Beloved
Beloved
(Book Three in The Crystor Series)
Copyright© 2014 by C.K. Bryant
All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, Dragonfly Press, P.O. Box 452, Kimberly, Idaho 83341.
The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, places, incidents and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
ISBN: 978-1499123203
Interior design by Novel Ninjutsu
Find the Author:
Dedicated To
My Fans
Kira slept for three days, waking only when her swollen brain would let her. She’d never felt so much pain. When Draego slammed her head against a tree, her world slipped sideways and crumbled into a million little pieces. She remembered some things, knew who she was and bits and pieces of what had happened, only they were jumbled and, she thought, in the wrong order.
She took in a deep breath of musty, damp air and rolled to her side. The constant drip of rainwater echoing off the cave walls didn’t help her splitting headache. At her side, on the cold, clay-like soil laid her bow, quiver of arrows, and knife. She glanced toward the small opening to find Nigel’s sleeping form slumped against the cave wall, silhouetted by the moonlight streaming in. As far as she knew, he’d not left her side except to find the few berries they’d eaten to stay alive.
Kira adjusted the wool blanket around her shoulders. When she drew her knees up, something moved under the blanket and brushed against her backside. She let out a squeal and shoved the blanket—creature and all—down past her feet, then grabbed her knife from its sheath. Nigel sprang toward her and scooped up the bundle, then clamped his fingers around her wrist. He shook his head, only letting go when she lowered her weapon.
“What is that?” She pictured a fat rat the size of a pit-bull and the thought of it snuggling up to her made the hair on her arms stand up. She hated rats, even more than she hated being called Mouse by her mother. “Get it out of here!”
The creature hissed and wiggled while Nigel slowly peeled back the blanket. Kira sat up and scooted against the wall, keeping her knife held tight in her hand.
“Are you crazy? Don’t let it out!”
The words had barely escaped her mouth, when the creature sprang from Nigel’s arms and came straight for Kira, stumbling before rolling over onto its back and begging for a rub.
“Mahli?” Kira smiled at the sight of the little white tiger. She remembered now—finding the cub in the forest, her mother’s throat slit and her brother’s little body ripped to shreds by some animal—most likely Shandira. Mahli had been found pressed against her dead mother’s tummy, pumping her front paws in rhythm with her heart-wrenching whimpers.
Nigel shook out the blanket and draped it over Kira. Mahli leapt onto Kira’s lap and curled into a fuzzy ball—or tried to. Her head drooped off one side and her butt off the other. She’d doubled in size since Kira had first seen her and it wouldn’t be long before she’d be too heavy to pick up.
Kira rubbed her arms in an attempt to warm herself. “Can we build a fire?”
Nigel’s brow furrowed.
“Have I asked that before? And you said no?” She vaguely remembered it.
Nigel nodded.
“I’m sorry. I’m just so cold and my head . . .” She reached up and felt the tender spot on the back of her skull, her chopped-off hair still matted with blood. Each time she woke she tried to heal it. She’d managed to seal the wound and stop the bleeding—even the small crack in her skull had mended on the third try—but her brain was a different story. She’d relieved some of the pressure, but the swelling that remained not only left her confused and disoriented, but nauseated as well.
“Maybe I should try healing again. I feel more awake now and the pain isn’t as bad.”
Nigel scooted closer and shrugged out of his hooded cloak, draping it around her shoulders. He’d offered it several times, but she’d always refused, knowing he had nothing but a thin tunic to guard against the frigid air. This time she accepted it.
“Thanks.”
She wrapped the thick black fabric around her shoulders, taking full advantage of the warmth that remained from his body. She gently flipped the hood over her head to drown out the sound of the pounding rain, leaned over Mahli and rested her face in her hands. If she could endure the pain of healing long enough, it would rid her of the constant throbbing and maybe her memories would slip back into place and make sense. She could do this.
Focusing on the pain at the back of her head, she tried to imagine the swelling slowly decreasing. With every second, she felt nerve endings under her flesh spring to life, tingling and pulsing as her brain shifted and adjusted. The fingers on her left hand jerked into a spasm that made them curl awkwardly into a claw. A moment later her hand relaxed and her right foot kicked of its own accord, making Mahli jump and scramble to the other side of the cave.
Along with the peculiar gyrations came the memories, all pouring out of her mind like the rain outside. At first they were muddled—Lydia snapping pictures of wildflowers, Mahli chasing a strange butterfly-looking creature, Zerek running his hands up the front of her shirt, Octavion brushing the hair back from Serena’s face.
Octavion.
With that memory came deep, deep sorrow. Oh, how she loved him and wanted more than anything to be with him. But that would never happen. Not after the king of Kazedon put a price on her head and sent his assassins to kill her. She remembered Shandira’s last words, telling her that if Kira lived, everyone she loved would die.
Kira had chosen not to believe her. After all, Octavion had gone to plead with the king to call off his men. But on the road back to Xantara, when Draego and his brother attacked her, she knew there would be no going back. Only her death would satisfy King Tyrius’ hunger for revenge—her punishment for Kira killing his son and only heir of Kazedon.
Kira slid her hand under the blanket and rubbed her thigh where the first swing of Draego’s blade had torn her skin. She’d healed the wound almost instantly, but the tear in her leather pants still remained. She glanced up to find Nigel watching her, concern on his face.
“I can’t really remember what happened after I hit my head. It’s kind of a blur.” She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers. “I . . . think Draego grabbed my braid and tried to yank me up, but . . .” She looked back at Nigel. “I cut off my own hair to keep him from doing that, didn’t I? He must have lost his balance because I remember him falling to the ground and then . . .”
She looked down at her hands, then at the moonlight filtering through the rain clouds and causing a strange rippling light show across the cave walls. A sickening feeling settled in her stomach.
“I flew.” She wasn’t sure how she’d come to that conclusion, only that she remembered the feeling of being tied to the end of a pendulum and the way her stomach felt with each swooping motion.
Nigel leaned forward and touched her arm, shaking his head. He pointed to himself, then at the ceiling of the cave.
“
You
flew?” Something was seriously wrong with the way she’d healed her brain if she believed for one moment that either one of them could fly. She didn’t care how strange this world was, people didn’t sprout wings and fly. At least she didn’t think so.
A smirk lit up Nigel’s face and he shook his head again. He reached for a satchel that sat near her weapons, opened the flap and took out his sketch book Kira had knocked out of his hand in the village. He opened it and retrieved a small thin piece of charcoal from inside the front of the cover.
Kira watched as he drew the scene in the forest. First he sketched a set of tall trees with thick branches. Then he drew the figure of a man standing on one of those branches, the handle of a whip in his hand, the popper end of the whip wrapped around another branch. Next he drew the figure of a girl sitting at the base of that same tree. He stopped drawing, but motioned with his hand from the man to the ground in front of the girl.
“You swung down and scooped me up into the trees?”
Nigel nodded.
“But . . . why? I mean, why didn’t you jump down and kill Draego?”
She remembered when she’d been held captive by Shandira—how Nigel waited until Kira had practically starved to death before bringing her food. He’d also been conveniently absent when she fought off Cael and Zerek until she’d spent all her energy and Cael had her pinned under the weight of his body, determined to rape her.
Her blood began to boil and her eyes burned cold, turning the cave a sparkly green. She could see him clearly now, as tiny flits of light bounced around their heads. She folded her arms over her chest. “Were you there the whole time, watching him beat the crap out of me?”
