Herd Mistress (In Deception's Shadow Book 2) (26 page)

How could she be so cold already?

His benumbed mind was trying to understand when nearby
shadows spat out a smallish figure, his tattered, blood spattered robes
swirling around him. The Acolyte looked upon Shadowdancer unblinkingly. They
stared at each other, neither making a sound, but he felt the soft tug deep
inside as the Acolyte started to feed.

Slowly, Shadowdancer lowered Sorsha’s head and
shoulders to rest upon the ground, her hair arrayed around her like a dark
shadow. He staggered to regain his footing, swaying under the combination of
physical and emotional weakness. With slow, jerking motions, the Acolyte wordlessly
raised his crossbow.

Screaming a challenge, Shadowdancer charged, uncaring
if he died as long as the Acolyte died with him.

Pain ripped through his arm as blood sprayed in an
arch behind him, wetting one flank with a hot, damp heat. The wound didn’t slow
him though, and he ploughed onward, into the surprised Acolyte. This one was
young, not much more than a boy. He slammed into the human, pinning him to a tree,
and then closed his fingers around the human’s fragile neck. Muscles flexed,
veins corded with the strength of his rage. He’d failed Sorsha. Killing this
Acolyte wouldn’t bring her back, but mindless rage engulfed him and demanded
retribution.

At first he didn’t feel it—then he noticed the chill
where his hands wrapped around the Acolyte’s neck.

Even as Shadowdancer strangled the life out of the
poor creature, the slave still tried to feed his master magic. With a savage
motion full of disgust and revulsion, Shadowdancer tossed the small body on the
ground.

The boy looked back with a blank look, still siphoning
Shadowdancer’s power. With a snort of absolute rage, Shadowdancer reared up and
brought his hooves down upon that unblinking stare. Again and again,
Shadowdancer battered the body until gore and blood slicked the ground. Copper
scent coiled in his nose and throat, nausea swirled through his belly.

“Shadowdancer?”

A vaguely familiar female voice encroached upon his
private moment of madness.

The muscles in his haunches tensed. He pawed the
ground. Sorsha was gone—dead by this Acolyte’s hand. His eyes flicked over the
body, now so much bloody meat. He raised a hoof and struck out again.

“Shadowdancer, stop.”

But he couldn’t. The pain was too great; no one and
nothing else mattered.

“Come away. Sorsha would not want to see you like
this.” Queen Marsolwyn edged up beside him, her calm expression taking in his
new form with minimal shock. “Let one of the healers see to your wounds.”

“No.” He barely recognized his own voice, broken as it
was from his screams. He hobbled over to Sorsha, and stood with his hooves
planted on either side of her broken body. Instinct demanded it. His befogged
mind didn’t understand why, but he would stand over her until he bled out from
his wounds if he had to.

Marsolwyn edged closer. “We’ve routed the rest of the
Acolytes. No one can hurt Sorsha now. Let my people take care of her body.”

“No.” He shook his head in denial. His entire body
quaked, and he locked his legs to keep himself upright. No one would touch
Sorsha. He had to protect her. Keep her safe so she…so she…

When a commotion came up behind him, Shadowdancer
whirled to face the new threat. A jet black Santhyrian galloped up the slope,
halting in shock at the scene before him.

“My son?” Darkmoon took a hesitant stride forward.

Shadowdancer lashed his tail in warning, and Darkmoon
skidded to a halt again.

“She’s beyond our help now, my son. The gods have her.
Come away and let us take care of her body.”

Another denial was on his lips when the fiery glow of
magic flared outward from underneath him, where Sorsha lay. His grief numbed
mind didn’t understand what he was seeing until the first tendril of magic—far
older and stronger than anything he had at his call—touched him and flooded its
thoughts across his senses. The Falcon Staff, his grief numbed mind realized—it
was still tucked away in Sorsha’s pack.

“Harbinger, you have served The Twelve well. Your duty
is fulfilled.”

The strange voice seemed to talk straight to his soul.
Shadowdancer stood rooted to the ground, not backing down even when the Staff’s
magic spun into a small tornado-like funnel.

“You protected me when I was unable to protect myself.
Thank you. Rest with the knowledge you and Sorsha have honored all the Twelve.”

It was far too late to take comfort in words. What was
honor compared to the pain of Sorsha’s death?

“What boon would you ask of me, Harbinger?”

At its words, the wisps of cloud-like magic
intensified. Flashes of power glimmered deep in the funnel’s depths.

Shadowdancer collapsed to his knees next to Sorsha in
a deep bow, though, not really sure if he was paying homage to his fallen love
or the broken Staff. Tears flowed down his cheeks when he looked upon Sorsha,
lying so still and cold next to him.

Above him, the Staff’s magic swirled more violently,
wind accompanied its magic, driving down upon Shadowdancer mercilessly. Pain
burned along his body and mind.

“What boon?”

The Staff sounded impatient, almost eager to hear his
answer. Closing his eyes, he turned his head up to the swirling power. He had
fulfilled his duty to the Twelve. Broken in both body and soul, he deserved
peace, to find the same eternal peace as Sorsha.

“If you would grant me a boon, let me walk with Sorsha
once again at my side and know no more pain.”

“Very well.”

Raw power blasted down upon him. He couldn’t scream.
All his muscles were locked, even his jaw. Power twisted through him, seeking
his Larnkin, and then deeper to his soul. Something ripped into his chest.
Blackness encroached upon his vision, invading from the sides. He slumped
forward. His thoughts blanked out.

Murmuring voices invaded Shadowdancer’s quiet,
disturbing his much deserved peace. He felt a frown settle over his features.
Merciful
gods—was there no peace even in the afterlife?

“Grumpy as ever, I see,” a vaguely familiar voice said
with a dry chuckle. “I still don’t know what my little sister sees in you.
You’re far too surly.”

“Ashayna, be nice.”

“Mmm. Sorry. I guess.”

Shadowdancer’s eyes snapped open.

“I still can’t believe he’s one of the Twelve—I’ve
known him almost all my life.” A dark skinned Phoenix with indigo plumage
leaned over him, his crest raised, and a curious expression in his onyx eyes.

“And how is the fact you’ve known him most of your
life even relevant? You’re the Judge, exalted Leader of the Twelve, and you
were oblivious to your own heritage.” The droll female voice pulled
Shadowdancer further out of his stupor.

The Crown Prince of the Phoenix moved away and sat
down on a small wooden bench, next to a woman who shared Sorsha’s coloring.
Shadowdancer’s mind scrambled for her name a moment—Ashayna Stonemantle,
Sorsha’s older sister, and bondmate to Sorntar. It felt like a lifetime ago
since he’d laid eyes upon these two. Both sat and watched him with curious
looks.

If they were here in the afterlife, where was Sorsha?
He lifted his head. And why was he human and not back to his normal Santhyrian
self? A large blanket covered his body. With a sinking feeling in his middle,
he surveyed himself and moved his legs—all four of them. He wasn’t human
either—he still wore the Oracle’s Mark.

Prince Sorntar cleared his throat. “I imagine we both
have interesting stories…”

“This isn’t how I envisioned the afterlife,” Shadowdancer
said, slowly looking over the Phoenix’s shoulder. The afterlife suspiciously
looked like one of his people’s tents. A healer’s tent.

No.

He was supposed to be dead.

Dead like his beloved Sorsha. The Falcon Staff had
promised him a boon.

Pain stabbed through the numbness protecting his mind
and body. Why was he alive? When Sorsha was not.

“Afterlife?” Ashayna snorted without humor. “If we
were in the afterlife, we wouldn’t have to worry about Dakdamon or Trensler’s
master. No, we’re not so lucky.”

They were not dead, then. Shadowdancer mulled that
over. Why was the human woman so unemotional? How could she feel nothing?
Sorsha had been her sister. Fresh grief threatened to crush his heart.

“Shadowdancer, calm. We’ll explain everything.”

Sorntar’s voice drifted to him as if from far away.
Shadowdancer didn’t care what else the Phoenix had to say.

“Sorntar, he’s not listening. Let me try.”

Surprise engulfed him when Ashayna grabbed his chin.
Her fingers, made strong from wielding a sword most of her life, tightened
their grip and twisted. It was either turn his head or have his jaw broken.

“There, you see. All is well. I wouldn’t be calmly
sitting here if it wasn’t.”

His eyes widened, his breath hitched. Several cots had
been pushed back to make room for his big body, but one still remained near
him, at his back. Sprawled on his side as he was, his rump nearly touched one
of the cot’s legs. He bolted to his feet so quickly his vision darkened and he
stumbled. A misplaced hoof landed on something soft. Ashayna loosed a curse
that made him blush as he hastily moved the offending hoof.

Slowly, the vertigo eased and his vision cleared.

Now that he was standing, he could easily look down
into the cot and watch the one who slept there. The blankets tucked up to her
chin, her chest rising and falling with beautiful life, Sorsha slept on,
unaware.

“H-how?” His hands shook uncontrollably as he touched
her cheek. Sorsha mumbled something in her sleep. He leaned closer, having to
brush his cheek to her, inhale her welcoming scent. His Herd Mistress, as human
as she’d been the first time he’d seen her, but still his love.

She lived.

A silly grin tugged on his lips. He couldn’t stop it,
didn’t want to stop it.

“By the light,” Ashayna loosed a long, low whistle as
she rubbed her sore foot. She craned her neck to look up at him. “I heard you
ran afoul of an Oracle, but seeing it is something else all together. He
certainly changed you into a behemoth.”

Shadowdancer shifted positions at the sound of the
Crown Prince’s sharply cleared throat, and he felt his head brush the top of
the tent. Strange how when he and Sorsha had been galloping for their lives, he
hadn’t realized how lofty his vantage point had become. But, as Ashayna had put
it so elegantly, he was a behemoth, towering even over Sorntar.

Prince Sorntar coughed discreetly into his fist as he
elbowed his bondmate hard enough to elicit a grunt.

“What?” Ashayna smacked her bondmate in the shoulder.
“It wasn’t as if I insulted him.”

Sorntar rolled his eyes in a hopeless gesture.

“I wasn’t.” Ashayna eyed Shadowdancer. “If you must
know, you’re rather handsome in a...a...unique way. I’m sure Sorsha still finds
you appealing.”

The Phoenix’s long, feathered crest quivered in what
was clearly a wince. “Forgive my bondmate, but I believe she suffers from an
incurable flaw that is shared by all the Stonemantle line. You may be familiar
with it.”

The Crown Prince’s dry comment earned a chuckle from
Shadowdancer. “Hmmm, yes, I think I know of what you speak. Though I find their
mouthiness rather adorable.”

Ashayna mumbled under her breath, something that
sounded a lot like
insufferable males
.

Still in awe of Sorsha’s miraculous recovery,
Shadowdancer slowly placed his arm under her shoulders, another under her knees
and lifted her to his chest, blanket and all. She continued to sleep, but
murmured something beyond his range of hearing and turned her face into his
chest. With Sorsha secure in his arms, he folded his legs under himself. It was
easier to cuddle her this way.

“The Falcon Staff said healing Sorsha would go easier
if she returned to human form—something about the effects of blood loss and a
smaller body,” Sorntar said from where he still sat on the bench. “Your Oracle
helped as well, said it didn’t want to lose one of its Harbingers so soon.”

“But how?” Shadowdancer cast curious glances between
the Crown Prince and Sorsha. Yes, she was very much alive, now. But he’d been
certain she’d died. “There’s no way to heal Death.”

Sorntar bobbed his head in ascent. “Death, no, that
isn’t something even Ashayna can unmake with her powers as the Destroyer. But
when the Oracle made you and Sorsha its Harbingers, it gave another gift—a
preservation spell. You may have felt the cold as the magic triggered. When the
spell sensed Sorsha’s heart failing, it preserved her body, spirit, and
memories until the Oracle could repair the damage to her body.” The Crown
Prince tilted his head to one side, looking Shadowdancer up and down. “I heard
what you did to that Acolyte. If you hadn’t attacked when you did, Sorsha would
have been lost as the Acolyte would have fed, draining the spell.”

A cold sweat trickled down Shadowdancer’s human spine
at the Phoenix’s words. “I hadn’t known—I only raged, wanting to hurt something
as much as I hurt.”

Ashayna cleared her throat, her expression softening
into something gentler. “When you have both recovered, you’ll regain the
ability to shapeshift, and take which ever form you wish for short times, though
you’ll always be the Oracle’s Harbingers. At least that’s what the Oracle
claimed.”

“Thank you.” He really didn’t know what else to say.

Sorntar stood and shook his wings out before tucking
them tight to his back. “We’ll leave you now that you’re awake and recovering.
The Elders have graciously asked for an audience with the ‘Judge’ and the
‘Destroyer’, if we’d be so inclined. I don’t think they quite know what to do
with us yet,” Prince Sorntar made a vague gesture at his chest, and then he
tapped Shadowdancer in the same spot. “I think they’re afraid.”

Shadowdancer looked down upon his chest. An intricate
twisted design was branded there. He’d once seen a sketch of the mark that
denoted Members of the Twelve while he was still a young colt studying his history.
But he recognized it easily enough. With a shaking hand he pushed aside a
corner of Sorsha’s blanket, revealing first the soft pale skin of her shoulder
then the upper swell of her breast. She bore a mark twin to his.

Sorsha murmured something in her sleep, a sweet
slurred sound that melted his heart. He tightened his arms around her, but
transferred his attention to where Sorntar stood looking on with a curiously
tender expression.

Shadowdancer coughed to clear the tightness in his
throat. That Sorntar had referred to himself as the Judge and Ashayna, the
Destroyer, must mean they were healed and the Twelve once again had their
leaders restored to them. “So I take it you and Ashayna overcame whatever
darkness tainted you?” He was never really clear on what blight had beset these
two, for it had occurred around the same time as when Trensler first set his
Acolytes upon them all. And then, he’d been too busy trying to keep Sorsha
alive and his own hide in one piece to dwell overly long on the problems of
others.

With a shiver that coursed down the length of his
wings, Sorntar released a shaky sigh as his gaze took on a faraway look. “Yes.
My Larnkin still carried...damages...within it from the last time the Twelve
walked the land. Even the passage of entire ages hadn’t been enough to heal
those scars. When my Larnkin awoke almost a moon cycle ago, he...” Sorntar gave
a helpless shrug, “He had issues and an agenda of his own. He took control of
me, but Ashayna’s love overcame and banished his darkness, healing him.”

Shadowdancer notice Ashayna’s cheeks had taken on a
rosy hue, but she stepped up to Sorntar and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Then
before the Phoenix could respond, his human bondmate marched for the tent flap,
calling in a gruff voice for him to hurry up and move his princely feathered
ass—the Elders were waiting for them.

The Crown Prince merely looked amused, and then gave
Shadowdancer a companionable pat on the shoulder before turning to follow his
bondmate. He was almost to the exit when he called over his shoulder. “Come
join us when you and Sorsha feel up to facing the elders—we’ll be in need of
reinforcements, I imagine. And then we must try to heal the Falcon Staff.”