Dance With the Enemy (14 page)

Elenya’s flailing of the covers awakened both her and the man at her side.

“What is it?” Tahruk asked, sitting up as she did, staring at her clutching the bed sheets tightly to her heaving chest.

“I dreamt men came and you had to leave. And because I had denied you the night of the Dremis I failed to conceive.” She stared at him with eyes more troubled than his. “Forgive me my insolence.”

He gave her no response save his lips covering hers before he pushed her back to the softness of the matting beneath them. He felt sure his duty had already been fulfilled, that his child lay in her womb, a son, a warrior mightier than even he could boast because of the strength of his blood that ran through her veins. Together, they would make fine children beyond the one she now carried, children who would grow up capable of ruling a kingdom, if necessary.

Still, he would attempt to quell her fears, making love to her every chance he had before the part of her dream where the men showed up, came true. He had no doubt, they would come and he would have to leave.

For the first time in his life he was not looking forward to that day.

Chapter 23

Some five days later the men came from the Royal Courts summoning the King’s military forces. His sword draped in silk across her forearms, Elenya watched as Tahruk’s armor was fastened. Her posture stiff, he knew she was fighting the same sense of foreboding she’d been filled with the past few days.

“This is who I am, Elenya,” he’d told her one evening as she lay in his arms barely able to hold back her anger. Her ire had surprised him as much as her passion. “Whenever the King calls, I must go. This is what I have trained for my whole life.”

“Nothing is solved on the battlefields,” she’d protested.

“You’re wrong, Elenya. Fear is a great motivator. If we don’t subdue the enemy, they’ll continue to push until they overtake us and then we’ll be at their mercy. We must protect what is ours, especially in this case. It is of utmost importance that we find Travensworth and reinstate him onto his throne. You know full well this means much more to our family than simply helping a King regain his kingdom.”

Tahruk thought of how their lives would change should this mission fail. Or, worse yet, if he should not return...

That was not an option.

“I will come back to you. I promise,” he’d told her, kissing her, his hand covering her belly before beginning a more sensual assault of her body.

They’d talked of it no more though her fear of him not returning and leaving her childless remained heavy on her. Now, as she stood before him in the armory, one of many women of Zanak prepared to see their men off, he could do little to quell her misery. As he stepped forward, prepared for the first time to receive his sword from the woman chosen for him, he tipped her face up to his with a finger beneath her chin. Her shoulders squared, she smiled at him. Her eyes alone belied her confident stance.

“We must go, my son.” Renaine’s voice intruded as the older warrior lifted his sword from Neria’s arms. Neither Tahruk nor Elenya turned, the younger Sharanis leaning down to kiss his bride before claiming his own sword and slipping it into the sheath at his side.

“You have my promise,” he whispered.

With one more look, he turned and followed the mass of warriors from the room.

From somewhere behind her, Nema commanded Elenya to come with her. “We need to hurry to get into position to see them when the procession begins. With the Elite riding out first before the King they’ll be toward the front.”

Nema grasped Elenya’s arm and began pulling the stunned, younger woman along.

“He’ll be fine, love. Your warrior is the best there is. No harm will come to him, especially now that he has even more reason to return.”

Elenya was almost sure she felt Nema’s free hand graze her belly right before they pushed through the door, though the cloud that had ascended when Tahruk left kept her mind from forming the question she wanted to ask. Perhaps fear kept her from it as well. She uttered a silent prayer that her fears would be unfounded. First and foremost she wanted to believe his promise, to know this man whom she had feared and loathed not so long ago would return to her unharmed. Beyond that, she prayed his seed had indeed taken root inside her. Soon enough, she would know.

She caught her breath and held up her head with renewed hope. Catching one more glimpse of him was suddenly the only thing the girl with the honeyed-cinnamon crown of curls cared about. Nema chuckled, lifting her skirts and moving with a speed that belied her age as leader became follower, verbal directions taking them where they needed to be.

As the women crested the hill, they could see the assembly of armored men atop gallant warhorses working their way to the courtyard. The King and his entourage, traveling from the opposite direction, would meet them down by the copse of trees Nema pointed to.

“Go quickly,” Nema told her. Elenya’s insides quivered as she ran down the hill to where she could plainly see the King with his closest confidant riding beside him. They were flanked by his flag bearer, two personal guards, and four of his sons. The tiny group pulled up before the thicket at nearly the same time as Elenya. She stopped a few feet from them, stood unaware of the King’s eyes on her as she watched the approaching military.

Elenya had watched the assemblage of the men of Aleone many times, her father leading the men in later years from the city, though never had the numbers come close to the mass that moved toward the waiting King. Briefly her mind flitted to her people back home, wondering if they were also gathering. She knew, especially since her delivery to the Centrehead, they would fight beside the King’s men. Shemek. He hadn’t crossed her thoughts for days.

Nema’s eyes were on the King, watching him watching Elenya. Her disdain for him had not lessened in all the years. The thought that he’d have dissolved the ties between Dorengar and Corigan all those years ago had Renaine not fought for her to remain within his household  sparked her ire anew.

“You are the Aleone woman?” Nema heard the King ask, watched Elenya turn toward him in momentary confusion before dropping into a low curtsy.

“Yes, my lordship,” she answered softly before rising at his command.

“Your likeness to Princess Damalenya is strong. To whom were you matched?”

“She belongs to your lord Sharanis,” Nema answered coming up beside the young woman.

The King looked from Elenya to Nema. “To Tahruk? I’m surprised I was not told his chosen had arrived.” His astonishment gave way to a hearty chuckle. “Not a match I would have suspected for my great grandson.” He studied the red haired beauty who had already turned back to search the approaching men. “Though I cannot say I am displeased with the Masters’ choice in this match. Zanak has a reputation for the unusual, it seems.” He looked back to Nema before the thunderous approach of horsed warriors pulled all attention in the direction of the majestic sight and away from the subject of matches.

Nema sucked in a deep, steadying breath. Even having seen it so many times throughout her years, she still felt the same unseemly mixture of pride and revulsion she’d experienced the first time the King’s forces had amassed. They might be mighty to behold, but their coming together meant lives would be lost, most assuredly on both sides. War was barbaric, even if necessary. This time it involved more of her people, which made it that much harder. She wondered whether these men would be forced into battle, risking their lives, had she not been matched to the older Sharanis to unite the kingdoms.

With the young King Travensworth missing, his kingdom under siege, it put those she loved in both kingdoms in harm’s way and threatened to change the paths of their lives forever. It was unknown whether the King still lived, though whoever was in charge of his military forces plainly planned to march them upon Dorengar. Those willing to speculate believed King Venderlay to the North had taken control of Travensworth’s kingdom, that his sending his daughter to marry the young King had been a ruse to work his way in. He was known as a power hungry control monger who would go to any extent to get what he wanted. Nema shuddered remembering the one time she’d met the man. At only fifteen, already having taken on the characteristics of the beauty she would become, she’d found herself in a near compromising situation, not of her own accord, of course. Had it not been for her uncle, the current Travensworth’s father, Venderlay would have had his way with her.

“She wears the sign of the marking, Venderlay,” her uncle had said, his voice icy even as he wrapped a gentle hand around her arm to move her behind his formidable frame. “Would you jeopardize the uniting of my kingdom with Andorak’s to satisfy your lusty needs with an unskilled girl when many beautiful and available women reside within the chambers of the Ladies of the Courts?” The elder King’s voice had been as smooth and as sharp as cut glass. “I didn’t think a wise man would make such a mistake,” he’d said without giving the other man a chance to answer. “I demand you take your leave of my castle at once lest I be tempted to give you what the law allows for attempting to compromise a marked woman.” With that he’d turned, tucked her arm in his and led her from the corridor back into the hall filled with guests enjoying holiday festivities.

He never asked how she’d come to find herself in such a position, though from that day forward, a corisan had been assigned to be with her at all times. She knew his words to Venderlay were not idle threats. He was as ruthless when necessary as he was filled with a compassion that was rivaled by none in his position. Always having treated Nema as if she was his own daughter, a bond had formed between them that had been unbreakable until his death some fifteen years back. That bond had made her inability to conceive and produce the heirs that would unite their kingdoms that much harder. The elder Travensworth, having experienced the woes of infertility for many years, had never seen her as a failure.

“You may not carry the children, but your blood, your sacrifices still united our kingdoms, my child,” he’d told her when he’d come to bless the union of the man for whom she’d been marked and her younger sister, Neria. “Do not forget who you are and what you have done.”

She’d been gone from the kingdom for some time before the birth of the King’s son, the current king of Corigan - King Garrick Findlay Travensworth. Her move to the Drille near the Dorengar Centrehead had also shielded her from the travesty of the affair between her uncle’s sister and Durant, the leader of the miscreants that lived in the woods around the castle. It was said before the princess had ended her own life, a child had been born from the union, taken and raised by the ruffians.

For her, the mysteries of Corigan’s people were quickly replaced by the joyful years of helping raise her own sister’s children. She’d refused bitterness at her plight, choosing instead to gracefully accept her situation and make the best of it. She’d been the one who demanded to step down, relegating herself to a position as second with her sister claiming all rights as if she’d been the one marked with her warrior's blood.

In the early days hope had remained that she would still bear his child since he continued to visit her bed, which he had every right to do. Her need for fulfillment through her own children diminished with each babe born from her sister’s body. Pride swelled within her as she watched the firstborn leading the warriors toward their King. The likeness of his father in his youth, Tahruk had indeed grown into a man deserving of honor. He was the epitome of elite with his superb looks and muscles trained and toned through hard work. All that was paired with superior fighting skills and reasoning that catapulted him to the top position.

Nema chuckled as she looked toward the young woman at her side, noting how completely enamored she was by the sight of the man whose blood she carried. She glanced at the King, wondering if the sight of Elenya reminded him of the Daughter of Damalenya that had captured his heart. If memory served correctly, not only had she been marked for another just as surely as he had a chosen yet to come of age, but their bloodlines had been too closely tied to allow for any type of relationship to develop. Nema felt certain that repudiated desire had fueled his fierceness upon the battlefields and within the halls of the court for so many years. He’d always led with a strength that made him nearly as mighty as the man who now commanded his military.

As the men drew in before the King all attention turned toward them. Tahruk raised a hand and the flag bearers to either side of him lifted their flags to stop the progress of the military grouping fifteen men wide and at least 300 rows in length. In unison, the armor of nearly 5,000 rattled as the mass of men covered the crests over their hearts with closed fists – a sign of loyalty to their King that caused the onlookers to erupt in a deafening chorus of cheers.