She met his eyes in fiery defiance. “You did it.”
“You lie! I never touched you with a sword!”
“No, but you tried to slay Koro with one!”
“Koro?” he asked dumbly.
“The wyvern,” she hissed.
“Oh dear gods … You express the wounds of the wyvern on your own body?”
She gave a short nod of her head. “And he expresses mine on his. So you see, try as you might, I will not heal until the wyvern is healed. And vice versa.”
“That is a terrible thing! What if the wyvern had been killed?” he asked angrily.
“Then I would have died. But it is the wyvern who has the raw end of the deal, for if I die, he dies as well … and I am much easier to kill than he is. So now you know. All your problems will be solved if you but take a sword to my neck.”
He frowned and moved closer to her, gazing down at her wounded body and her bared skin.
“What is your name?” he asked, suddenly realizing he had not asked it of her.
She went tight lipped again for a moment and he thought she wasn’t going to give him what he wanted. She had no control over her situation and her life, and this was one small thing she could try to control. But she surprised him all the same as she reluctantly said, “Sarielle.”
It was a beautiful name. Appropriate for a beautiful woman, he thought. And she was that and very much more. His aroused body could attest to that fact.
“Well, Sarielle,” he said as he watched the mem button her back up, “you have a very serious problem.”
“Do you really think so?” she asked dryly, running her gaze along the length of the chain holding her there.
“Yes. And what I mean to say is, your wyvern was injured by a god-made weapon, Sarielle. His wounds will not mend on their own. Only a mage or mem will be able to provide the healing he needs.”
“How stupid do you think I am?” she scoffed. “You are trying to get me to bring him here, out of hiding. Promising him healing when I’m sure once you’ve lured him here you will capture him for some nefarious purpose or kill him!”
“Sarielle,” Garreth said patiently as he met her eyes. “You said yourself all I have to do is kill you in order to kill the wyvern. So why would I bother with luring him here if I can simply cut your pretty little throat?” He reached down and drew a gentle finger from one side of her throat to the other.
Ah yes. Her skin was just as soft as it had promised to be.
“I cannot bring him here,” she said softly, a fine tremor going through her again and again. “He will not come, so don’t ask it of me.”
“Why won’t he come? If you control him—”
“I do not control him like that! He is not a slave to me! He is a magnificent, independent creature who happens to love me, soul to soul, and therefore will do anything to protect me if I ask him to. But my mind does not control his mind. His mind does not control mine. But we … I feel him. His pain and confusion. His worry for my safety. His strong dragon’s heart is brave, but right now he is frightened and he is hiding. He would not come to me even if I begged him to. I would have to go and find him.”
“Go? You can barely get out of bed.”
“If you let me go, I promise you I can make it to his side. I will find a way to heal him. Please … just let me go and—”
“No,” Garreth said with finality.
“Then you are a liar! You have no intention of setting me free at all!”
“I have no intention of letting you run around in the world half healed and weakened. That wyvern is hiding in the Asdar Mountains, some of the rockiest terrain known to man. Just how far do you think you could get in a place like that when you can barely lift your left arm? No. First, we heal what we can of you. The bolt wound is yours and so can be healed, yes?”
“Yes,” she answered cautiously, narrowing her eyes on him. Honestly he could not blame her. It sounded like her life gave her little reason to trust anyone.
“So we will heal it first. Then we can talk more. Now, get some rest. It is almost dusk and I … I will return later,” he said moving toward the entrance of the tent.
“Your name is Garreth, yes?” she asked suddenly. He turned back to her and nodded. “I heard it from one of your men.”
“I see.”
“I do not believe you are going to be as benevolent as you say,” she said defiantly. “But I will heal since it is in my best interest to do so … not because it is in yours.”
“I am content with that. Now I must go. You will be taken to the keep later and I will join you there after juquil’s hour so we can speak of this further. Perhaps you will find our goals are not so different after all.”
“I wish to be taken to my rooms!” she said, making him look back at her with a hard look. “I-in the keep,” she explained hastily. “I have my rooms in the keep. You can easily hold me there.” She sighed. “It comes equipped with manacles.”
The reminder of her enslavement made him frown stormily. “He kept you in shackles?”
“Often,” she muttered. “Whenever I misbehaved. Which I am proud to say could be quite often.”
That lightened him with amusement. “Why does this not surprise me?” he said to no one in particular. “Very well. Your rooms. I will see it done and see you there later.”
With that, he left the tent.
CHAPTER
FOUR
Sarielle was pacing her rooms anxiously. Her entire life was suddenly in turmoil and she didn’t know how to navigate this new world with this new man controlling her fate. At least she had learned ways to manipulate the bennesah to her benefit over the turnings.
Well, sometimes anyway. She had learned how to protect herself and the things she held most dear.
The ones she held most dear.
Her sisters Jona and Isaelle.
The twins were being held in the keep, as serving girls in the kitchens, under the tight and watchful eye of the kitchen matron, Soa, who could be a cruel taskmistress. Sarielle should know; she grew up in the kitchens with Soa holding power over her and her mother, who had been a cook. The best cook in the kitchens, it was said. Her mother, Beah, had been lauded by their master, praised and given special considerations for her fantastic meals and the sheer magnificence of her skills. She had been allowed the rare privilege of keeping her children close by as she birthed and raised them.
Then Sarielle’s mother had died, soon after their father, whom Beah had loved beyond reason; he had been killed in a horrible wagon accident while getting supplies from a caravan in the mountains. It was believed Beah had suffered from a broken heart. Not even the knowledge that her three daughters would be left behind to fend for themselves had managed to keep her on this physical plane. No. She had much preferred to go to Kitari and the eight heavens with their father than stay with them.
So, that had left Sarielle with the responsibility of caring for her sisters. She had suffered under the cruelty of Soa for turnings as she struggled to become a cook of the same caliber as her mother … and failed to do so. But while her cooking did not shine, her efforts did. She was a hard worker and was passionately loyal to her family. She would do anything to better their place in the world.
Anything at all.
Including binding her soul to a deadly wyvern.
It was only a matter of time before this barbarian learned of her small sisters and used them to manipulate her, just as the bennesah had.
Call the wyvern to protect us or I will have your sisters’ throats slit right here where we stand.
The barbarian invader was not to be trusted. The destruction in the city alone was proof of that. He had come to conquer and he had done just that. The only small satisfaction to be had was watching the bennesah grovel for his place of comfort in the ruins of his city. He deserved his fall from grace. He deserved everything they did to him, and he deserved to lose everything they stole from him. Now perhaps he would be the slave made to dance to th
e whims of others.
But petty victories like that did not solve her problems. Her goals were two-pronged and simple: protect her sisters and protect her wyvern.
Koro was the very heart of her. And she was the very heart of him. They had bonded long ago in a way that couldn’t be understood by the average layperson. She felt for him as she felt for her beloved sisters. She loved him from the bottom of her soul. And he was out there, somewhere, suffering and in pain.
Because of him.
She searched her room, looking for anything she could use as a weapon. But moving around was awkward because she had been shackled to the column that was in the center of her bedchamber. The slack in the chain was designed to give her just enough length to lie down on the bed or sit in the window bench. But there was nothing worth looking at now, darkness having fallen long ago. Juquil’s hour came and passed and she waited with bated breath for him to appear. She tried to heft a book in her hands. No. Not heavy enough. She grabbed her hairbrush and smacked it hard against her palm. Yes. That would hurt. But perhaps only enough to enrage him, and if she was going to try to kill him, she needed a better plan than that.
The barbarian talked as though he was an intelligent and reasoning man, but she knew it was all a lie. She had been conned by such mannerisms in the past and she would not be conned again. He would not lull her into thinking he was harmless. Not after what he had done to Koro.
She thought about that for a moment. He had been burned by Koro. She had noticed it along his face and body when she had first seen him at the litter. But by the time he had come into the tent some hours later, he had been much healed. She had never heard of a mem of such great ability as that. His mems must be truly powerful. Truly devout. For it was the devoutness of a mem that allowed her the ability to heal.
It made no sense to Sarielle that the mems of such barbarians would be considered blessed by the gods. But she supposed that depended on which god the mems followed. These mems were of Weysa, the goddess of conflict and war. It would figure that these conquerors would worship such a goddess. They thrived on conflict, on running roughshod over otherwise peaceable cities, claiming them as their own. And for what? Power? Riches? Glory? What was it that drove this man Garreth?
It did not matter, she decided. All that mattered was the safety of her sisters and helping Koro to heal. Koro’s wounds were so very deep—she could feel them all the way to her soul. If Garreth had spoken the truth, then Koro could not heal on his own and he would die. What if he got an infection because the wound would not heal? She was not afraid of dying, but she was fearful for her wyvern.
It was nearly an hour past juquil’s hour before he entered her rooms. By that time she had worn herself out with her pacing, her wounded body aching and sore, the wounds in her belly raw. She should not be up on her feet, but she could not help herself.
At least the wound on her shoulder was healing well, thanks to Garreth’s talented mem. She might be an old crone, but she clearly knew what she was doing. And even though she could not heal the wounds on Sarielle’s belly, she had provided an anesthetic cream to apply to the wound to take the edge off the pain. It worked only a little, but it was good enough. Hopefully it translated on Koro’s end as well.
He looked different when he entered the room. He was fully out of armor and lacked any accoutrements of war, save the sword and dagger at his belt. The same sword and dagger that had so terribly wounded Koro. She had noticed that the smallest wound on her belly, presumably made from the dagger, was knitting together nicely and starting to heal. She could only assume that the dagger was not god made and therefore Koro was able to heal from the injury. But the other … a gleaming deadly black weapon … Yes, indeed it was god made. You could tell just by looking at the thing. It was as though it had a soul of its own.
“I see you are on your feet,” he said as he walked up to her. “I will presume that is a good—Whoa!”
He barely had time to catch her when she suddenly fell forward against him. She didn’t know what happened. She was fine one minute, and the next everything inside her simply went weak. She pushed at him in frustration, tried to gain her feet, but her body would not behave, would not act in accordance with her wishes.
He bent to put an arm behind her legs and suddenly swept her up into his arms, carrying her to the bed.
“Let me go! I can walk on my own!” she said angrily.
“Clearly you cannot. Will you stop fighting me for one second and take a moment to relax? To rest? Perchance to heal? This cannot be good for you or for Koro.”
“Do not talk about him as if you care for his well-being! I know you only want his power for yourself!”
“That is what you keep claiming is my goal,” he said as he put a knee on the bed and laid her down on it gently, despite her struggles. “But I have never said that was my intention. Nor have I done anything to support your beliefs.”
“Give it time,” she snapped, trying to push him away from her.
But suddenly he was encasing her head between his large hands and forcing her to look into his eyes, which were as green as the Faspin Sea.
“I am not your enemy,” he said to her intently. “If you would but give me a moment to prove it—”
“Ha! What a joke! Not my enemy! You just laid waste to the city I call my home! How does that not make you my enemy?”
He seemed to think on that a moment. “A very good point,” he conceded. “But I did not lay siege to this place to rape it of its valuables and leave it torn asunder and helpless. I am merely the changing of the guard. I will run this city to my own liking and hopefully to the better benefit of your people. There are no slaves where I come from,” he said quietly as he held her gaze.
That gave her pause. She could not believe such a claim. No slaves? Who then did the dark and dirty work? How were the nobles supported? How did they gain their luxuries if not on the backs of others?
“So … since you are here … the scourge are no longer slaves? Is … is that what you are trying to tell me?”
“Yes,” he said softly.
He was too close to her, she realized in a sudden panic. He had seated himself on the bed facing her, his arm bridged over her, his body leaning toward her, and his face mere inches away from hers.
“I do not believe you,” she said.
“You will,” he assured her. “But before we worry about that, we need to look after your health. You must tell me where to find the wyvern. If we do not heal him, you could die, and I do not wish to see that happen.”
“Why? Why should you care?”
“How could I not care?” he asked her. “I have never seen anything like what you share with this creature. It is an amazing thing. A truly magical connection. One I wish to learn more about. It is blessed by the gods for certain.”
She snorted. “The gods had nothing to do with it,” she said.
“The gods have everything to do with everything,” he promised her.
“The gods aren’t even real. That’s probably not even a god-made sword. Weaponry like that is just a myth!”
“Oh, the gods are real. I have seen them for myself. And have a care for what you say because you never know which god is listening to you and when.”
“Seen them yourself?” She scoffed at him. “Now you make grandiose claims. Why would gods make themselves known to the likes of you?” she asked him.
“You don’t really want to know the answer to that question,” he said evasively. “Suffice it to say, the gods are real. Weysa is real. And this city has fallen to her glory and will now sing her praises and pray in her temples.”
“We have no temples for Weysa here,” she said in a hard tone.
“Then we will build them as we rebuild the city.” His gaze drifted away from hers and dropped to her mouth. “We will all pay tribute to her.”
“Will you lay me out upon the altar? A spoil of war? Offer me up to your killer goddess?”
“Enough!” he said
sharply. “Watch your words, Sarielle. You do not wish to incite a god’s wrath, believe me.”
“Believe you? I do not believe you. Not a word you say.”
“How shall I convince you, then?” he asked her, his study of her mouth lasting a long time … until she began to get uncomfortable. His intense stare made her feel somehow warm inside. Her belly felt all swirly, and she suddenly felt very aware of her breasts. She swallowed hard, trying to banish the strange sensations through the force of her will. He must be using some kind of sorcery, she thought frantically. But no … that wasn’t possible …
“Let me go. Let me walk off into the darkness, never to be seen again.”
“Alone?” he asked with an arched brow. He reached toward her with a single finger, his thumb, letting it settle on her lower lip. It slowly brushed from one side of her mouth to the other.
She hesitated. She cleared her throat.
“You have loved ones here you would not leave behind, I think,” he said keenly. “Will you not tell me who they are? Or should I discover this from the bennesah?”
“He holds them even now,” she hissed. “You think you control me, but you do not. You have no power over me. He has it and he knows I know it. He has no doubt hidden them away by now, ready to use them against me when the moment is right.”
“Which ‘them’ are we referring to?” he asked.
She growled low in her throat. “My sisters! Twins! Young girls barely ten full turnings old. So, what will you do now? Find them for yourself and ensure your power over me?”
“I have told you before. I am not your enemy and I am not seeking power over you. To prove it I will procure your sisters from the bennesah and bring them to you.”
She burst out in wild laughter. “You expect me to believe that?” she said.
“Damn me, woman, but you are stubborn!” he said, taking her shoulders between his hands and giving her a good hard shake. “If I bring them to you, will you believe me then?”