It was several days before Brother Favir had arrived at the palace of Olisgard, following the news of Norr's victory in the west. The Prophet, it seemed, had delivered the pertinent information, assuring Kenos' plan of slaying the Hudar leader. Having spent seven years watching over Raven, this revelation seemed a bit odd to the priest. Favir wasn't completely convinced of her domestication—no man with an ounce of intelligence would think you could take the wild out of a wildling, or break an exiled soul of their yearning for home. Raven was neither broken nor tame. Would she really aid the King in ruining her own people? Was this all a trick, some complicated ploy to seek revenge? With Daskis dead and the Hudar scattered to the wind, it was hard to say. Favir was mistrustful of the witch ever since he'd first laid eyes on her.
O.O.O.O.O
Favir handed off his horse to a stable boy and took in the Temple of Sekhmet, an enormous sandstone city, powerhouse of the southern province of Norr. He could scarcely contain his excitement as he hurried up the front steps, into the cool shade.
Sandalwood and jasmine laced the air, strong and pleasant. Braziers lit the space, casting a welcoming glow across gleaming white marble floors. Adepts roamed the halls in quiet service, polishing statues, washing floors, tending to citizens here for blessing and guidance.
"Brother Favir, welcome." A young priest, dressed in pale green robes, greeted from an arching stone doorway. "Priestess Khalimat is expecting you."
Favir brushed out his own blue robes, wiped the sweat from his face and took a few deep breaths. The people of the temples designated rank by the color. Green was above blue. How had this lad already attained such rank at his age? "Thank you, Brother."
Favir followed the priest, trying to calm his thundering heart. Meeting the High Priestess was reason enough for excitement, but also being inducted into the temple as a priest? Who knew what opportunities awaited? This, truly, was an opportunity of a lifetime.
The hall poured into a large, circular room lined with marble pillars. In the center, thrice as tall as any man, stood a statue carved of basalt. Sekhmet, the lion-headed goddess of war and protector of the crown. And to the left, relaxing on a short, wooden couch, sat the second most powerful woman in Norr.
Khalimat had flawless mahogany skin despite being past half a century in age. Gold bands adorned long black hair, and smudged kohl lined eyes the color of freshly turned earth. Dressed in a simple white robe and barefoot, she held herself with an air of casual authority. Like a lioness lounging in the sun.
"Well met, Brother," she said.
Favir approached, bowing low. "Priestess, it is an honor."
"No need for such ceremony." She smiled, and he shivered. "I do hope your journey was pleasant. The Gentle Desert is a deceiving name in the dead of summer. You're still used to Olisgard's climate, I'm sure."
"It's a bit warm." Stifling was more accurate. They didn't call this place hell without reason. "Nothing I can't adjust to."
"You must be parched. Would you care for a drink?"
"Yes, my lady. I would, thank you."
Khalimat glanced over her shoulder, speaking quietly to someone he couldn't see. She gestured to the chair opposite her. "Sit. Tell me news from the great city. What is our good king up to?"
Favir eased into the soft cushions and folded his hands on his lap. "King Kenos is planning an excursion."
"I've noticed the soldiers at the citadel multiplying. Scurrying about like ants. What kind of excursion?"
"Precious metals, my lady. Scouts have reported sightings of silver and copper at the base of the Spire. Also obsidian. He means to mine it."
Khalimat tilted her head, gaze sharpening. "The Spire is in Hudar."
He snorted. "Barbarians don't have any need for silver. They're goat herders. They wouldn't know something precious if it jumped up and bit off their arm."
The priestess shifted position, less casual, more assertive. "And what of Daskis, leader of the hoard? Has Kenos struck a bargain for traipsing across their land and stealing what's theirs?"
"No, my lady. Differences of opinions, I'm afraid. Word around the palace is that Kenos is looking to expand Norr's borders."
Khalimat sighed. "Such is the trouble with young kings. Always hoping to outdo their fathers."
A young woman appeared beside them with a silver tray in her hands. Favir jumped in his seat.
"Great stars! Where did you come from? You gave me a fright."
She set the tray of glasses and wine on the low wooden table between them, and moved to stand beside Khalimat without a word.
Favir narrowed his eyes. Who did this girl think she was to deny him the common courtesy of a response? She appeared normal enough. A little tall for a woman, and definitely too thin and wiry to be of noble breeding. Her black hair styled in a neat braid matched the rest of the temple attire, but her skin was pale. Too pale for the desert. The tan robes she wore seemed a tad large on her frame, and denoted her as a bond servant. She reminded him of something, but he couldn't place it.
"Girl," he said. "A superior addressed you."
Her gaze locked with his, cold and unrepentant.
Favir ground his teeth. "My lady, does your adept not speak a civilized tongue?"
"Her adept does not," the servant girl replied, mimicking his tone.
Khalimat made a low sound and flicked her fingers. With a scowl, the girl returned to the table and poured two glasses of red wine from the decanter on the tray.
Favir picked up his glass, draining half in a quick swallow. "This girl needs some work."
"Precisely," the priestess said. "This is Raven."
"A northern name." It would explain her height. She nearly stood as tall as he did. Her black hair didn't match, however. The Norrians of the North were flaxen-haired and blue-eyed. She must be a mutt. Some trollip's unwanted child.
Khalimat picked up her glass. "It's the name I gave her. She's never told me her real name."
"A runaway, then? No wonder she has no manners. How long has she been with you?"
"Ten years now."
Favir kept his expression neutral. The girl had been with the Lioness of the South for a decade and still hadn't learned how to behave? He'd never question Khalimat's skills. The girl must be a terror.
As if sensing his train of thought, the priestess smiled. "She is Hudar."
He choked on his wine. "My—my lady? Surely you jest."
"I never jest."
Silence clutched him for an obscene pause. He saw it now, the hunger and violence lurking beneath the girl's lithe frame. Raven watched him like a wolf pining over a newborn lamb.
"Priestess, I don't understand. You allowed a barbarian into your sacred temple? She's probably a witch. You know how unstable they are—look at her! She's practically seething!"
"Watch your tone, priest," Khalimat warned. "I did not summon you here for your opinion."
He relented, hands spread wide. "Forgive me. I forgot my place." No sense worrying about one runt of a girl. She wasn't his problem. "What will you have of me, Priestess?"
Khalimat pointed to Raven. "You are her newly appointed guardian."
All warmth drained from him, pooling somewhere below his knees. His glorious assignment was to watch a Hudar girl? How embarrassing—how degrading! He'd left his comfortable quarters at the palace and rode a week through the scalding desert shit hole for this?
Swallowing back his outrage, he let out a slow breath. "New guardian, my lady?"
"The old one didn't last." Khalimat cut her eyes to the girl. "It seems my aspiring apprentice didn't care for his attitude. Raven, if you kill this one, I'm throwing you back in the cellar."
A flicker of apprehension shot through the girl. She rubbed the silver bands at her wrists and looked away. "Yes, Priestess."
The Hudar killed her last guardian. What luck. Favir gazed at the statue towering over them. Sweet Sekhmet, what did I do to deserve this?
"If that is how you wish me to serve, my lady, it would be an honor," he forced out the words.
"Don't let her out of your sight, Favir. You lose her, I'll kill you. Understand?"
Nervous now, he bobbed his head and eyed his new charge. What sort of monster was this girl? He studied the bands of silver around both her wrists, gradually recognizing them for what they were. Charmed. His dread only deepened.
"My lady—if I may ask—what am I to do with this witc—ah, girl?"
Khalimat put a firm hand on Raven's shoulder, ignoring the way she squirmed in place. "Teach her the ways of the central province. I'm too long in the desert, and civil and political matters are not of my interest." Giving Raven a good shake, she waited until the young woman looked at her. "You will behave, yes? Show me you can," her gaze dropped to the silver bands. "And I will give you another chance."
Raven seemed to consider those words. She glanced to Favir. "And you will allow me my robes?"
Favir perked up at that. All who served in the temples strove for white. The utmost level of respect and power. Only those deemed worthy enough to truly convene with the gods were allowed them. But this girl? There was no way in seven hells that she was worthy of anything. Not even the crisp tan she wore now.
"We will see, child," the Priestess replied, tenderly touching Raven's cheek. "Go now, and may Sekhmet grant you strength to survive one another's company."
O.O.O.O.O
Raven was Favir's absolute worst nightmare. Two years it took before her silver bands were struck. It was another three before Khalimat allowed her to wear her robes. Which, to Favir's horror, were not white. They weren't even Norrian. They were black. Layers of tattered, fraying robes, several scarves and an odd pair of sandals.
Truly, he was the guardian of a Hudar witch. It galled him to the point of sleeplessness, heartburn, loathing. He hated Raven. She was a terribly cruel test of his will, and on more than one occasion he contemplated resigning. No position, no matter where in the kingdom, was worth the hell Raven put him through. They tormented, picked, poked, harassed one another to the point of madness. All the while, Raven grew all the more collected, calculating, and the most terrifying of all—civilized.
She was playing a game. But what, he couldn't guess. When the king requested Raven to stay at the palace for three months, he feared Khalimat would be furious. Blessedly, she wasn't, and he nearly cried with joy for the reprieve. Finally, a moment without worry! No clever woman watching his every move, critiquing his every task, embarrassing him at the market by wearing those horrid black rags.
But now the king requested further use of the witch, and Khalimat had sent him back to the Palace to keep an eye on things. Yes, Raven could stay, but not alone. Favir was to send reports back to the desert, cataloging the expanse of the king's use of the prophet. It certainly was a far more dignified task, and he was quite boastful of his new white robes. He wanted everyone to see, especially Raven. He wanted to rub it in her face. She would never be like him—she wasn't better than he was, and he was going to prove it.
Arriving early in the morning, Favir reported to the king's guard. Raven, it seemed, was quartered on the western side of the palace, and with direction, he headed that way. He hoped to catch her sleeping, hoped to surprise her as unpleasantly possible.
Wake up, witch, I've great news for you! Not only have you betrayed your own people, you're going to continue to do so until Khalimat drags you back to where you belong! He turned the corner just as the sound of a door opening broke the silence. The priest ducked into a dark alcove and peered down the hall.
The queen of Norr strode from the room, hair left down and un-styled, eyes half-lidded with something other than sleep. And then, appearing in the same doorway, the Hudar witch. Cloaked in black, looking just as guilty of pleasure.
Breath held, Favir remained hidden as the queen walked by, waiting until her footsteps faded away before glancing back down the hall. Raven shut her door and walked the opposite way, pace slow and leisurely.
Oh—oh, sweet gods, you do exist! That blasphemous barbarian, that whore! Bedding the king's wife right under his nose? And no guards in sight to escort her? Kenos was a fool to let her wander his palace unsupervised. Grinning, Favir strode after Raven. This would work in his favor.
O.O.O.O.O
With a content sigh, Raven sauntered down the halls, enjoying this calm moment for as long as possible. It grew terribly hard to find any reason to smile these days, and any suggestion of bliss, however transient, soothed her weary soul. Stretching her neck, a wry little smirk found its way to her lips. Her muscles were sore, a tell-tale sign that however formal and frigid the queen may be, Alyssa was wonderfully attentive in a private setting. Perhaps even a bit wild.
More than a bit. Raven forced the smile away and pushed open the doors to the kitchen. She detested eating with the rest of the guests of the palace, having to endure the meticulous etiquette, the tedious courses, the incessant drivel. They didn't want the Hudar at the table, and she certainly didn't want to be there. An unspoken settlement was reached: she ate in the kitchens with the servants and staff, out of sight and mind.
And with all the guest from the celebration to feed, the kitchen had already begun it's frantic daily routine. Countless servants scurried about, cooking and preparing for the meal.
"Oy, what are you doing back here, eh?" One older cook squawked, waving a wooden spoon. "I told you, the graces want you out at the table with them!"
"But my lady Hannah, I missed dinner last night, and your food smells simply divine."
"You little brat." Smiling now, the cook gestured to the eggs and pork sizzling on her griddle. "Be quick about it. And save some for the rest of the guests, eh? I've never seen a woman eat as much as you."
"It comes from never knowing when my next meal would be, my lady. Thank you." Raven filled her plate and fidgeted by the back door. "May I eat in your garden?"
With a slow sigh, the cook crossed her arms. "You really don't like them, do you?"
"It's never pleasant to surround yourself with people that would rather see you gone."
Hannah patted Raven's hand. "Eat where ever you like, dearie. I won't tell anyone."
"You are a gem." Raven slipped out the back door into the small, well-planted garden. Protected on all sides by a tall stone wall, it offered a glimpse of blue-grey sky. She eyed the dozing guard at the far gate before finding a quiet spot beneath the single oak tree in the center. Sunlight trickled through the branches, warm where it touched her cheek, but a cold November breeze blew in the promise of winter.
She hadn't seen snow in fifteen years. If the king required her much longer, maybe she'd see some again. A vulnerable, idle thought suggested it might be nice to take a walk in the snow with Alyssa. Childishly toss the white fluff at her; laugh at the surly look she'd undoubtedly get. It seemed harmless enough to dream under the morning sun, despite the bleakness of her life. Yes, it would be nice to do anything with Alyssa, anything at all. Content for a moment, she ate her meal and watched the sky.
O.O.O.O.O
Alyssa wasn't surprised to find their bed empty and undisturbed from the previous night. There were certain benefits to being the king, after all. There wasn't any bed in his palace—kingdom even, where he wasn't welcome. She didn't care. If anything, it was a relief not to see him. Last night's irksome lack of grace still set her loathing for him burning like a slow fire.
Dressed and made presentable once again, she went in search of Melissah. She found the young woman where she usually lingered, hovering on the outskirts of the courtyard, watching the boys sword fighting.
Alyssa tapped her on the shoulder.
Melissah yelped and whirled around. "Your grace, you scared me!"
She glanced over the smaller woman's head. "Which young lad are you watching today?"
Blushing, Melissah raked her fingers through her hair, eyes on the ground. "Ah, Jarek, your grace. The one in the blue."
"The brunette. He's an attractive prospect, isn't he? Oh, and quite the athlete as well."
Melissah stepped back into the hall and gave a graceful curtsy. "What may I do for you this morning?"
Alyssa studied the young woman. "I've a task in mind, of the utmost importance. Can I trust you to speak of it to no one?"
Growing just as serious as her superior, Melissah nodded. "Absolutely, your grace."
She pulled her aside and placed a small coin purse in her hand. "Go to the market. Find Santiago Sucocci, the fence. Give him this, and he will give you something in return. Bring it to me and no one else. Understood?"
"Yes, I understand. When do you need this done?"
"You've eaten already, yes? Go now. Discreetly. Take my horse. I've already informed the guards you will be running an errand for me. They won't bother you." Alyssa touched her cheek. "I will owe you a favor for this."
Melissah grinned. "Your grace, that's a dangerous thing. I've expensive tastes."
"Off with you, now." She watched the young woman disappear down the hall, an odd feeling settling in her stomach. Normally she would never send someone into the market to retrieve something from Sucocci—least of all, Melissah. But with Olisgard swarming with citizens from all corners of Norr, it would be too trying a task to slip into the masses unnoticed. No matter what disguise she wore, her eyes always gave her away.
"There you are." Arms slipped around her waist from behind, pulling her back against a warm, solid chest. Kenos kissed her cheek. "Good morning, my Queen."
Refraining from twitching, she turned in his arms and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. Her smile felt bland at best, and she cursed her own slip in composure. "My King."
He took a step back, searching her expression. "What's wrong?"
"I had a bad dream last night. Tossed and turned, is all." She offered him her arm, and he took it, leading them to the dining room.
"About last night." Kenos frowned. "I . . . I drank a bit too much."
"You were entitled to your celebration, Dominick. It's not like you're a drunkard." But wouldn't that be a lovely addition?
"I could have handled that better." He made a vague gesture. "Concerning the prophet. It was classless to mock her people right in front of her."
She glanced at her husband, mistrustful of this declaration. He was after something, something from her. "Well, it was a bit uncouth and embarrassing. Norr is not a land of uncivilized bastards. We're better than that."
He rubbed the back of his neck and slowed to a stop near the great hall. "Yes, yes. You're right, as usual. What would I ever do without you at my side?"
"I suspect you'd look like an unkempt brute without any class." She fixed the collar of his shirt. "You killed the barbarian king with," she hesitated, "cleverness. And tact. There's no reason to gloat."
Sighing comically, he put a hand to his heart. "Will you ever forgive me?"
"You know I never forgive."
"Which is why I just went ahead and got you a gift. A white stallion, seventeen hands. He's a Northern bred stud, very handsome. You'll love him."
A moment of surprise made her heart jump. She loved horses. It was sly of him, though not enough to relent her silent disdain.
She slapped him on the arm. "You cannot buy me things every time you do something stupid!"
"Of course I can. It may not help, but it does make you smile. I can't have the ruler of Norr unhappy." He held the door to the great hall. "After you, my Queen."
She stared through the open doorway, to her spot at the table. She was unhappy. Maybe she didn't have the right to feel such things. Born into a high class family that had both status and wealth, and betrothed to one in the same, of royal blood. When Dominick's father passed and he became king, they married. For six years she'd reigned as queen of a profitable, peaceful nation. And she had absolutely no desire to sit there at that table faking earnestness, knowing Raven ate alone elsewhere. Alone in her grief and self-loathing.
She looked away. "I don't have much of an appetite, Dominick. I'm going to take a walk, I think."
"Are you not well? I will call the physician."
"No, no." She touched his hand. "I just need some fresh air."
O.O.O.O.O
Favir pushed open the swinging doors of the kitchen. A bustle of activity filled the room, distracting and too congested. One servant lad skidded to a stop before him, peering over an armful of potatoes.
"Sir, the guests will be served in the great hall."
"Never mind that. I'm a Priest of Sekhmet's temple. Have you seen the King's Prophet? I have business with her."
The boy seemed to perk up at that. "You mean the lady Raven?"
Lady? When did she earn that title?
"Yes, I mean the lady Raven," he mocked "Where might I find her?"
"In the gardens," he jerked his head towards a thick set of wooden exterior doors. "Through there."
Shoving past the boy, Favir strode towards the doors, shuffling through the flow of kitchen staff.
"Priest, you're not supposed to be back here!" Hannah yelled, rattling a pot across the room. "Get out of my kitchen!"
Did none of these ingrates have an iota of respect for a head priest of Norr? The absolute nerve of these knaves! Ignoring the cook, he shoved open the doors, blinking in the abrupt brightness of the gardens.
Across the space, Raven looked over to him. Look at her eating in the dirt. Not even peasants did that. They at least had the decency to sit at a table, even if they didn't wash their hands. Straightening his robes, Favir strolled across the grounds.
O.O.O.O.O
Gods be dammned, I thought I'd been rid of that man. Raven finished chewing as Favir strutted towards her. "My, my. You look a bit ridiculous in white. Tell me, are your knees sore from kneeling between half of all the legs in Norr?"
"You're in no position to mock me." He rocked to a halt before her, hands clasped behind his back, practiced smile in place. "I heard you gave over Daskis. Well done. Such a good little traitor you've made."
"What do you want?"
"I'm here on Khalimat's bidding. It seems you're not as supervised as she thinks necessary."
Her gaze shifted to the sole guard in audience, still leaning against the wall, arms crossed, head canted forward in sleep. He wasn't there to watch her. His presence was pure coincidence and just as annoying. The King's guard truly was everywhere, even if they were occasionally asleep on the job.
"You'll have to take it up with the king. He lets me wander where I may within the walls."
"Oh, don't you fret, Hudar. I will be sure to let him know exactly what's going on in his residence." He peered down his nose at her. "Right behind his back."
A sinking feeling made the food bland and tasteless now. Something lurked in his pale blue eyes, a confident tenacity that set her skin crawling. She stood and strode past him.
He caught her wrist and jerked her close. "Filthy, wretched witch. You have no rights here, and no place warming anyone's bed. I'll see you back in silver for this myself. And when Kenos bores of your skills, Khalimat will be waiting for you."
There was a moment, three heartbeats long, where Raven did nothing but stare.
Countless thoughts flashed through her mind, guessing the depths of his knowledge, the extent of what he saw. Because he had seen something; enough to ruin everything, and there was nothing more precious than protecting what little joy she had. He would hold this over her; use this knowledge to make her submit to his will. She would rather die than return to the desert, least of all while this priest blackmailed her into obedience. Only one option remained, however daunting, however tempting and brash.
Favir left her no choice.
She lashed out, fingers coated in a black glow, and crushed the priest's throat in her grip. Before he could squawk, she nailed him in the chest with her other fist. Favir tumbled backwards, white robes stained with grass and dirt.
The guard jerked awake at the commotion. "What the—? Prophet? I command you to yield!" The sound of metal ringing free from a sheath set everything in motion.
She turned towards the guard, arms wide, head lowered, gaze locked on the approaching threat. Her mind cleared, snapping to a dreadfully quiet place. Time slowed as she counted down his steps, timing the strike with seamless perfection. With a whispered invocation, she brought her left hand forward, slicing the air.
The motion tore a sound from nowhere, a high-frequency pulse that struck the guard three paces away. Without a gasp, without a drop of gore, he crumpled dead at her feet.
The cool breeze turned into a low howl, eerie and old, like the rattle of bones. Dropping to her knees, she jerked guard's belt free and secured it around her own waist, along with his sword and dagger. Favir crabbed backwards across the grass, face red and eyes watering.
"Where are you going, priest?" She strode to him and stomped her foot into his chest, pinning him to the ground.
"No!" he screeched; the shrill, pathetic bleating of an injured animal.
She pressed the tip of the sword into his throat. "Khalimat set you to be my guardian as a test of my patience. Not as a means to prove your worth, not as a trial of your will—but mine. My will is ironclad, Favir, but I endured you for seven years and I will not tolerate another breath as your victim."
"All right—I won't tell Kenos! I won't, I swear to Sekhmet herself," he wheezed.
"Of course you won't. The dead don't speak."
"Don't be a fool, Raven. You murdered a royal guard! I'm your only hope of survival now. Kenos will want you killed—but I can save you. I can save you!"
Even now, at her mercy, his arrogance knew no bounds. She had imagined this moment for years, and now that it had arrived, the pleasure turned bittersweet. Killing this man meant losing Alyssa, and she hadn't prepared for the anguish. She hadn't even said goodbye.
"Raven, please. The gods grant mercy to those in favor. I can help you. We'll return to the desert. Khalimat will forgive you in time, she always does. You're too precious to waste."
She almost laughed. "Precious? Who would have thought those words would ever leave your lips, least of all as your last. I do hope all the years of diligence to the gods pays off, priest."
His eyes went wide. "No—"
With one jab, the sword pierced his throat and ran straight through to the ground. Mouth open and soundless, Favir choked and bled to death under the pale grey sky. And her blissful morning came to an end.
"You always knew how to ruin my day." Exhaling a slow breath, she wiped the sword clean on his crisp robes. Instincts long suppressed took over, prioritizing, planning. She checked his pockets, taking a small purse of coins and paused when her fingers brushed a piece of paper. A letter from the Priestess Khalimat to the King, seal unbroken. Popping the wax, she scanned the note.
—The gods have spoken clearly, good king. Your use of the prophet's gifts shall soon end. Be mindful of her placidity. Dark, still waters belay dangerous creatures in their depths. Brother Favir has the authority and means to rein her in should she step out of line—
She crumpled the note in her fist. The sound of the kitchen door opening jerked Raven to her feet.
A young female servant took two steps into the gardens and froze, empty basket in her arms. She let out a teeth-gnashing scream, echoing off the high walls, and darted back into the kitchen.
Damnit to all hell. Raven charged to the other door and shouldered it open. With the layout of the palace running through her mind, she deftly navigated the passageways. News would spread quickly of her crimes. She needed to be outside the walls before word reached the king.
O.O.O.O.O
Dressed in a warm coat, Alyssa circled the outdoor grounds in a distracted gloom. Guilt lay heavy on her shoulders. How long could she keep Raven here with her? Was it cruel to allow her this intimacy only to have it taken away at someone else's whim? Was she unkind for starting this whole secret affair to begin with?
At the thought of their first night together, a warm smile tugged at the corners of her lips. The prophet did show her face at dinner the night of her arrival, and remained a quiet, delicious temptation at the far end of the table. After dinner, Alyssa had invited the stoic Hudar to one of her private rooms with the promise of fine wine and engaging conversation. Raven had politely refused, claiming it wasn't her place to be alone with the Queen of Norr.
Politely refused, that is, until Alyssa walked up to the woman and kissed her. Raven didn't raise another word of protest. She responded with natural, addicting eagerness, a desperate touch, both tender and pleasurably rough. Such passion that woman had! Alyssa couldn't remember ever feeling so wonderful—so right with another soul. She didn't ever want it to stop. She wanted to stay with Raven forever. How foolish of her to fall in love with a Hudar woman that wasn't free to choose her own life, when she herself was chained to the throne, to Dominick Kenos.
Blinking her nostalgia away, Alyssa found herself outside the stables. Built of stone and well maintained, they housed well over fifty horses. Most of them belonged to visiting nobles and peerage, and the horses of the guard were kept in the adjacent connecting stable. As she made her way through the open door, the pleasant smell of hay and sweet feed greeted her.
She contently walked past the stalls, petting and cooing over each and every horse. One stall was empty, belonging to her favorite horse. Melissah had indeed left immediately for her task. Continuing down the row, she paused as an unfamiliar white horse stuck his head over the door of a stall.
"My stars, look at you! You're massive."
A gorgeous specimen, with strong legs, graceful back and powerful haunches. Long silver mane, smooth as silk in her fingers. Smile growing wry, Alyssa leaned on the door as the stallion sniffed and nuzzled her. Dominick's impeccable taste in all things refined infuriated her at times. A gift of this magnitude meant the man truly was after something, though what, she couldn't rightly say. Her heart, her progeny, her forgiveness; who knew? She'd grown too wary to ask.
"You're a handsome bloke, I'll admit." She scratched beneath the stallion's forelock. "What shall we call you?"
The clatter of hooves on stone broke the calm, sounding out through the closed doors of the soldier's stables. The jingle of metal and creak of leather. A horse let out an anxious call. Could that be Melissa already? She eased into the next section of stables. A bay gelding danced in place, tacked and tied in the walkway. She shifted down the aisle and placed a calming hand on the horse's muzzle while someone bumped and rummaged in the tack room. Someone in tattered black robes, with long ebony hair, pale skin and an armful of supplies.
Alyssa couldn't help but smile. "Going somewhere, Prophet?"
Raven whirled around, sword tip sailing towards her throat. She froze, heart stalling at the look of utter ruthlessness in those violet eyes.
Something transpired in that heartbeat; the two acknowledging one another. Alyssa, experiencing the terror of near death. Raven, stopping the blade from piercing flesh at the last possible moment. The Hudar let out a terrible sound dropped her sword.
"Alyssa," she said, voice pained, hands wide in compliance. "You startled me."
"I startled you?" She tried to slow her racing heart. Took in the blood staining Raven's hands. The guard's sword. The horse and pack of supplies spilled at her feet. "What happened?"
"Favir knew about us." Raven frowned. "There was a guard as well."
If one person knew . . . Fear sunk like a stone in her gut. Alyssa took a shaky step back, supporting herself on the horse's side. Raven had killed the Sekhmet Priest, and now she aimed to flee Norr.
"And the stable hands? Did you kill them?"
"No—of course not. They're locked in the feed room." Raven sheathed the sword, gathered the supplies and secured them to the back of the saddle. "Alyssa, I can't stay here."
Everything came crashing down in the following quiet, a massacre of glass and steel ringing in Alyssa's head. It was happening right before her eyes. Even as the sovereign ruler of Norr, she could do nothing to stop it. The first occurrence of helplessness to ever strike her, and it was a horrendously awful feeling.
"I'm coming with you." It took her a moment to realize those words had come from her.
"No you're not."
"I am."
Raven let out a short, dry laugh and touched her cheek. "Alyssa, please. In a very short time all of Norr will come looking to kill me, especially your king. You can't be involved." She grabbed her mount's reins and swiftly lead him towards the door.
"There has to be a way around this, just let me think. Damn it—wait!" Alyssa grabbed her hand.
"No!" Raven jerked away, robes spiraling like a shadow around her. "I won't let you ruin your life for me."
"I don't care what the bloody peerage thinks of me—"
Raven took her face in her hands, looking Alyssa over with a hungry emotion. "You've been incredibly kind to me. Let me show you a kindness now." Raven kissed her softly and retreated. "Forget about me."
"You call that a kindness?" Passion made the words painful. Hot tears pricked her eyes, but she wouldn't let them fall."You're terribly cruel!"
Hooves sounded on stone, a quick staccato pace as Raven hurried to the end of the stables.
Not like this. A wash of uncertainty left her nauseous and dizzy with despair. Farther and farther Raven walked, the distance between them growing like a void, taking with it the sweet words and endearing touch that reminded Alyssa, unequivocally, that she was in love.
In love with a woman three paces away from walking out of her life. Forever. An unexpected surge of anger hardened her resolve, made her trembling limbs tighten, fists clench.
With all the air and authority of her rank, Alyssa stepped forward, voice carrying down the stalls. "Stop!"
Raven ground to a halt so quickly her horse nearly knocked her over. She glanced back, expression mystified.
"About time you listened." Alyssa strode to Raven and jerked the reins from her hand. "This stubbornness is one of your less endearing qualities at times."
Raven blinked at her own feet, then to her hands, some thought furrowing her brows.
"What? What's wrong with you?"
"How did . . ." She shook off the thought. "Never mind."
"That's right, never mind. Go ready a horse for me. The one in stall thirty-two. I'll find you something to wear."
"Alyssa, you can't ride out of here with me. Everyone will see—you're the Queen!"
"Yes, I am," she snapped. "No one will question my leave of the city. Dressed as you are, you won't make it past the gates, let alone out of Norr. There are guards everywhere. Did you plan to kill them all?"
"I'd planned to have been gone by now."
"You're outnumbered, my love. A mad dash to the gates is a foolish end for a beautiful, clever woman. You're much better suited to freedom than martyrdom." She brushed her fingertips along Raven's jaw and watched the thoughts flicker behind those lovely violet eyes. "Don't argue with me, charming dark traveler. We haven't the time."
Snarling curses under her breath, Raven left to fetch the horse, returning shortly with a saddled and very proud white stallion.
"There you are, hurry up." Alyssa took the reins and shoved a bundle of clothing into Raven's arms. "Take off your Hudar garb, put this on. I'll do something with your hair."
Raven glanced around the hall.
"Now is not the time for modesty. Off with it, we've only a few minutes before the guards swing by on their rounds." Alyssa wrenched the fabric from the woman before she could get it completely off.
"This is never going to work," Raven said.
"Hold still." Alyssa raked her fingers through that wild black hair and worked it into a loose, simple braid. "Your name is Sara. You are a stable hand from the commons. You and I are going on a nice ride to try out my new horse. Look at no one, just ride by my side and we'll be out the gates in no time."
Raven glanced at her new attire and scowled. "I look ridiculous."
"You look unremarkable—which is precisely the point." She swung onto her horse and adjusted the reins. "And for the love of the gods, wash that blood off your hands."
"If you really intend to follow me into the wilds, you'd better get used to it."
"If you intend to make it out of this stable, you'd better drop the attitude."
Raven arched a brow but said nothing. She washed her hands at the water spigot, wiped them dry on her clothing and then mounted her horse. "After you. Your grace."
"You'll pay for that later." Alyssa heeled her stallion, leading them out into the bright mid-morning sunlight.