Besieged

by Verity Moore

  Thorson stood in the path waving as they set out. Cierra turned for one last glance as they rounded a curve. He was waving still. She had expected no less—Thorsons were faithful.

  ✽✽✽

  Cierra stared up at a canvas sky splotched with stars and shivered. How distant and unconcerned they were—man’s troubles did not trouble them. She wrapped her cloak more tightly around herself. Nights in the forest were cold. She considered curling up next to Kyam, but discarded the idea. Her snapping at Thorson lay between them like a hedge of thorns.

  She closed her eyes and imagined a warm crackling fire. It was her own fault they did not have one. Her plume had surely spurted when Thorson refused to lie to protect them.

  Part of her anger was guilt…and shame. She had not even hesitated at the idea of lying. Scrambling to stay alive, straining to reach her father in time had—had they warped her benchmark so that any means was now acceptable? Her conscience lay bruised and battered. If Kyam was correct, that would explain why The Masters’ messages were so sporadic.

  She curled into a ball, hugging Castoff close. So cold. Her plume—she had endangered them again. She shivered—this time not from the cold. Were fulcarries carrying orders, pinpointing their direction? And Thorson…if her plume had been spotted, his river would be scoured.

  She groaned. Would she never be free—tracked and hounded always because of her anger? And guilt—strangling coils of regret to endure—if Kyam or Thorson were harmed by her inability to hold her temper; the thought was unbearable.

  ‘Please, Masters, reveal the puzzles’ message. Grant Hezzor success as he hastens to the Outer Reaches.’ “Kyam, are you awake?”

  “Hmm. I believe so.”

  “Have you thought more of the puzzles?”

  ✽✽✽

  Kyam sat up and looked at her. Her shoulders drooped. Tears shimmered on her lower lid. But his heart rejoiced. Her heart was turning. He nodded. “I think I’ve found several clues.”

  “What?”

  “Inge keeps your anger inflamed.”

  “Agreed. But who is she? Why does she say she holds the deed to my imagination?”

  “Inge is whispering lies that you accept as truth.”

  “Lies?” She worried a tuft of grass, pulling and twisting.

  “About your worth. Your beauty. Your gifts.”

  She chewed her lower lip. “That sounds like pride—another heart danger—probably with a plume as well.”

  “Pride is only a threat when you take credit for The Masters’ work.”

  She cocked her head, scrunched her eyebrows and tugged on a strand of hair. “Perhaps. I’ll take your definition under consideration.”

  He chuckled and rescued her hair, “Stop torturing those delightful curls. Consider as long as you need. The Masters have called you to a unique task. To refuse to acknowledge Their call is pride as well.”

  “Pride to admit I’m not good enough for the task? Sounds like humility and reason to me.”

  “To contradict The Masters is humility?”

  Her mouth formed a perfect oval. Her eyes stared through him. She had retreated to the world inside her head. He would wait until she returned.

  Her last statement echoed in his mind. “I’m not good enough.” He saw a finger write the words in the dust, not flowing one after another, instead descending in a line.

  I’m

  Not

  Good

  Enough.

  The first letter of each word caught fire. I-N-G-E. Inge. There it was: the lie that held his beloved in its talons. The fire behind her anger-plume.

  He started to speak, but stopped. Was he to share his discovery with her? Would it have less value if the discovery of Inge’s identity didn’t explode across her imagination? The Masters had made an issue of preparing to receive. Was she ready?

  Not yet.

  Very well, Ya-Wyn. But it is hard to wait.

  What would happen if you didn’t wait for fruit to ripen?

  It would be spoiled.

  When tempted to speak, think about destroyed fruit.

  Cierra stirred. He turned his focus from Ya-Wyn to her. She fiddled with Castoff’s ear. “My head now concurs with you. But my heart draws back, I’m pulled in two.”

  “First the head opens the door. Only then can the heart accept. You have taken the first step. The rest will come.”

  She smothered a huge yawn behind her hand. “I’m tired.”

  “Sleep, Mela Dolsi, the answers will come. Like stray sheep wandering home. One here. Another there. We have made a start.” He pulled her close to rest in his arms.

  She pillowed her head against his chest. Almost immediately her breathing deepened.

  ✽✽✽

  Cierra and Kyam sat side by side on a fallen log, munching on nuts and berries. Thanks to Thorson’s map and Kyam’s tracking skills, they were making steady progress.

  He grinned at her.

  “What?”

  “Such dainty banquet manners in such an unrefined setting.” He mimed her selection of a single nut, with his little finger extended.

  “I do not eat like that.”

  Next he pretended to chew and chew and chew on that single nut.

  She decided to ignore his teasing. “Are we nearing the halfway point?”

  “By the time we camp this evening.”

  Cierra ran her hand along the log beside her without looking away from Kyam, “Up hill or down this afternoon?”

  “It appears we have climbed to the highest point. There should be more down than up from here.”

  When her fingers couldn’t find her pile of nuts she checked the log beside her. Empty. She scowled at Castoff who was resting at her feet. “Does he like nuts?”

  “He prefers the squirrels.”

  “Yes, but will he eat nuts?”

  “He spits them out. Why do you ask?”

  “My nuts are gone.”

  “Are you accusing my poor innocent dog of nut theft?”

  “Look,” she pointed toward the elephant leaf she had used as a plate, “I didn’t eat all of them.”

  “Certainly not, since at least a dozen remain.”

  “What?” She swiveled toward the log. “They were not there a minute ago.”

  “You probably overlooked them.” Kyam shrugged.

  She narrowed her eyes and stared at him.

  “What?”

  “Is this one of your tricks?”

  “Tricks?”

  “Sneaking my nuts behind my back, then replacing them when I’m not looking.”

  Kyam slapped a hand over his heart. “Me? I am as innocent as my dog.”

  She snorted. His mouth twitched.

  And something giggled.

  They both stilled.

  “Did you hear that?” she whispered.

  He nodded.

  “It sounded like laughter, only not human.”

  He nodded again.

  Castoff sneezed and bolted upright, shaking his head. Again something chuckled. “It sounds like a breeze, perhaps.” She studied the dog. “He does not appear to be alarmed.”

  “Annoyed, yes. Alarmed, no. Let us finish our lunch and be on our way.”

  She reached for her nuts. Gone. “Oh!”

  “What?”

  “Look.”

  He scratched his jaw. “Someone is playing with us. Sit quietly and see what happens next.” Castoff returned to his nap. Cierra sat still, moving only her eyes to watch the leaf plate beside her.

  Which is why she didn’t see the sneak attack coming.

  She only saw Castoff rear back and paw at the side of his nose. Never had he looked so bewildered.

  The log where she sat began to shift and move. She jumped up expecting to see soldiers at her back. There was only Kyam. He was rocking back and forth, arms wrapped around his middle. At first she thought he was in pain, then she realized he was shaking with silent mirth.

  “What’s so funny?”

 
He bent over, laughing harder, but still silently. “Kyam, what is happening?” He straightened and wiped the tears off his face.

  His chest heaved. “A vine…”

  She looked at Castoff. There was a pretty little plant curled at his feet. Dainty yellow flowers and shiny green leaves swayed in the wind. Except there was not even a breeze.

  She stared at Kyam. He chuckled. “I almost missed it. It moved with more stealth than a snake. Stalked Castoff like a cat, then pounced…And tickled his nose with the curling stem at the end.”

  She looked again at the vine. It was winding around and between the dog’s feet. Silvery bell-like giggles filled the air.

  The plant was laughing.

  Castoff lifted his feet and tried to move, but the plant held him in place. The curly end rose high enough to brush against the dog’s ear. He flapped vigorously trying to evade the vine. It slipped inside his ear and swished back and forth. Castoff yipped.

  “Poor fellow—first butterflies and now vines.”

  “We must rescue him.” When Cierra grabbed the vine to pull it away, she was sure the chuckling sound turned into a pouty whine. It came without resistance, but immediately twined about her arm. “Stop that!”

  The plant released its hold and dropped to the ground—quiet, still and plant-like once more.

  “Very obedient.” Kyam was still chuckling.

  “Coincidence only.” How quick he was to see the miraculous, while she was mired in the mundane.

  “Let us see.” Kyam cleared his throat. “Vine, hold on to Cierra’s left leg.” Immediately the plant lifted and, in undulating movements, began to wrap around her leg—the left one. “Now, let her go.” The vine coiled on the ground once more.

  She stooped to look more closely at the petals. “Do you know what kind of plant it is?”

  Kyam shook his head. “Never have I heard of any plant with personality and the ability to communicate or obey commands.”

  “Surely something so extraordinary would be talked of in your travels.”

  “True. Perhaps…”

  “What?”

  He shrugged. “It is said that The Masters’ messengers can take on any shape they choose. That sounds absurd, but I have no other explanation at this point.”

  “Then it will have to remain one of the things we do not understand.” Cierra brushed her hands.

  Kyam stretched. “Hmm. If I were to put all things beyond my comprehension in one room, it would be vast indeed. One unique vine will not take up much space.”

  The next hour was beyond anything Cierra could imagine. The vine served them berries, nuts and flowers, the last of which tasted like honey bread, until they could eat no more.

  Mischief, for so Kyam named the vine, felt his face like a blind man seeing with his fingers. Then it combed through her hair and fashioned a bow of leaves to sit atop her head. It tried to pet Castoff, but he would have none of it.

  And when they rose to depart, the vine cried.

  “I wish we could take it with us. It sounds lonely and forlorn.” She knew well the desolation that came with abandonment.

  Hearing this, the vine looped around her waist humming. Its root end trailed down her tunic and dipped into a half-empty water skin.

  “It appears ready to depart.”

  “But it will die without soil.”

  “If it begins to wilt, we will find a nice spot and plant it.

  Mischief proved to be an excellent traveler. It waved its fronds at the passing scenery and seemed content to ride for hours. The curly end draped around Cierra’s neck and rubbed her cheek like a cat.

  And, in typical feline fashion, took every opportunity to torment Castoff.

  ✽✽✽

  Another cold, fireless night.

  There was absolutely no need to be cold. Not when a source of warmth better than wood and flame lay within reach. Cierra sat up, which meant Castoff and Mischief raised their heads as well. Kyam remained still.

  She hesitated. In the past when she was cold, he had been quick to offer his heat. He hadn’t acted upset with her during the day—why was he bedded down way over there? She thought of resting her head against his chest—feeling his muscles flex and move. Her heart quickened and her breath caught in her throat. That magnificent male was her husband. Hers.

  She admitted that she was tired of their current arrangement. She wanted more than hugs and occasional kisses. She wanted to be a wife, truly.

  Cierra remembered his words on their betrothal day. ‘Your skin entices me with its pearly sheen. The way you cock your head starts a hunger in me to explore the smooth column of your throat. I want you to know that I desire you and long to make you my wife in all ways. But you are not ready. And I will not take what you do not freely give.’

  How was he to know she had changed her mind: that she wished for more, that her heart had changed? Showing him would be easiest. For she was not sure she could find the right words.

  She swallowed. If he had felt this yearning need since they met, how had he remained so patient?

  Her heart pounded. She could do this. She padded to his side and knelt next to him.

  Kyam sat up. “What is wrong?”

  She shook her head. Her finger tips traced his jaw and then his brow as an artist delighting in a magnificent sculpture.

  “Cierra?”

  Quivering breaths puffed between her lips. She leaned close, eyes drifting shut, searching for his mouth.

  His strong hands cradling her face guided her home. Firm and gentle, fiery heat at her center and chills dancing up and down her back—so many contradictions and yet a beautiful wholeness. Kyam slanted his mouth in a different direction and stars burst in her heart. She moved closer, his arms pulled her tighter.

  The end came without warning. He held her away from his heaving chest. When she tried to snuggle, he braced his arms to keep her away. The pain of his rejection burned away all the delight and pleasure. She tried to pull away, but he held her in place—neither close nor yet separate.

  “No, Mela Dolsi, it is not what you think.”

  “I disturbed your sleep. I will return to my bed.” She refused to look at him.

  He laughed; a low rumble that set all kinds of strings humming inside her. “You disturb my sleep every night. You invade my dreams and your fragrance ensnares me.”

  “Then why?” His words tossed her about like a boat caught in deep waves.

  “The night we first celebrate our marriage needs to be a time when I can focus all my attention on you. And…” he nodded at Castoff and Mischief, “without an audience.” He rubbed her arms. “I do not want to hurry or try to keep alert to possible danger—although there is little chance of that happening. When you are in my arms, His Eminence himself could be at my elbow and I would not notice.”

  “Truly?”

  Kyam placed a quick kiss on her lips. “Surely you hear my heart trying to break out of my body?”

  She ran her hand across his chest. “And I thought there was a night drummer in the forest.” She took advantage of his relaxed arms to snuggle closer. “We can at least sleep together.”

  Kyam’s groan sounded like it started in his toes. “I am a man on fire for his woman. I do not have that kind of strength. Do not ask it of me, please.”

  Her heart expanded—he found her beautiful and desirable. Like a bud soaked in sunlight, she felt herself unfurl. Something which had been tight inside of her was set free.

  She patted his cheek and sauntered back to her bed. Even her walk had changed.

  He must have noticed; his chuckle followed her.

  With new, heady thoughts swirling about, she didn’t notice the cold. Rolling her cloak about her, she stared at the stars while joy bursts exploded within.

  Her husband did not find her defective, deficient, or second-best. Scenes began to sweep across her imagination—Kyam smiling, Kyam kissing her. Her breath caught—a baby with his grin. Suddenly she saw a future filled with hope, no
longer endless shades of gray but a world saturated with vibrant colors.

  She froze. Did Kyam want babies? Perhaps he only wanted one son, older and adopted, like Toby. Some men found toddlers frustrating. A big, gruff man who thrives on mountains might not like little ones. She cleared her throat. “Husband?”

  “Yes, wife?”

  “Do you want …would you mind...” She stumbled over her words, afraid of his answer.

  “It is difficult to say with surety since I seem to have missed part of the question.” She heard the smile in his words. “However, I feel confident if there is something you want then I want it as well. If for no other reason than it pleases you.”

  She took a deep breath and blurted, “Babies.”

  The silence stretched until she thought she would snap.

  His low voice reminded her of her bass bell. “For years the thought of a family opened an aching chasm in my chest. It hurt to see others with homes and laughing children.”

  “Sons,” she whispered.

  “Hmm, sturdy little boys with dirty knees and mischievous grins who will grow into strong young men. I will teach them to fish, climb mountains, and be men of honor.”

  “And stride with confidence when others falter and whine,” she added. “To be like their father.”

  “Thank you, kitten. I also dream of dainty toddlers with tumbled curls who raise dimpled arms so that Papa will pick them up and cuddle them close.”

  “You want daughters?”

  “Of course.”

  “You will spoil them.”

  “I will make sure they know that they are valuable and precious.” He paused. “I am weary of being a foreigner without a home. I want a family bound by love and commitment. I want to build a home with you where our children learn to give and care. A place with joy and laughter, hugs and kisses.”

  As she slid toward sleep, she murmured a promise. “You will have your kingdom, Kyam, not the large one you deserve, but a small one made up of your wife and children. We will never betray you and ask for another.”