Return to Shanhasson (17 page)

“My water is yours, Mykal
tal
’Mamba,” Gana said. “Tell us of your
plan to take the White Queen.”

* * *

ICE CRUSTED THE SHORES OF Dalden Bay and
the salty air numbed Shannari’s cheeks. Standing on the Sentinel, the holiest
place in all the Green Lands, she tilted her frozen face up to the sky and
tried not to shatter with grief.

After endless hours on horseback, they’d
made it out of the blizzards covering the Plains. She was home. But this place
had ceased feeling like home the moment she’d left with Rhaekhar all those
years ago.

Clear and cold, the velvet blanket of
night wore a brilliant display of diamonds. A full moon hung directly overhead,
silvered and sparkling with ice. Sound carried over the water for miles and
miles. She could hear the creak of wood from the docks at the base of the
cliff, and the muted clatter of the village. Those people were bundled into
their cozy cottages against the bitterly cold night, grateful for hearth and
family.

While she stood here alone.

Unfair, she knew, because her Blood
waited only feet away. The miserable hard ride from the Silver Lake had passed
in near silence because she simply had nothing to say.

Will
I always be this empty?

A soft whispering note, high and
piercingly sweet, echoed on the night.
A
flute
, she thought. Perhaps someone played in the village.

It was a haunting sound, however, too
clear and truthful to be of this world. Threads of mist weaved in the sky
overhead, dancing in tune to the mournful sound.

DAUGHTER
OF MY BLOOD, I WEEP WITH YOU.

Sinking to her knees, Shannari wept on
the Sentinel, offering her tears instead of her blood. “Why did you have to
take him?”

She knew the answer. In the mists, the
Shining Walls rose against the night sky. As much as she’d come to hate
Shanhasson, she knew Rhaekhar would have been miserable, trapped among
outlanders who knew nothing of honor. She’d always known she belonged on the
High Throne. That she’d had a few precious years to love him should have been
enough.

It
will never be enough, not if I have to lose him.

YOU
WILL NEVER LOSE YOUR LOVES. YOU ARE THEIR HEART, THEIR SHINING EVENING STAR.
THEY AWAIT YOU AT THE END OF YOUR LIFE’S ROAD.

“How long must I wait? How many years
must I cry, lost and alone, until I see them again?”

THE
ROAD IS LONG, MY CHILD, BUT THIS I PROMISE YOU. YOU SHALL NEVER BE ALONE. YOUR
HEART SHINES, ILLUMINATING YOUR PATH. LOVE SHALL ALWAYS SUSTAIN YOU.

The muted notes rose higher, so painful
and sweet to hear. She heard her daughters’ laughter, innocence and joy, grief
and sorrow, in those notes. The strident warning whinny of her mare, Wind, and
her low, familiar whicker. The frantic shouts from her Blood at the thought of
losing her, as well as their whispered endearments when they thought she slept.

Then she heard another sound, a wailing
cry, lost and cold in the night. A baby.

She strained her ears, trying to tell whether
the baby was real or simply part of the vision. Mists swirled above the Shining
Walls, coalescing into sweeping wings. A beast hovered over Shanhasson with two
red baleful eyes.

Clutched in its claws, a baby screamed
louder.

The dragon leaped into the sky and
tossed the shape carelessly toward her. The child tumbled slowly, spinning and
whirling in the currents of mists and moonlight.
A boy
, she thought, with dark hair not unlike hers, but his skin
was baked a dark nutty brown. Fists and feet waving in the sky, he fell, and
she couldn’t help but catch him.

“There, shhh, now, you’re safe,” she
crooned, cradling the child in her arms.

He clutched her hair in his tiny fists.
He rooted against her neck, hungry for his mother’s milk, and she felt the answering
response in her breasts.

Stunned, she jerked her gaze up to the
full moon. “You want me to have a son?”

Shadows thickened in the mist. Hungry,
malevolent, they always stalked her. She gripped the child close to her heart
and raced through a wet, dank forest tangled with vines and ferns. She stumbled
through briars, heedless of the thorns tearing her flesh.
I must protect him.

Nightmare images flickered through her
mind. Growling, sleek massive cats hunted the child, their dark striped coats
blending with the trees and shadows. Wolves howled in the mountains. Dragons
screamed in the sky, belching flame to scour away the sheltering forests.
Massive shapes swam beneath the water, snapping jaws and slamming scaled tails
to crush their tiny ship. Wherever she took him, Shadow would always seek him.

Shadow always laid in wait for her and
her children.

Only
behind the Shining Walls will he be safe.

* * *

“
NA’LANNA
QWEN
? ARE YOU WELL?”

Dharman’s voice broke the Dream. Stiff
and chilled, she pushed upright, groggy with sleep. A weak winter sun broke the
horizon. Frost coated the dormant roses winding up the stone columns.

Shivering, she let him wrap her in a
furred cloak, but she couldn’t let go of the vision. Her arms still ached with
the weight of the baby. A son. Hers, but who was the father?

Her mates were dead. Her Blood… No. Not
them. They served a different purpose, although they would never be parted from
her.

She closed her eyes, trying to cement
the details in her mind, but the Dream dispersed, burned away like mist by the
morning sun. In the distance, she still heard the hauntingly sweet notes of the
flute.

Clutching her Blood’s neck, she breathed
his sweet honeycake scent, but it was Rhaekhar’s baking bread that she yearned
to smell. Tears filled her eyes.

It’s
a long road, my heart, but if you wait for me, I’ll join you as soon as I can.

CHAPTER

EIGHT

SITTING
ON THE EDGE OF HER BED, SHANNARI GAZED NUMBLY ABOUT THE ROOM. After the hard
trip to the Plains and back again in such a short span of time, she’d expected
to sleep well last night. Instead, she’d done nothing but toss and turn. Sal
and Dharman were lucky she hadn’t knocked them to the floor with her restless
sleep.

She couldn’t quite believe she was back.
For good.

Shanhasson would be her permanent home
now. No brief visits, laughing at Rhaekhar’s growls at the nervous outlander
servants or challenging him to another bath and oiled massage. While he’d
enjoyed the fluffy mattress enough to drag one across the Plains for years,
there was very little else he’d valued in these Green Lands.

“Except you,
na’lanna Qwen
.” Dharman knelt at her feet. He didn’t touch her. He
didn’t have to. His bond blazed in the darkest, loneliest, coldest realms of
her heart, even when she tried as hard as possible to freeze it out. “He valued
your love most of all.”

Of
course he did. That’s why he’s dead.

She picked up the brush and began
working on her hair, trying to pretend as though her hand didn’t tremble. The
tears trickling down her cheeks were surely from the pain in her scalp. Her
hair truly was a mess.

Rhaekhar had always loved brushing her
hair. His gentleness that very first night had made an impression on her that
she never forgot. The big, invincible Khul had conquered her army only to brush
her hair more carefully than the best-trained maid. After Theo cut off all her
hair, she should have left it short. Why grow it out just because her Khul
liked it?

How many times had he spread her hair
out on their cushions and buried his face against in it?

Gently, Dharman took the brush from her
hand and climbed onto the bed to kneel behind her. “Allow me to do this small
thing for you.”

He took his time, smoothing his hand
through her hair with long, sure strokes of the brush. Muscle by muscle, she
relaxed beneath his strokes and the glacier threatening to bury her crept back
from her heart.

“Perhaps you should call him the Brush
Blood instead of First.” Sal knelt so close he straddled her feet. Batting his
eyes, he draped himself on her lap. “My hair is tangled, too.”

With that dimple in his cheek, he was
too adorable to refuse. She combed her fingers through his hair. He gave a
satisfied little murmur and nestled his face on her thigh.

“You’re practically purring. You’re like
an oversized cat.”

“If I’m the Brush Blood,” Dharman said,
“then you’re the Lap Blood.”

Dharman sounded rather terse. Concerned,
she cracked open her awareness of his bond. Red glowed in the depths of her
mind, the steady fire of his bond. He wasn’t jealous or upset, rather longing
that he’d thought to put himself in her lap too.

“I’ll be the Caffe Blood, too.” Sal
turned his head enough to peek up at her through his hair. “When you would like
another cup,
na’lanna Qwen
, I shall
fetch it for you. It’s an honor to serve.”

“The servants—” she began, but Sal shook
his head and Dharman settled a palm on her shoulder.

“We don’t trust them,
na’lanna Qwen
. They would have allowed
the twins to be poisoned. Everyone knows it’s your favorite drink; we’ll
prepare it for you ourselves.”

“I don’t want you waiting on me hand and
foot,” she grumbled.

Sal slipped to the floor and cradled her
foot against his bare chest, rubbing his thumbs in deep circles along her sole.
“Hand, foot, or any other body part, we’re more than happy to wait upon you.”

“Ask,
na’lanna Qwen
, and it shall be done without delay.” Dharman
whispered against her ear.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she
muttered. Standing, she moved away and began braiding her hair, much to
Dharman’s chagrin.

He gaped at her a moment, glanced down
at Sal still sprawled on the floor, and then jumped off the bed. “I’ll brush it
for you every day. There’s no need to braid it.”

“It’s tidier this way.” She hid a smile
at the desperation on his face. He’d accused her of letting Sal touch her
casually and frequently without repercussion, which was a valid complaint. Now
that Dharman had found a way to touch her as regularly, he thought she was
taking away his excuse. “Notify my Council that I wish to see them.”

Dharman flashed the command to Jahne at
the door, who immediately stepped outside. “As you wish, it shall be done.”

He looked so grim, his emotions walled
off by the stone of his face. He was well used to coldness from her; she’d been
trying to freeze him out for years. She wrapped the brightly colored green and
blue belt about her waist, shifting it so the white and black
rahkes
hung balanced on each hip. The
belt and sheathes had been her claiming gift from her co-mates, so it was only
fitting that she’d tied their braids on each sheath.

Dharman watched silently with her armor
in hand. The skin was tight about his eyes, his mouth a flat slant. He wouldn’t
ask, her First Blood, but he ached to do something, anything, to provide
comfort and touch.

She gave him a nod, and he helped slip
the breastplate over her head. “This armor is not needed,” he said gruffly.
“Not with nine warriors standing between you and any steel.”

What he didn’t say was that he wanted
her to wear
him
as her shield. If
she’d let him wrap around her back every minute of every day, then no assassin
would ever find its mark.

Lightly, she reached up and cupped his
cheek. “You can brush and braid my hair each day if you want.”

His shoulders relaxed and he smiled.
“It’s an honor—”

A blast of blizzard wind roared through
her. She silenced him with her fingers over his lips. “I don’t want you to do
anything because of honor. Do you understand? I know you’re Blood, and you feel
that you must protect me, but please, don’t…” Her voice broke. Appalled, she
stiffened, trying not to cry. “I’m not merely
kae’valda
to wear so you can brag to the other warriors. If that’s
all you want, some new bead to imagine in your hair…”

He dipped his head closer and wrapped
his arms around her, drawing her slowly, carefully, into his embrace as though
he feared she might whip out a
rahke
and gut him for such audacity. “You hold my heart in the palm of your hand,
na’lanna Qwen
.”

Not to be denied, Sal pressed against
her back. They held her, letting the pain seep from her heart through their
bonds. Straightening, she brushed her cheeks dry and lifted her chin. “The
Council is waiting.”

The Blood opened the door, several
gliding down the hallway, Dharman at her back, Sal immediately in front of her.
His hair looked more mussed than it had when she’d first woken up, likely from
wallowing on her lap.

He flashed a smile at her over his
shoulder. “You can wallow me any time you want,
na’lanna Qwen
. However, I do have a request.”