The Flame of Wrath (44 page)

             
Her modest home brought a ghost of a smile to her lips. Gone was her castle. All that she had to her name within this war was her honor and this tent of meager comforts.

             
She pushed beyond the tent flap. For a brief instant she was surprised to find that she felt an overwhelming sense of home. She exhaled deeply, feeling the weight of the world sitting upon her chest. Her hands removed the armor which had housed her torso. They trembled as they began to rid herself of the bronze gauntlets about her forearms. The trembling continued as she freed her shins of their soiled protection.

             
The red tunic ending just above her knees was peeled away from her body. She let its weighted existence fall to the ground at her feet. Silently, she dipped a heavy cloth into a waiting basin of water. She attended to her armor first, using the water to wash away the grime. As the splendor of her armor began to return, she felt closer to herself and less like the woman circumstance had forced her to become.

             
The Queen placed her armor within the safety of a wooden chest. She then set about the task of cleaning her tunic. Tears fell to the darkening water as the moments ticked onward. She fought to stifle those tears. She yearned to banish them from her eyes. She could not cry. She would not allow herself to cry.

             
The shadows cast by the hanging lantern emphasized the tension of her naked body. She drew in a deep breath, holding it as her hands tightly wrung the bloody water from her tunic. When her garment was clean, she hung it to dry in the nighttime air.

             
Upon returning to her tent, she retrieved the bloody basin. She carried the dish into the night and dumped its cardinal contents to the grass behind her tent. The breeze of the night felt good against her bare skin. She looked again to the unprecedented night. Beneath its otherworldly beauty, these menial tasks seemed so unimportant. Still, she proceeded despite it, wondering how this night might somehow accomplish what she feared by changing her life forever.

             
Returning to her tent, she retrieved another basin of fresh water. It sparkled crisply as she carried it outside. She bathed beneath a starry sky, shivering with the intenseness of the cool waters.

             
When the layer of the day's events had been washed from her body, her skin again felt clean. She turned toward her tent. A figure standing in her path caused her to gasp.

             
“I'm sorry to have startled you, Highness,” she heard softly.

             
Autumn blinked the beads of water from her lengthy lashes. Her steel-blue eyes recognized the willowy form of her second in command. “Zahara,” she exhaled. The Queen smiled in gratitude as Zahara offered her, her night cowl.

             
Slipping into the midnight-blue cape, Autumn noted that the beautiful Guardian had turned her head respectfully. “Is everything all right?” she asked, sharing Zahara's sudden awkwardness.

             
“I only came to check on you,” Zahara answered. “This night...” She stopped. Her eyes lifted up to the sky. “There's something about it. The men are---”

             
“I know,” Autumn said. She placed her hand to Zahara's shoulder reassuringly. Their eyes met for a moment before the Queen passed her by.

             
Zahara gazed after the departing figure of her Queen, wishing to speak but discovering that she had very little to say. The truth of the matter was that she simply needed to see Autumn. Perhaps it was a need to see a friendly face. Perhaps it was a desire to know how Autumn was handling the responsibilities she had come to hold. Perhaps it was nothing more than aimless wandering. Whatever the reason, Zahara had found herself seeking out Autumn.

             
“The men shouldn't fear the night,” Autumn said suddenly breaking her second's line of thought.

             
Zahara listened with a curious glint inside her brown eyes. The Queen's voice had sounded so calm as she spoke, so certain.

             
“I was afraid of it too, but I've suddenly stopped being afraid. I can't say why or how. I just know that there is nothing to fear from it.”

             
“Then that is enough for us, my Queen,” Zahara promised gently. She was received by a warm smile.

             
“Good night, Zahara.”

             
“Good night, Majesty.”

             
Finding that the tension which had filled her before was steadily lessening, Zahara left the kneeling Queen.

             
Autumn sat down against a wool blanket. Quietly, she set about the task of building a fire. As it rose upward, growing stronger by the moment, she leaned back. A fallen tree served as the supportive presence she needed to catch her weary body. On the nights she found herself sleeping beneath the stars, it had also acted as a makeshift headboard.

             
Blue-gray eyes were entranced by the fire's dancing glory. She picked at crisp blades of grass as her eyes grew heavy.

             
The fire continued its hypnotizing ways. Its sultry spell had all but conquered Autumn's wandering mind when something incredible began to take place.

             
The flames sparked brightly. Their chaotic rhythm took on a steady air. It thumped loudly as a deafening heartbeat.

             
The fire snaked upward. From its brilliant length, the flames conformed into a sinewy arm. It pulled forcibly at the sky, determined to claim it. Within the blazing fires, a face took shape. Its mouth opened in a passionate struggle. Another arm burst from the fire's depths. Together with both hands gripping possessively at the ground, an erotic torso propelled itself from the fire's base. Pulling at the earth around the campfire, feminine hips were birthed from the fiery womb. Sensuous legs drew out from the fire until the entire body had emerged from the fires.

             
A sudden wind broke over the land. Its force was unnatural. It whipped zealously through Autumn's long wavy hair. She gasped as it extinguished the flames from this woman born of fire. Before her eyes stood a woman with smooth mortal skin which steamed hotly beneath the breezes.

             
The woman attempted a solitary step only to collapse to her hands and knees. She lifted her soot-lined face. Her eyes were dazzlingly blue. They peered through sparkling lashes of gold to the woman slowly sitting up. A desperate need to touch the woman's face consumed her. Slowly, she extended her hand. “Autumn,” she breathed.

             
The Queen's heart leapt upward. It locked itself within her throat. She felt its wild fluttering distinctly. “Sacred Mother, help me,” she rasped. “You aren't real. You can't be real.”

             
Autumn backed further against the tree, wishing with all her might that it were possible to pass through it. With nowhere else to go, she watched as the blond drew closer to her. She felt the all too vivid heat of breath against her face. Her eyes widened in fearful disbelief as fingertips hovered near to her cheek.

             
“Autumn,” she heard, “my beautiful Autumn.”

             
Tears trickled down her cheeks in hot rivers. The Queen's eyes flashed with white hot rage. “You sent us to die!” she yelled. She lashed out with an angry hand. “I hate you! My father's dead because of you! If the Lucidians don't kill us all, I'll kill you myself!”

             
The Empress had only just managed to grasp Autumn by the wrist. She held it firmly preventing the hand from bringing its wrathful touch.

             
“I never meant for you to be in harm's way,” Aurea said. Her eyes glistened with sadness. “Believe what you want about me or the things I've done, but I would have never---”

             
“Stop talking!” Autumn commanded. She rolled their entangled bodies.

             
Gazing down at the Empress, who still relentlessly held her wrist, the Queen reached out with her free hand for a weapon of any kind. Her hand sealed around the blunt weight of a rock. She lifted it, seeing it reflect in the pristine pools of Aurea's eyes.

             
“I love you, Autumn,” the Empress stated simply.

             
Aurea turned her head quickly to the left, narrowly avoiding the rock crashing down where once her head had been.

             
“I love you.”

             
Autumn drew back her hand, bringing the stone down again. Its furious impact scarcely missed the Empress' head.

             
“Stop talking,” Autumn demanded emphasizing each word with a volatile blow.

             
“Then kill me, my Love,” Aurea shouted, “because that is the only way you're going to make me leave.”

             
“I hate you!”

             
“Love and hate don't just interchange because we want them to. You may want to hate me with all your heart, but----”

             
Autumn turned her head. She could not stand seeing the emotion flooding from Aurea's eyes as she spoke.

             
“You can't because we don't get to choose whom we love. Love chooses us!”

             
Aurea searched over the trembling creature looming above her. Her entire being longed to take her into her arms. It had been so long since she had held her beloved angel. “Put that down,” she soothed, “and let me go.”

             
“No!” Autumn cleaved more fiercely to the rock in hand. She weighed the true consequence of its worth within her hand through deeply troubled eyes.

             
“Autumn,” Aurea's voice was gentle and low, “how many Lucidians have you killed?”

             
Pale eyes shifted to her with such a swiftness that Aurea felt a shiver rush up her spine. She stared into those eternal storms, determined not to bow to them. She realized then that Autumn understood. If the warrior Queen had truly wished her dead, she would be like so many Lucidians to meet their Fate at Autumn's hands.

             
With a muted thud, the heavy stone fell to the ground. Autumn backed away. She sat with slumped shoulders before the fire. Dazed, she stared into it.

             
Aurea closed her eyes for a brief moment. She released a quavering breath, surprised that she was still alive. As she opened her eyes once more, she propped herself up onto her elbows. She stared after Autumn longingly.

Dar
ing to tempt Fate again, she crept toward the dark-haired woman. Aurea knelt as close as she could. Her hands lingered in the air near tense shoulders. Timidly, she touched her hands to those rock-like shoulders. Her touch was gentle. She leaned forward, nuzzling her nose into the soft waves of chocolate she had longed to feel tickle her face.

             
Autumn closed her eyes at the feel of loving kisses bestowed with such tenderness to her head. “Go away,” she pleaded hoarsely.

             
“No,” Aurea whispered into her hair.

             
The Empress guided Autumn's head to turn. With a hand resting warmly against her cheek, she inched forward. Her lips were scarcely a breadth from Autumn's when she felt them move against her own.

             
“I hate you,” Autumn whispered as her body trembled.

             
Aurea brushed her lips over Autumn's sweet lips in a kiss which tasted of adoration and resentment and of love without trust.

             
The trepidation of the kiss soon fell away to little more than a memory as their kiss intensified with a heated inhalation of breath. Their kiss became a searing blaze to weld their bodies together. In its life, lived a battle for supremacy. Each pair of supple lips desperately fought to claim possession of the other: body and soul.

             
The Empress pulled Autumn closer with one hand while her other fell away from a proud jaw to traverse beneath the enigmatic warmth of the Queen's cowl. Her fingertips with light brushes painted the seductive swell of a full breast. She memorized its smoothness, shivering at the nub arching into her touch.

             
Autumn raised her hands to the clasp of her cowl. She unfastened it fluidly, sending the lengthy garment puddling to the ground around her. The hunger she witnessed stoking the flames of Aurea's eyes commanded her breath to tremble. She tilted her head offering up her neck to the Empress, who kissed along her delicate skin.

             
Aurea's hands explored her lover's body with slow intent. She mapped the tiny scars left by war in various accents upon the woman's sculpted arms and lean thighs. Her lips marveled at the strength of the heart beating beneath them. Before she could control herself, tears of love and rage spilled against the rolling hills of Autumn's breasts. She watered their landscapes in sporadic rains.