeping staff, she slept so hot, a warrior needed no fire to help warm his bed. Maddek would have thrown off his furs if it wouldn’t have left her uncovered.
After her moon night, Maddek could throw them off without hesitation. For it would be he who covered her then.
A white flash of lightning split the gray clouds ahead. Maddek’s gaze shot over his shoulder again. Yvenne’s horse was placid and dull, but even the most docile of mounts sometimes bolted during a storm. With tension gripping his body, Maddek waited for the crack and rumble of thunder.
When it came, her mount tossed its head, snorting. Releas
ing her pommel, Yvenne leaned forward and stroked the thick neck. Her lips moved—soothing the gelding with a murmur, though her face was pinched with unease, as if she feared the horse would panic and throw her. Her pale gaze darted to Banek, who looked on and nodded his approval.
When the next crack of thunder sounded, the horse’s ears flicked, but that was its only reaction. It continued plodding steadily along the muddied road.
Maddek looked to Kelir. A frown pleated the other warrior’s brow as he studied the woman and horse—a frown that deepened when lightning flashed again. Grimly, Kelir eyed the thundering sky. “Do we take shelter and wait for it to pass?”
They should. But this storm would not slow anyone who pursued them.
Maddek shook his head. “We press on,” he said.
CHAPTER 11
MADDEK
The storm’s fury abated midafternoon. Abruptly the rain stopped, clouds parting to reveal Enam’s glaring yellow eye. Beneath the sun’s burning stare, steam rose from the sodden earth, forming a heavy mist that crawled over the ground and swirled around the horses’ legs. The cracking thunder and howling wind subsided, replaced by the increasing roar of the Ageras as the road bore north and began to run parallel at a distance from the swollen riverbanks. Across its hazardous waters lay Ephorn—and farther north, Syssia.
Maddek’s gaze scanned the opposite bank. No travelers were in sight on the road that followed the river on Ephorn’s side.
Even if a company of Syssian soldiers gathered there, they would pose no immediate threat to Yvenne. Any soldiers in pursuit might come along the road behind them, but not from across the Ageras. To everything but the creatures that dwelled within the river, the swift waters were unnavigable and uncrossable. Only three great stone bridges spanned its width, and they’d been built by the gods themselves—one bridge far to the east, in Toleh. Another almost two days’ ride behind them. And the third in the port of Drahm, where the mouth of the river spilled into the Boiling Sea.
A fourth bridge had once linked the roads on either side of the river, but only one of their party had ever seen it.
Hoofbeats quickened behind him as Banek urged his mount forward. The gray-haired warrior pulled up even with Maddek, who turned in his saddle to look at Yvenne. Her sandaled heels against its sides, she was gently nudging her gelding forward as well, but her plodding mount did not respond.
Her horse’s reluctance drew grins from the warriors behind her. Each one of them had sat upon mounts as stubborn. Some more so—at least the gelding was walking.
Toric called out his advice. “Dig your heels in, my lady!” When she hesitated and glanced back at the young warrior, his grin broadened. “Your little feet won’t hurt his ribs. It’ll be nothing more than a tickle to wake him up and move him along.”
Nodding, she pressed her heels tighter. The horse didn’t respond, and when pain whitened her cheeks Maddek signaled to the four warriors. Immediately they urged their own mounts forward to flank Yvenne, ready to catch her if the horse bolted. A short word from Fassad sent one of his gray dogs darting in to nip at the gelding’s hocks.
Her horse broke into a bouncing trot. Maddek watched as she used the momentum of the gelding’s stride to rise in the saddle as he’d shown her—though at obvious cost. Her narrow face stiffened, her full mouth pressing into a thin, bloodless line.
“Still saddle sore,” Banek said quietly.
And still limping every time they dismounted, still hobbling each morning after she woke. But there was no cure for the pain except more riding, until her muscles became accustomed to the exertion.
“The old crossroads lie ahead,” Banek continued as Yvenne’s horse drew up between Maddek’s and Kelir’s. The scarred warrior leaned over in his saddle, ready to catch her mount’s bridle before it ran past, but she deftly slowed the gelding to a walk again with a light touch on her reins. “I should like to see what remains.”
Banek’s glance conveyed what he did not speak aloud: that Yvenne needed a respite from the road. But she was not alone. After a half day spent trudging through mud, the horses needed to rest and graze.
Maddek nodded. “How far?”
“Only a sprint.”
The distance a good horse could race without slowing. The gray-haired warrior pointed ahead at a grassy mound that, through the mist, Maddek had taken for a stony hill. But instead of a natural rise, it was rubble—ruins that had lain abandoned for a generation.
“That is one of the great bridges?” Yvenne stared ahead wide-eyed.
“And the trading town that stood at the crossroads,” Banek said in a voice heavier than Maddek had ever heard from him. “Once this road passed straight through.”
But after the Destroyer dropped the bridge on the town, travelers had been forced to go around the rubble. Now the route beyond the ruins couldn’t be seen past the curve in the road.
An ideal place for bandits to stage an attack, then.
Maddek studied the mound, searching for movement, then looked to Yvenne as she leaned forward in her saddle to peer past him, her pale gaze studying the older man’s face. “Did you ever visit this place before the Destroyer came?”
“I did.” A faint smile pulled at Banek’s mouth. “On a raid.”
“So far south?” Ardyl asked from behind them. After escorting Yvenne to Maddek’s side, the four warriors had not yet fallen back—nor would they now. Not when there was a tale of the raid to be told.
“What did you take?” That from Kelir.
“We heard a load of Tolehi iron was traveling along this road to Syssia, and we ambushed them just beyond the bridge.” The older man chuckled. “We had no more trouble stealing the load from its escort than we did stealing Maddek’s bride. But still we returned home empty-handed.”
That bride leaned forward again, as eager to hear the tale as Maddek’s warriors were. “What happened?”
Banek’s face reddened. “We were not satisfied with taking only what we could carry. So we took the entire load, which was too heavy even for oxen. Instead the train of wagons was drawn by a kergen.”
Which were often used for labor in both Toleh and Goge. The single-horned beast stood taller than a mammoth, and although docile enough to be ridden, more often it was harnessed and used to haul plows or to drag boulders.
“Never has any beast moved more slowly.” The old man shook his head. “But it was just as well, for we spent so much time gathering feed for it that we could not ride swiftly, either. Almost a full turn of the moon passed before we reached the Syssian border—and it was there we lost the load, when the queen herself rode out to meet us.”
Yvenne sucked in a sharp breath. “My mother?”
“Hers,” Banek said, meeting her wondering gaze.
Awe shimmered in Yvenne’s pearlescent eyes. Beside her, Kelir seemed no less impressed. “Queen Venys?” he asked.
The gray-haired warrior nodded and his eyes broke away from Yvenne’s to gaze unfocused at the ruins ahead. “A handful of soldiers came with her, but she was still at a distance when she left them and approached us alone. Our raiding party was three dozen warriors strong, yet when we saw who was coming, many of us believed we should flee. We decided to stand our ground instead. If we’d known then how powerful she was, we would not have been foolish enough to remain. But we didn’t know. This was before she severed the Destroyer’s arm.”
The only warrior known to have injured the sorcerer—until the Destroyer used his dark magics to heal his wounds and create a new arm.
“She was slain in that battle,” Yvenne said softly.
“And yet renewed a hope that had been faltering. To see him bleed . . .” Voice roughening, the old man shook his head and fell silent.
Until Fassad spoke behind him. “Yet you fought her?”
Ardyl huffed out a laugh. “He still breathes, so apparently not.”
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Banek cast an amused glance at them before looking to Yvenne again. “She rode closer, and that was the first time I saw her moonstone eyes—so much like yours.”
“Not like mine,” was her quiet reply. “She had sight beyond what is seen.”
“That must be how she found and intercepted you,” Toric said to Banek.
“Yes,” he agreed. “And never have I seen such a figure. Taller than Fassad, and as easy upon her horse as Ran Ashev ever rode. But it was not only that we could see at a glance what a strong warrior she was. When she walked, the earth did not tremble beneath her feet, but seemed as if it should. And she looked upon us with such a gaze . . . I did not know whether to fear her or to love her.”
“Love her,” Yvenne murmured, and gave a wistful sigh.
Surprised by the soft longing in that breath, Maddek looked to her.
Her pale eyes met his—and for the first time, it was she who faltered and cast her focus beyond him. Not merely glancing away, but unable to hold his gaze.
Beside him, Banek continued, “All of Syssia loved her. And it was plain to see why. She could have slaughtered us. Instead she said that we could continue unmolested through all of Syssia—and take our spoils with us—if a warrior of our choosing could shoot a better arrow than she did.”
Yvenne’s eyes remained fixedly upon Banek, as if she were aware that Maddek’s gaze had not yet strayed from her face and was determined not to look at him while he watched the expressions that flitted over her features. First amusement appeared, replaced by disappointment that pleated her brows. “That seems akin to cheating. She would not miss.”
“Is that how you lost the spoils?” Ardyl asked. “She defeated your best archer?”
Banek suddenly grinned. “Our best archer was my sister, Kabli, who had silver-fingered Rani’s own eye. Not even a warrior-queen favored by the goddess Vela could have equaled the shot she made that day. Queen Venys pointed to a sparrow in flight, and Kabli waited until it was almost from sight before she loosed her arrow and pierced the bird through its heart. The queen herself said she’d never seen the like.”