Queen of Jastain (11 page)

“Please, Abigail.”

Abby winced but nodded.
“But I need a drink first.”

He walked to a large leather box and opened it. Inside the folding liquor cabinet sat a crystal bottle filled with amber liquid. So that's where he kept the good stuff. He poured her a small glass and handed it to her. Downing the drink in one gulp, she coughed and choked as the liquid fire blazed a trail to her belly. His furrowed brow and intense gaze, evidence of his disapproval, kept her from asking for another glass. That, and her vocal chords were singed from the alcohol content equivalent to moonshine. She handed the glass back.

After closing the box, he turned and stared at her. He hadn't wanted to give her the drink, but he needed her, or at least he thought he did. The liquor had been a bribe.

She was being a baby. He was the one at risk and if he wasn’t scared why should she be. How bad could it be? She steadied her legs and stood.
“I'm ready.”

She gathered her strength, and the light amassed. The room around her, the world, dimmed–except his gaze. His sapphire eyes glowed with an infinite spectrum of emotions. A light burst from deep within him. They were the same—their hearts mirrors of one another. Both raised without parents, betrayed by family, and forced to begin a new life after tragedy. But Avant held a strength she didn’t and a wisdom that came from years of struggle. Rage darkened his heart.

Brave in battle, his skills vanquished even the strongest of foes, but his fear lay in revealing his true self. Even in his dealings with those closest, he withheld so much.

His life exploded in living color, all of him laid bare in an instant, leaving nothing hidden. Unable to breath, Abby's heart ached at the sensations. Tears streamed down her face. He felt so deeply, fought so tenaciously, and was utterly alone.

The intensity of him broke her wide open, shattering her heart to make room for him. A rush of life she'd never lived swept through her: the joy, the regret, the torment, and the love. She knew him as surely as she knew herself. And with that knowing came something frightening—her heart tangled and merged with his, in that moment forever changed.

With the exhaustive knowledge of his essence, a love for him she was unable to restrain flooded her. He was part of her heart. The bond they shared could never be undone. Upon knowing and receiving him— in an act of communion she could only equate with the most intimate lovemaking— her heart was lost.

She clasped her head in her hands. Concern for his vulnerability had driven her, never suspecting her own heart was at risk. She lay spiritually naked, exposed and open, as if her heart was spread like a lover to receive him. A painful cry escaped her lips as she fell forward into unconsciousness.

Avant blinked and staggered. When he regained his sight, Abigail lay on the floor unconscious. He rushed and lifted her to the sofa, certain he'd heard her scream.

Propping her head up with a pillow and brushing the curls from her face, he was unable to tear his gaze away from the creamy texture of her skin and how it glowed in the morning sunlight. She should not have had to endure this, but it was the only way. He closed his eyes and pressed his fist into his forehead.

He smoothed back her hair and stared, then tried to bring her to by tapping her cheek. She didn’t stir.

Long dark lashes rested on her rosy cheeks, and her pink lips fell slightly apart. Would she forgive him for putting her through this? At least, she would understand his motivations. If she despised him when she awakened, she certainly could exact her revenge. She would know his every secret fear and weakness.

Reaching out, he ran his thumb over her cheek and across her lips. The silky feel of her skin ignited him with a passion he'd never experienced. As if drawn by some unseen force, he leaned closer until his lips hovered above hers.

She exhaled, and he snapped back, losing his balance and falling on his behind.
By the Light!
What was he doing? He jumped up and retreated several steps.

All these long years, he had disciplined his body and mind into submission, awaiting the return of Sentieve. Now, at the moment of possibility, he let his guard down? Even if he hadn't shared a bed with her in twenty years, she was still his wife and deserved his loyalty.

He walked to the door, turning in the threshold. Abigail would know of his desire when she woke, and
that
he could not face. He needed time. The one thing he didn't have. With one more sweeping glance of her, he turned and left.

Stopping by the kitchen on his way to the stables, he asked Helean to make certain his guest was taken care of.

Outside, the bright sun of late summer hit his eyes and he squinted. A beautiful day. Somehow he felt lighter, as if sharing his life relieved him of the lonely burden. It was foolishness to think so, for they were still his experiences regardless of who knew of them. He marched to the stables. “Good Morning, Landmaster.”

“I thought you were working with Abigail today?” Petra glanced up from the horse he groomed.

“We've completed our work, and I must go to the vineyards for the harvest. I'll be staying with Hossa and Annova until after the festival.”

“Why? What of Abigail while you’re gone?”

“What of her?” He shifted his weight and stared, attempting to hide the awkwardness charging the air. “She needs to help prepare for the festival like everyone else. Have her gather the eggs in the hen house.”

Petra tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. “I thought she was a guest.”

“Never mind. Just see to it.”

Petra’s face lit with obvious joy, and he licked his lips. “I intend to see to it. Rest assured, I'll make the most of my time with the lovely Abigail. May I bring her to the festival?”

A jealous fire raged through Avant’s veins. He fisted his hands, suppressing the urge to jerk the man up by the scruff of his neck and slam him against the stall. Instead, he chose his words carefully. “Abigail is not here for your pleasure. She has been gathered here by the Light for a purpose that has
nothing
to do with you. I want no distractions for her. Keep your attraction to yourself! Am. I. Understood?”

Petra's eyes rounded, and he reared back. “I-I understand.” His eyes studied Avant’s features. “Are you sure this is only about Abigail’s purpose?”

Avant squared his shoulders and placed his fists on his hips. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you seem pretty emotionally charged for someone who is just interested in her
purpose
. Are you certain there’s no other reason you’d like me to stay away from her?”

“What other reason could there be?” He shifted uncomfortably under Petra's gaze.

Petra shook his head. “You tell me.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Avant stared at him for a moment then turned to saddle his horse for a ride to the vineyards. From the corner of his eye, he saw Petra shrug his shoulders and return to brushing the horse.

Avant's breath came out in a whoosh. He hadn’t meant for the command to sound so harsh, but the anger incited by Petra’s attraction had been completely involuntary. Of course, it was because of her purpose. Abigail was the only way to get revenge on the king…and get Sentieve back, and he had waited too long for retribution. There could be no other reason.

He traveled south through the village, stopping at the bakery for some of his favorite
panas
. He breathed in deeply. The smell of the bread and friendly villagers gave him a feeling of community. This time of year was his favorite, and the bustle of the workers preparing for the harvest festival in three days reminded him of the bounty his people enjoyed.

He ate his
panas
as he strolled to the dressmaker. Greeting the passersby with a cordial nod, Avant strode into the shop. “Good morning, Gessup.”

With the tinkling of the door chime still ringing in the quiet storefront, Avant perused the various dresses in different stages of completion. A little man with a round face and white hair shuffled out of a back room with a cloth measuring tape draped around his shoulders and a lavender dress across his arms.  He smiled pleasantly. “Lord Ventium, what brings you to my shop this fine harvest morning?”

Avant smiled. “Gessup, I am in need of a dress.” At the wide-eyed look from the dressmaker, he laughed out loud. “For a guest of mine. And I have specific requirements. Do you have anything in a teal green?”

“My Lord, I have but one dress in that color.” The elderly man shuffled to the back room and returned with a beautiful silken taffeta gown. He held it out to Avant for inspection.

Taking the dress and holding it up, Avant noted how the blue-green color saturated the shining fabric. The style would be most agreeable for Abigail’s curves. He shook his head. “This dress is too big for the lady in question. Do you not have a smaller one?”

“Not in that color, My Lord.”

“It must be this color, Gessup.” He rubbed his chin with a forefinger. “What do you need to alter this dress to the appropriate measurements and have it ready for the festival?”

“Well, My Lord, with all of my current orders…I'm so busy and haven’t the time for additional alterations.”

“I did not ask you if you could do it. I asked what you needed to make certain it gets done. What do you need to ensure this dress is ready in two days’ time?” Avant smiled because his words carried the message with enough force.

The little man pursed his lips and sighed. “Well, My Lord, I'll need the services of Bardon’s wife. She helps me sometimes when I have more than I can do, but she is expected to help bring in the harvest. Her family relies on the wages from the work.”

Avant weighed the cost. He would lose a good harvest worker and would still need to pay her wages, in addition to paying Gessup for the actual dress and alterations. No matter. Abigail must have that dress. Pulling out his moneybag, he turned to the man. “I'll send Bardon’s wife this morning. Here is payment for her wages and the dress.”

Avant rode to the house in the vineyards at the end of the valley. The straight rows of heavy-laden vines were ripe for harvest with rich grapes that produced the best wine in all of Jastain. The soft breeze wisped his hair and filled his nose with the sweet scent ripe grapes. He reached from his horse and pulled a cluster from a vine adjacent to the trail. The juicy acidic tang of the year's yield insured the vintage was destined to be a good one.

Walking up to the gray stone house and into the front door, he called out, “Greetings. Is anyone here?”

Annova came from the kitchen, wiping her floured hands on a cloth. “Avant, my sweet, how wonderful to see you.” She kissed him lightly on the lips, her auburn hair brushing his cheek.

Annova had found Avant injured and left for dead. She and her husband Hossa, fleeing from the king themselves, took him from the southern plains and escaped to the Freelands. The three of them established the community of Domentus Ventium for the refugees fleeing the treacherous lands ruled by Aesdil.

As prophet of the Light, Annova was Avant’s spiritual advisor. She was also like a mother to him.

“Are we prepared for the harvest?” He grinned at her.

 “Of course, My Lord.” She eyed him suspiciously. “You've found the Chosen One, then?”

“I have indeed found the Chosen One.” He could no longer hold in his excitement.

“And I take it you are pleased with this discovery? But there is something else in your eyes. What is it, Avant?”

Why need there be something else? Was not finding the One enough? “I found the young woman three days ago in the Valley of Umbra just as my Gift told me. I have already Implanted into her, and she is at the manor even as we speak.”

“Young woman? Truly?” Annova studied his face, and a knowing smile crept over her lips. “Is that why your countenance is lighter than I have seen it in years?”

“Yes, of course. Abigail is the One to restore my life. Why should I not feel lighter?” He sighed. Why must everyone assume he desired her youth and beauty? Could he not just be glad for the Light's provision?

Annova’s eyes narrowed, and she stared at him for a moment longer. A glow emanated from her, and Prophecy overtook her. “Do not lose faith in your Gift, Avant. It will lead you in the right path. And though I see, indeed, this young woman will help restore your life, it will not be what you now assume. Dark times are ahead and a need for great faith in the things we hold dear, for things we love are not always as they first appear. And when the night is dawn and morrow is yet breaking, it is the path of love we esteem worth taking.”

They stood silently for a time. Avant closed his eyes. His experience with Annova’s Gift gave him assurance that she spoke the truth. “This is the second time you have spoken those words to me Annova. Where do I assume this path to lead?”

In his heart, he knew her words were key to the Chosen One’s purpose. Avant’s dreams indicated he would one day be king over the new kingdom, but exactly what part Abigail would play after the restoration was unclear.

“Avant, I cannot tell you what the words mean. Only that they are the truth, and when the time is ripe, you will comprehend.”

Abby woke. Her eyes fluttered open to reveal the quiet room bathed in sunshine. As she tried to lift her head, saliva filled her mouth. A cold sweat misted her face and nausea tainted her stomach.

How long had she been unconscious? What had happened to make her pass out? Avant had attempted to Implant his knowledge, but after that her mind went blank.

A sound echoed from the hall. A plump, little figure entered the room and shuffled toward her. Helean.

“Are you feeling better? You've been out for some time. I was getting worried about you. Lord Ventium said you'd fainted. No doubt from your long travels the last few days,” she chatted absently. “My dear, do you think you can sit?”

“Where's Avant?” Abby sat up. Her head reeled from the movement, and her stomach churned.
Oh, God.
She felt worse than the time she challenged a group of frat boys to a game of Mexican Minesweeper, a drinking game played with tequila shots. Only this time she was fairly certain she hadn’t won anything.