A Heart of Blood and Ashes

by Milla Vane

  His rusty laugh broke out. “No. This pleases me. This purpose I have now, serving as armor for my Ran and his bride.”

  And perhaps he still could not bear to lose so much again. Her heart full, she said nothing for a long moment. “Do you miss the raids?”

  He responded with the side-to-side head motion that meant there was no truthful or easy answer to give, and then they both glanced up as Maddek and the Dragon joined them, along with Nami and Seri, and the woman whom Yvenne had been briefly introduced to before he’d disappeared into the tent—Enox, his first captain.

  A strange combination of expressions they wore. She saw tension and unease, as if perhaps the gathering had not gone well. Or perhaps it was only the battle ahead and the knowledge that her father’s army lay not far south. Maddek’s face she could not easily read, though he seemed not tense.

  “I would hear this, too,” Maddek said, settling down beside her. “All that I have known of raids are legends and songs, and many among our tribes feel as if we are not truly the riders of the Burning Plains if we are not also raiders.”

  “Was that one of the questions posed to you?”

  He gave a quick smile. “It was. But I would hear Banek’s answer.”

  The old warrior’s reply began on a heavy sigh. “I would give much to raid again—though when those dreams come to me, it is not the treasures or valuables that I wish to have. It is the nights by the fire with my sister and fellow warriors. It is the laughter we shared, and the excitement of it. Of concealing ourselves so carefully as a caravan would pass, and then my sister farting so loudly that she gave away our hiding spot. What I miss is not the theft. It is what we shared. And is what many warriors still share in the Parsathean army—or here, with the Dragon. I suspect that is why I have always been part of the alliance army. There are many moments that are the same.”

  “Except the farting is usually Kelir,” Ardyl said, though emotion burned in her eyes—as if she had been deeply affected by Banek’s words.

  As had Yvenne. For she had shared so many similar joys and excitement and dangers while traveling with them. She looked to Maddek. “And what was your answer?”

  “Much the same,” he said. “But also that in those legends and songs, a raider’s honor was in never stealing from those in need and always taking from those who had plenty. From nobles, from kings. No true harm was ever done, they said—and if any raider took from someone in need, always he made amends.”

  “That is truth,” Banek said.

  “But it is not a full truth,” Maddek countered quietly. “Allies we have made of Syssia and Rugus, and so we trade now instead of raid them for riches. But in that alliance, other friendships have we made. And we have learned much about their kings and nobles that we once stole from—enough to know that stealing from them harmed those in need. Either because a generous king would have passed on those riches, to feed or clothe his people, or because a greedy king would extract from his people the cost of what was stolen. Always the most needy and vulnerable paid for our raids in some way.”

  Yvenne’s heart had swelled all the more as he spoke. She knew not what the Parsatheans in that tent might have thought of such an answer, yet to her, it was the finest of responses.

  And it was not one of the lessons she had given him, though many similar conversations they’d had while sailing north. So perhaps she had been in that tent with him in some way, after all.

  But the battle in the throne room was over for now. A far different battle lay ahead. “What was decided regarding my father?”

  “We ride south at first light,” Enox said.

  A full day of travel. And perhaps a day or more of messages sent and demands made. Then if her father did not surrender . . . the fighting would begin.

  Throat tight, Yvenne nodded. She had not been fully prepared to face her brother. But much had changed, and so many warrior’s lessons she’d had—lessons that had sharpened her mind as well as her bow.

  “You will not ride with us,” Maddek told her—gently, as if he knew what a blow it would be, and yet still it left her reeling.

  “Not ride with you?” What sense did that make? “He brings Syssian soldiers with him. They will listen to me and—”

  Maddek shook his head. “We know not what lies he might have told them. Just as your brother tried to paint you as a demon, he might claim that we have forced you to send any message. No doubt he will tell them this is a rescue and to ignore all else until you are securely in his possession again.”

  Enox nodded. “If your father’s sole purpose is to reclaim you, then we must not make it easy by taking you to him.”

  That was sensible and yet . . . “Those are my people you will be raising swords against,” she told Maddek in anguish. “My soldiers you will kill to reach him. Let me try to persuade them to raise their swords against my father, instead.”

  “I swear to you that I will reach out my hand to them,” he vowed gruffly. “The soldier you sent to the council with your brother’s corpse—”

  “Jeppen.”

  “You asked him to tell the others that you would return and that your father’s rule would end. You told him that you went with me willingly. If that word has spread, then you may have already persuaded them.”

  Perhaps. Though she knew it was a thin hope. “So I am to stay here?”

  “No. This camp will be near to empty—and is the most obvious place for him to search for you after he realizes you are not with us. Instead we will hide you away.”

  She did not want to be hidden away. But in this, it seemed she had little say, too. Throat thick, she asked, “Where?”

  He held out his hand. “I will show you.”

  CHAPTER 35

  YVENNE

  They rode west and north, with dread tightening in Yvenne’s gut all the way. For tomorrow would see Maddek leaving to fight her father’s army, and her own people, and nothing she would know of what happened there until two or three more days had passed.

  As the sun was setting, Maddek drew closer to Yvenne’s mount. “There it is.”

  With a lift of his chin he gestured ahead, yet Yvenne saw nothing. Only grass and firebloom, all the way to the horizon.

  When she looked to him in confusion, he grinned at her. “We make use of what we have. We have not many stones to build walls, and the dirt crumbles too easily to make good bricks. So this is our defense, instead.”

  She looked again. “But I see . . . nothing.”

  “That is what it is. Come.” He nudged his mount to a quicker pace and she followed suit. “Keep watching.”

  Watching nothing . . . until there was something. A slight ridge upon the ground ahead. As they drew nearer, a depression became visible—deep enough to conceal tents dyed to match the grasses.

  In astonishment she looked to him. “There was nothing!”

  “It is only a trick of the eye. Even from a short distance, there is nothing to see. Only the plain. An enemy either would be lucky or must know where it is to find anyone hidden within a hollow.”

  So it seemed. Still bemused by the cleverness of that disguise, she rode with him into the small encampment. The Dragon rode behind them, along with two dozen other warriors who would stay secluded here. Hiding her away, so her father could not find her—and so that she would not suffer at his hands.

  Yet the goddess almost never spoke clearly. And although Yvenne did not like to dwell on what couldn’t be known, she began to wonder if the suffering Zhalen would inflict on her would not be physical pain. For Maddek had seen so well to her protection. An entire army stood between her father and her.

  But that distance between Maddek and her father would be erased. And if Maddek did not return from this battle, if Zhalen killed him . . . Yvenne would truly suffer.

  She knew not if the same dread filled Maddek. But they had barely finished
tending to their horses before he caught her up against his chest, carrying her to a private tent. Inside he kissed her, and it was with frantic need that she kissed him back. One night she had before he would leave, and then so much time would pass. Already those days were agony, and only by touching him could Yvenne seem to hold them back.

  Fiercely she returned every caress, and his urgency matched hers. Rough he was, rougher than he’d ever been, his grip tight upon her arms and legs as he held her wrists to plunder her mouth and then devour her cunt, yet she wanted the bruises he might leave. She wanted to still feel his touch within her while he was gone, and Maddek fucked her so hard and so long that he must have wanted the same. Over and over he had her, kissing until she was breathless, making her scream and scratch and come. On her back, then riding him, then from behind, his grunts harsh in her ear as he branded himself on her, inside her.

  Then he held her against him, her scarred back to his strong chest, arms wrapped around her and breathing in her hair. So quiet the tent was, only filled with the sound of their breaths.

  She could not bear to sleep. Sleep would only bring him closer to leaving. Into the dark she whispered, “Did you think the tribe leaders would not approve of me?”

  For perhaps that was why he’d waited to marry her, though they’d been on Temra’s altar. He might not have known whether he would have to choose between his bride and becoming Ran.

  “No.” His voice was a quiet rumble. “All doubts were settled.”

  “What doubts were those?” For she wanted very much to know what doubts might rise again in the future.

  “About whether any lies were spoken.”

  Oh. “That might change their vote if I had spoken lies?”

  “It would.”

  Not might. But would. So it was fortunate, then, that Maddek had accepted that she’d spoken truth about his mother, though his vow still stood while he was changing the habit of his view.

  His hand swept up her arm, as if in reassurance. “You have no need to worry. They know that it was justified.”

  She frowned, turning within his arms so that she might see his face, shadowed though it was. His eyes were closed and his voice had roughened in that lazy, drowsy way he had before drifting to sleep. “What was justified?”

  “The lie you spoke. That my mother approved of you as my bride.”

  He still did not believe her? Yvenne’s heart tightened painfully, and she sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes flew open even as she said, “That was no lie.”

  “Yvenne—”

  “It was no lie,” she said again, more forcefully. “I have never lied to you.”

  “It matters not.” He caught her face in his hands. “My claws were at your throat. You lied to save your life. It was justified.”

  “Justified? I need no justification. I spoke truth.”

  Eyes closing, he pressed his forehead to hers. “Do you fear I will abandon you for it? I will never. We are allies. I know all else you have said to me is true.”

  So sweetly he dug his claws beneath her breast. So gently he tore out her heart.

  Throat raw as if filled with bloody wounds, she asked him, “This is what you said to the tribes? That I lied, but it was justified?”

  “I did. And they agreed.”

  “All of them? Did your Dragon say so, too?”

  “They did. Of how we had attacked your carriage, seeking vengeance, and how you persuaded me to let you live. And then they spoke in support of you.”

  “But did no one suggest that I might have spoken true? Did no one suggest that I might come and speak for myself instead of accepting your view of it? Is it so impossible to believe that she might have approved of me?”

  “No,” he said quietly. “In time, she would have. As they do. As I do.”

  Yet he still thought her claim had been a lie. Though justified. “So all is well,” she said thickly.

  “It is.” Kissing her softly, he lay back again, drew her close.

  Soon he slept. Because all was well.

  Yet it was not.

  Pressure behind her eyes and in her chest built, hot and aching. When she could bear it no longer, she carefully slipped out of his arms and collected her robe. Barely did she make it outside before her tears began to fall—and then there, too, she had to hold them back. For at the small fire were Kelir, Nami, and Seri sitting together, with Nami holding her daughter close. Everywhere were warriors quietly talking—and others had slipped away as she and Maddek had done.

  Because the Parsatheans did not leave anything left unsaid. And before a battle, they took extra care to speak what needed to be spoken.

  Yet what had Maddek said to her? That she was still a liar. Even though she insisted over and over again that it was truth. She was a justified liar. As if that made a difference when it meant he still did not trust her word. When he had said that never could he love a woman whose word he could not trust.

  She had hoped so desperately that he had become entangled. So desperately she had wished for his heart.

  Yet nothing had he said of love or affection. Only of being allies. Only of protecting her.

  And no longer could she hold back the tears. Through the blurring of her eyes and the dark, she searched for somewhere alone. She found it at the edge of the hollow, where a small stream spilled into a pool that reflected the bright stars above. No moon there was this night; Vela’s face was turned away, so even the goddess would not witness these tears.

  How long Yvenne cried, she knew not. But these were the marks that this night would leave—the ragged wound of her heart, the raw ache of her throat. Those would last far longer than his touch.

  She should never have hoped for so much.

  CHAPTER 36

  MADDEK

  In the bed, Yvenne’s face was pale, her eyes raw. As if she had spent part of the night crying.

  With a heavy sigh, Maddek crouched beside the bed. He hated to wake her. Yet dawn neared and he already had extra distance to cover before catching up with the army. He ought to have sent her here with Banek and remained at the camp, yet he had needed this night with her.

  And it appeared that she’d needed it, too. Hers were not the only tears shed this night, he knew. Many warriors would ride into battle soon, and not all would return. Many would say words that needed to be said, not knowing if opportunity would come again.

  For most, it would. Zhalen would not defeat the Parsathean army. The numbers he’d brought to the Burning Plains were but a small fraction of those riding against him. All that Yvenne knew. Yet there would likely be warriors lost, and her soldiers . . . even Maddek was at risk.

  Maddek knew not how to ease her fears except by returning.

  Softly he kissed her, waking her gently. As always, she came out of sleep with a single blink.

  With his hand cradling her cheek, he told her quietly, “We are ready to ride out.”

  She sat up on a shuddering breath. “Already?”

  He kissed her again in answer. Her hands caught his face, her lips trembling against his.

  So sweet this was. Sheer emotion he could taste in this kiss. If he could but stay here longer, Maddek would try to draw words from her tongue that matched all that her kiss said.

  Yet first he would make certain that she never suffered at her father’s hand.

  Drawing back, he told her fiercely, “I will bring you his head.”

  She gave a quivering smile. “Perhaps his heart, too.”

  “I will bring both upon a pike, so you might shoot your arrows through them.” His thumbs brushed down her cheeks. “But your soldiers, I will do all I can to keep them alive—and bring them here, too, as they will rejoice to see you.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, and he kissed her yet again. From outside came the snort and stamp of waiting horses—and warriors.

/>   Reluctantly he released her. “I will send word as quickly as I can.”

  On a shuddering breath, she nodded. Never had leaving a tent been so difficult. So difficult that when she called his name, and he turned to find her limping toward him, nothing could have moved him another step away from her.

  Her eyes were bright and shadowed both, as if she held back the painful tears that thickened her voice. “Nothing should be left unsaid. Is that truth?”

  What had she left to say to him? All that he’d felt on her kiss? So similar it seemed to what burned in his own heart—which was not gentle but fierce, so fierce that he feared that his might blow out her spark if he did not take care.

  But if her fire already burned like his . . . then he had not as much to fear. “It is truth.”

  It was not a fire that burned as she stopped in front of him, though her chin was lifted and her fists clenched. Not since her moon night had she looked so utterly fragile, so ready to shatter.

  “Then I need to say . . . you can have your freedom from me.”

  He could make no sense of that. “What freedom?”

  Her chest lifted on a small, agonized breath. “From any obligation you feel to marry me. When you return with my father’s head, the agreement we made will be complete. We will have our vengeance. I’ll claim my throne, and you can then choose a bride who you believe is more suited to you.”

  Was this a jest? “You are suited to me.”

  “You do not truly believe that.” It was a ragged whisper. “Because never did you think that I might be speaking the truth. Because you tell me that, in time, your mother would have approved of me. Yet we spent three turns of the moon together in my tower, Maddek. More time than I have spent with you. Yet still you refuse to believe that it might be truth. You believe so strongly I have lied, that you tell all of Parsathe that I have spoken it. And so after my father is dead . . . I will return to Syssia as a queen, but no longer a bride.”