The Rose of Shanhasson Read online

  “I say you’ll do a lot more than apologize.” Gregar winked suggestively. “Perhaps he will wager with me again regarding how many times he can make you scream. As angry as he is now, I believe he could drive you insane for hours and hours before… ”

  Shannari climbed down the ladder as quickly as she dared.

  The Blood jumped and landed effortlessly on his horse’s back. “What keeps these outlanders from merely marching south to take your main Camp?”

  “Nothing but us. If we put up a good fight, they’ll hesitate here long enough for Khul’s warriors to arrive. Once your warhorses crash into Captain Maldani’s lines, he’ll never be able to reform them again.”

  “And when they swarm your outer walls?” Gregar’s tone was still light but his eyes darkened, swirling with Shadow. He knew very well how quickly she’d lose the massive but unarmed wall to the enemy.

  “Then we retreat quickly and orderly to the inner keep. We can hold it for days, and I only need to buy an hour or two at most. Does that meet with your approval?”

  His mouth quirked with amusement at her sarcasm. “Aye. What says Khul of these arrangements?”

  “He won’t speak to me.”

  “Ah.” Gregar nodded, the dreadfully wicked gleam returning to his eyes. “He will want a private discussion with you, then.”

  After all the times she’d begged for privacy, this sounded quite foreboding. “What does that mean?”

  :It means I shall hold you down, prevent you from so much as touching me, while I lave every inch of your skin with my tongue and you shout yourself hoarse.: Rhaekhar growled in her head. :And then I shall do it again. And again. And— :

  :You’re welcome to try.:

  Hard amusement trickled through his bond. :I’m warrior enough, na’lanna. I accept your challenge. Though Gregar is not warrior enough to protect you from yourself.:

  :If you were here, you wouldn’t be able to stop me either.:

  Rhaekhar didn’t answer, but his bond vibrated tighter, straining to pull her away from danger with nothing but his love. It very nearly succeeded, especially when he softened his touch, his inner voice, and trailed ghostly fingers through her heart and mind. :I love you, Shannari. It drives me mad to think of you in danger. I beg you, my heart, run to me, now, as you ran to Gregar.:

  Impressive warrior. He would use every weapon at his disposal, including her guilt at her betrayal with his Blood. :You had best ride harder, my heart. The Pellan and Shanhasson forces have arrived.:

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  At first, she felt rather useless in her hurriedly assembled armor, even with a sword hanging at her side once more. On the borrowed horse’s back, she couldn’t see the battle let alone participate. The wave of scaling hooks were too numerous for the handful of troops on the wall to knock away, and soon soldiers wearing the gray of Pella engaged her small ground force.

  All too quickly she saw a handful of mounted soldiers wearing the rose of Shanhasson, so the gate had been compromised as well. Little pockets of Allandor’s blue and gold stood firm but well outnumbered.

  More and more enemy soldiers crowded the inner courtyard, and her defensive pocket tightened. She’d already lost five men in her own group, and if she wasn’t careful, her own retreat would be blocked. Gregar reined his black stallion closer and jerked his head toward the keep.

  Nodding, she thrust her sword forcefully, taking a surprised soldier in the throat, and then spared a quick glance for Fenton. His force had indeed given up large sections of the wall, but their retreat progressed orderly. A few more minutes, and all of his men would be safely in the keep.

  A horn blared outside the walls, and fighting everywhere paused as the enemy soldiers waited for the order.

  Rhaekhar. She felt him close, so very close, still silent, hard, unswerving in his determination to reach her. His warriors slammed into the rear of the enemy’s force and the horn frantically called again.

  The fighting redoubled around her, and even Gregar’s black was hard pressed to keep the soldiers from collapsing their little pocket of safety. Fighting their way back to the keep’s iron gate, she glanced over her shoulder and saw Fenton fall. An arrow took him in the leg. He fought on the ground, crippled, bravely slicing at the crush of enemy soldiers around him.

  His blue stood out alone in a sea of gray.

  Jerking the horse’s head around, Shannari went for him. Gregar bellowed, his horse neighing a challenge to her own. She kneed the reluctant horse hard, forcing it out into the melee, carelessly running down any enemy who stood in her way. She would not leave one of her men— let alone Fenton, her Sergeant all these years— to die for her father’s mistake.

  With a final leap, her mount cleared the last of the soldiers surrounding Fenton. Leaning down, she grabbed his bloody hand and hauled him upward. He bit back a curse, struggling to get his wounded thigh swung over the horse’s back.

  Too late, Shannari saw the sword coming from underneath.

  Despite an obviously very broken leg, the soldier leaned upward and plunged his blade into her side.

  “Nay!”

  “Na’lanna!”

  Rhaekhar yelled from one direction, Gregar from the other.

  Soldiers flew through the air in all directions as Rhaekhar barreled toward her with his warriors close behind. Behind them were more soldiers in blue. Dazed, she couldn’t figure out how so many more Allandorian soldiers had arrived.

  Fenton slipped from her grasp, groaning when he landed hard on the ground. Her horse reared, confused, and whirled back toward the keep. Too much. Her grip on the horse slackened and she started to slide from its back.

  For one long, endless second, Shannari hung in the air, slipping down the horse’s sleek side. She had time to feel ashamed that both Rhaekhar and Gregar would see her fall from her horse. She even had time to look down at the ground and estimate how hard she would hit. She closed her eyes when the ground loomed just inches beneath her, but pride made her open her eyes.

  Crushing the last of the soldiers between him and his goal, Rhaekhar hung nearly upside down as his great golden stallion galloped toward her. Fiercely bared teeth gripped the rahke in his mouth. His long brown hair dragged the ground. Clamping a hand on her so hard she cried out, he snatched her to his chest before she hit the ground. With one hand fisted in Khan’s mane and the other clutching her tightly, he hauled them both upright. The stallion exploded with a burst of speed, hooves clattering on the stone tiles as they pounded into the safety of the inner keep with Gregar right beside them.

  “Na’lanna!”

  Hands ripped the chest plate away. She could feel the wound in her side gushing blood like a fountain. One of them pressed his hands against the wound in a desperate effort to staunch the flow. But no pain. It didn’t hurt at all.

  Rhaekhar, his voice shaking with urgency. “Nay, na’lanna!”

  Sweet hay, baked bread, caffe, warrior. Hair fell in her face. Arms clutched her desperately. Her beloved Evening Stars.

  “You will not die before me, na’lanna.” Gregar, so fierce, so adamant. “Do you hear me? I have seen the day of my death and this is not it! You do not yet carry my ivory rahke!”

  The Lake formed in her mind, mirroring the brutal black mountain with jagged peaks. A full moon loomed over the water, crystal clear, cold, and so sweet. So very sweet. A horse neighed, urgently, screaming her name.

  Blood is the key.

  Love, the greatest gift of all. And the greatest sacrifice.

  She pushed at the chest pressed so tightly against her. Fought the arms trying to hold her down. The sacred spring welled up inside her, cold water flowing in her veins, raging through her body. Power rose, freezing her bones. She couldn’t bear to hurt one of them as she’d done Stephan. She tried to speak, but water trickled from her mouth, choking her.

  :Let me go.:

  :Never!: Rhaekhar growled, wrapping her tighter.

  :Magic. I must— :

  He stood,
lifting her, bracing her against his powerful body. One of his big hands pressed against the wound, but everything in her demanded blood. Her blood. Sacrifice. Prying his fingers away, she stood straighter.

  Blood. She needed blood. On the ground. Couldn’t waste it.

  She caught blood in her left palm and cast it out, sprinkling the ground. She felt each drop hit the earth, rolling echo of power sinking deep, strengthening the ground, sparking life. Cold, pure water bubbled out of her like a sacred spring, washing away the Shadow embedded in her homeland.

  Stumbling, she headed for the battle. Rhaekhar caught her arm, supporting her, but he didn’t stop her. Gregar. Where was he? She needed—

  Immediately, he took her other arm. With the Lady’s magic rolling from her, she could feel his gift of Death from Vulkar. Drawing on his bond, she drew a hoarse cry from him as she dragged his shadowed power into her own, poisoning the pure water flowing through her.

  Death spread among the soldiers.

  For a moment, she panicked, terribly afraid she would kill her own people. But the whisper in her heart soothed her, a gentle touch from the Lady, a reminder. The Lady’s magic would never harm one of Her own.

  Enemy soldiers shrieked and writhed on the ground. Allandorian soldiers fell to their knees, stunned, afraid. The Sha’Kae al’Dan horses whinnied, adding to the magical melody she felt in her heart, and distantly, that horse call again.

  :I’m coming!:

  The outflow of power ebbed, gently receding.

  Sagging against Rhaekhar, she tugged her left hand free of his grip and raised bloody fingers toward his mouth.

  Golden eyes gleamed, caught fire, and he groaned raggedly. “Are you sure— ”

  She ignored his hesitation and pressed her hand to his mouth. His eyes fell shut and he tasted her sacrifice. Her blood. Full of magic, full of love.

  Raising his head, he tightened his arms around her, shifting her toward Gregar. The Blood backed away, his eyes wild. “Nay, I cannot— ”

  The Lake called to her. Floating, floating, with the moon so full, so large in the sky.

  Leesha’s voice came from a great distance away. :IT IS ALLOWED. YOU MAY SHARE THE SACRIFICE AS YOU CHOOSE WITHOUT FEAR.:

  “Gregar,” Shannari called weakly. Her knees trembled and she could no longer hold herself up. “You must. I need you. I need your bond.”

  “Khul— ”

  “Do as she says.”

  The Shadowed Blood of Death came to her side as Rhaekhar lowered her to the ground. Sliding deeper into the Lake, the chill, cold water, she couldn’t seem to lift her head, her arms. Rhaekhar held her on his lap, his warmth soaking into her, making her eyes drowsy.

  She fought unconsciousness.

  “Hurry,” she whispered. “Our Blessed Lady’s touch is leaving me.”

  Trembling, Gregar took her hand.

  “No, no, not enough.” She struggled against the heaviness dragging her under. This might very well be the only time Gregar tasted her blood, and she wanted to remember it. She wanted to feel his reaction through his bond, feel her blood flowing in his veins, tying him to her. “Wound.”

  He made a low, rough sound, likely sharing a questioning glance with Khul for approval. Rhaekhar lifted her higher in his arms, tugging the linen shirt she wore beneath her armor aside to better bare the wound.

  Silken lips grazed her ribcage. She looked down her body, at his sable hair spread across her. As if he knew she looked at him, he rolled his gaze up, shifting so his eyes met hers. Obsidian, flickering flames, moonlight. Those shining dark eyes fell shut and his mouth closed over the puncture wound in her side.

  Pain, now, but not bad, not as though she were dying. Enough, though, that she moaned, and Rhaekhar growled a warning. She felt the Blood’s quickening pulse, the surge of desire in his bond.

  Gregar shuddered, licking the wound, drinking the blood as fast as it welled. The flow, thankfully, had lessened to barely a trickle. He pressed his mouth tighter, daring to probe with his tongue, to suck a little harder.

  Pain speared through her. Sacrifice. For him, for Rhaekhar, she was willing.

  A muzzle touched her face. Blinking, she tried to focus on the horse. Not the brown one she borrowed. Not black or gold. This one was as silver as the Lady’s Moon.

  :What’s your name? Where did you come from?:

  :My name is Wind. I came for you.:

  Darkness fell, water closed over her head, and she sank into oblivion like a stone in a bottomless Lake beneath the shining full Moon.

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  Gripping the rahke on his hip so hard his fingers cramped, Rhaekhar stared down at her face, so pale and strained, as she slept. Shadows ringed her eyes. A bruised cut marred her cheek. Bruises on her ribs, her back, from that cur who’d dared to kick her.

  And that horrible, gaping puncture wound in her side.

  The young holy man knelt beside her cot, his head bowed in prayer. Gently, he laid a hand on her forehead, the other over the terrible wound, while he prayed. Endlessly, it seemed, but when he sighed wearily and lifted his head, the wound in her side was closed, fragile and pink, but Healed, as was the scrape across her cheek. The scars remained though. Scars to testify to her courage. Her honor. Her sacrifice.

  Vulkar, he had come so close to losing her. “I shall ride to those Shining Walls this very day and kill the cur who calls himself High King.”

  “Impossible,” Valche said, shaking his head. “You can’t just waltz into Shanhasson and kill our King, no matter how evil he is. No matter how invincible you believe your soldiers to be. This must be done carefully, legally.”

  Rhaekhar growled beneath his breath. “I care nothing for your laws. All I care about is ensuring she never suffers a moment’s unease or pain or fear again from that monster’s hand.”

  “Agreed. But razing our royal seat to the ground is not the answer.”

  “I agree, Khul.” The young priest stood, wobbled, but brushed Valche’s steadying hand aside. “Our Blessed Lady wants Theo removed from Her Throne. On that we all agree. But She wants to denounce Shadow at the same time. She wants all the world to see and know Her message of love. Simply killing Theo and shoving the Last Daughter onto the High Throne by force is not Our Blessed Lady’s will.”

  “We must do this legally,” Valche insisted. “Give me a few months to form new alliances. Few of the other nobles will be pleased to hear that Shanhasson and Pella united to attack Allandor. The land is locked in a heat wave unlike anything we’ve known in generations. The crops are burning up in the fields. It’s raining now, but the drought is so bad— ”

  Shannari stirred, a sound of pain escaping her lips. Forcing her eyes open, she whispered, “It rains in Allandor because of my sacrifice.”

  Relief eased the strain in Rhaekhar’s shoulders. Releasing the rahke, he flexed his fingers and crouched beside her. She smiled up at him, and his heart swelled with so much love he could not breathe.

  “Yes,” Father Josef said. “Her sacrifice broke the drought in Allandor; her blood blessed the soil and unlocked the crops, the weather. But the rest of the countries will continue to suffer. It’s unfortunate and hard for us to understand, but Our Blessed Lady has a great yet dire purpose in mind. The people must suffer to understand her message.”

  “Tears,” Shannari whispered.

  “Yes, Your Majesty. She washes Her people’s eyes with tears. Rest now. You shouldn’t be awake so soon.”

  “Too much to do.” She struggled up to her elbows, her face tightening with pain. Rhaekhar sat beside her and gingerly pulled her up against his side. Closing her eyes, she leaned against him, her mouth to his skin, and breathed deeply. “You smell so good. Lady above, I love you.”

  “Your Lady’s Moon shines in your eyes, na’lanna.”

  Startled, she jerked her gaze up to his, a pleased and tearful smile on her face.

  “Think you a barbarian can’t learn the proper way to tell his woman he loves her in the
manner of her people? You are my Evening Star, my beloved Evening Star. I shall guide my life by your light.”

  Tears flowed, then, but her smile was so beautiful his heart ached. “The Lady’s Moon shines in your eyes, Rhaekhar, Khul of the Nine Camps of the Sha’Kae al’Dan.” Her smile sobered, the joy slipping from her face.

  She looked about the room and her gaze fell on Gregar.

  The Shadowed Blood still looked shaken. He sat against the wall, his dark gaze locked on her, the ivory rahke rolling on his palm. She held out her hand to him, and he flinched.

  “Gregar, come here.”

  Frantic, the Blood looked to Rhaekhar, pleading, for what he didn’t know. The Blood had tasted something sacred, something he thought never to have. Why he was not more joyful, Rhaekhar couldn’t understand. “Do as she says.”

  Silently, Gregar knelt at their feet, placed his rahke on the ground before him, and took her hand. Rhaekhar swore the Blood was trembling.

  “Are you going to challenge him?” Shannari asked.

  Startled, Rhaekhar jerked his gaze to hers. He thought she understood, even accepted them both. Why else would she torment him with her vision of both of them loving her? “Nay, na’lanna. We will come to whatever arrangement you desire.”

  Her cheeks flushed and she shook her head. “Are you going to kill him as you threatened for allowing me to risk my life?”

  Slowly, Rhaekhar answered, “Nay.”

  Instantly, Gregar drooped against her, his head in her lap, his shaking hands clutching hers.

  “Your Lady approved of your choice and your sacrifice, so who am I to punish him or you for doing Her will?”

  Shannari combed her fingers through Gregar’s hair soothingly. “He could not bear to die so soon, not after— ” Her voice broke. “Not after coming so close to his heart’s desire and finding honor instead of murder and darkness.”

  Resolve firmed Rhaekhar’s jaw. He had given her plenty of time to adjust to her feelings for both him and the Blood. It was time to fully ease her worry and guilt and begin a life of love. He turned to the young shaman. “Are you the one who would approve the Last Daughter’s choice for marriage?”