Accidental Sorceress (Hardstorm Saga Book 2) (2 page)

They had disliked me from the moment of their arrival, but this was the first time they openly challenged me. I had to find a way to turn us back from this road of becoming enemies.

An unhappy concubine dries out a man’s bones like the desert wind; but two unhappy concubines are twisting storms that can blow down a whole castle
, according to a Kadar proverb. I did not wish to find out what havoc more than two dozen unhappy concubines could wreak.

“You do not want us here,” Lalandra accused, the light of the oil lamps glinting off the scented morcan oil she used to soften her hair.

Her emerald gown had been made to accentuate her perfect, curvaceous body, the silk high sheen. She practically shimmered as she said, “You used every excuse to keep us from our rightful place. Lord Gilrem died
before
the siege. Yet mooncrossing after mooncrossing, you found an excuse to keep us away from his brother, the High Lord, to keep
him
away from his lawfully inherited concubines.”

Even in her anger she was regal, as graceful in posture and movement as a queen. She had ruled Lord Gilrem’s Pleasure Hall, and the other women, for all her adult life. They owed their allegiance to her.

Out of all of them, I had only Arnsha on my side, whose life I once had saved when she’d nearly died in childbirth. But even she was too afraid of Lalandra to support me openly. At least, she stood aside and did not nod at Lalandra’s every word like the others.

I filled my lungs. “I could not have you come sooner. After Lord Gilrem died, the High Lord left to avenge his brother’s death.” And I had gone after him. Shortly after our return, the enemy lay siege to the city, most certainly not the right time for moving the women and children here.

Lalandra scoffed. “The High Lord’s Pleasure Hall stood empty with only you here, and you wished it that way.”

I would not lie by denying her words. I
had
been the High Lord’s only concubine, and I had foolishly convinced myself that life could remain so forever. Unlike the Kadar, my people, the Shahala bonded for life to a single mate.

I offered Lalandra a firm but friendly smile. As the favorite concubine, I was responsible for keeping Pleasure Hall’s peace, and I
would
find a way. “After the siege the High Lord gave these chambers to Shahala healers to heal our wounded.”

Room was plentiful here, heat and water readily available, which made healing work much easier.

Of course, Lalandra knew that. Even while concubines did not move outside the palace walls, they tended to know as much about the comings and goings in the city as if they sat all day at the city gate, every bit of news rushed to them by their servant women.

A concubine’s days were long, little to do beyond the endless purification and beautification rituals. In any Pleasure Hall, gossip had more value than jewels.

Lalandra’s voice dripped with venom as she said, “You kept us away as long as you could. And even now… The High Lord has not called for any of us but you.”

I blinked. Batumar had summoned Lady Lalandra just the day before, the knowledge of which was a dagger in my heart. But I could not refute her words. This was not the best time to call her a liar.

Most of the children played in the back, watched by the older girls, but Lalandra’s two were stuck to her side. When she took another step closer to me, so did they. She was reminding me that she
had
children while I had none.

Her beautiful eyes narrowed to slits. “You deny us even servants.”

The rest of the concubines murmured in agreement, a wall of support behind her. They were mostly daughters of warlords, wrapped in silk and satin, used to the finer things in their fathers’ houses and then in Lord Gilrem’s, used to servants fulfilling their every wish.

I did not like the bustle of servants around me all day, nor did I need assistance to bathe and dress. Lalandra and the others considered my reluctance to order an army of maids to take care of us an insult most grave.

“You were brought to our lands as a lowly slave,” she taunted. “And now you sit beside the High Lord at the nightly feast. He prefers you above all others.” Her gaze grew frostier and hardened even more as she leveled her final accusation. “What else can this be but sorcery?”

The women gasped, reaching for their charm belts.

Lalandra’s words, like ice-tipped fingers, crawled up my spine. I wished Leena, the High Lord’s mother and my friend, was in the palace, but she was on a pilgrimage to the Sacred Pool of the Goddesses. She had gone under heavy guard to thank the goddesses for reuniting her with her son. She would not be back until tomorrow evening.

Of course, that Lalandra would confront me when the High Lord’s mother was absent was no coincidence.

“I am a healer,” I repeated firmly. “All of Karamur knows it.”

Lalandra snapped back with, “All of Karamur knows that you enslaved the High Lord’s attention. Because of you, he has forsaken his duty.”

Those words I could not rebut. Spending time with his concubines was indeed a warlord’s responsibility. The making of sons was required of him. A lord’s sons became warriors, and the realm needed warriors to replace the great many men we had lost during the siege. All men who survived the attack—lords, warriors, and servants alike—had the sacred duty to fill their women’s bellies.

“You are not Kadar.” Lalandra pronounced the words like a judgment. “You wish for Karamur to fall in the next fight.”

“I served the city during the siege with my healing,” I reminded her.

Lalandra lifted her chin, and her cold gaze turned scolding. “Kadar warriors are the best fighters in the world. I do not think they needed help from anybody. I did not see this great deed of healing that you claim.”

Of course, she hadn’t. During the siege, Lalandra and the others had been barricaded in Lord Gilrem’s palace with their children.

“You wish to rule us all,” she accused.

I wished for nothing but peace. A child’s wish, I thought with heavy heart, when the whole world was at war.

She kept her chin up as she demanded, “Where are the High Lord’s other concubines?”

“You well know where they are, Lady Lalandra.”
Dead.
The most dreadful story I’d ever heard, jealousy leading to the murder of innocents. None of that had anything to do with me.

“Some say you killed them.” Menace hissed in Lalandra’s words.

By
some
, I was certain she meant herself. I prayed to the spirits for patience.

“Strange how you always manage to live,” Lalandra went on. “During the siege, did you not fall into fire? You protect yourself with an ill-gained power,” she said the words as if she was the High Lord himself, pronouncing judgment.

Clutching their charm belts, the other concubines nodded in agreement, their elaborately arranged braids bobbing up and down like a flock of chiri birds pecking for worms.

Lalandra stepped closer to me yet—we stood but a few steps apart—and pronounced her final judgment loudly enough for her voice to fill the hall. “Sorceress.”

Even as I moved forward too—I would
not
yield—the small hairs rose at my nape. To be charged with sorcery was the greatest sin among the Kadar.

But before I could defend myself against Lalandra’s charge, the carved doors guarding Pleasure Hall rattled. One of the servant girls, Natta, entered and hurried to me, her twin braids flopping behind her. Her wood-bottom shoes clop-clopped on the stones, then fell silent when she reached the thick carpet.

She nearly tripped on her long linen dress, but caught herself and curtsied smartly. She looked straight into my eyes and smiled, a familiarity for which most other concubines would have slapped her. I smiled back.

Her words echoed off the walls in the sudden silence as she said, “The High Lord requests your presence, my lady.”

Hate filled the room like smoke rising, twisting, reaching every crevice.

For a moment, as Lalandra’s gaze flared with fury, I thought she might reach out to claw my face. I
would
have to address her burning hatred when I returned. And I
would
address this budding concubine rebellion with the High Lord in but a moment.

I stood my ground long enough to make sure they understood I was
not
fleeing, then followed Natta, knowing I was leaving smoldering embers behind me, embers that could at any moment burst into dangerous flames.

We hurried down narrow hallways lit by flickering torches. Shadows danced on the wool tapestries that depicted great Kadar battles.

Natta left me at the High Lord’s quarters with a small bow and a big smile, hurrying on to finish her evening chores. She was a happy girl through and through, quick and smart, proud to be serving in the High Lord’s palace.

Batumar kept no slaves, unlike some of the other warlords. All who served the High Lord served him of their free will.

I had seen little discord within the palace walls until the concubines had arrived. On that thought, I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Chapter Two

(Batumar)

“Lady Tera.” Batumar awaited me in his antechamber.

As always, his obsidian gaze made me feel like he could see inside my heart. The color of his eyes matched his heavy mane of hair. His shaved face was sharp angled. An old scar ran from the corner of his eye to his chin, unbalancing the line of his lips. Newer scars, from the siege, broke up the pane of his cheek on the other side. Power sat on his shoulders, which were wider in his wool tunic than any other warrior’s in full battle armor.

He was a fierce warlord through and through. I used to think he was the most fearsome man I had ever seen, but now the quickening of my pulse had nothing to do with fear.

“My lord.” My heart stammered as his dark gaze slowly traveled the length of my body.

Did he like my gown of red satin? Red and gold were the High Lord’s colors. The seed pearls that decorated the bodice caught the light of the torches, giving the whole dress a soft glow. The gold-embroidered hem swept the stones beneath my feet as I stepped forward, knowing that even in my finery I was not half as beautiful as Lady Lalandra.

The High Lord’s gaze reached mine at last, and I saw hunger flare. He reached for me. I went to him and he pulled me into his strong arms, burying his scarred face in my neck and inhaling deeply, as if searching for the scent of our long-past summer.

The winds blowing across the cliffs of the fortress city had turned cold of late. Even the High Lord’s palace walls couldn’t keep out the early winter chill. But heat radiated off Batumar’s great body, his arms around me a safe haven where I gladly rested.

A long moment passed before he raised his head and brushed his lips over mine, lingering, tasting me gently. My bones were melting by the time he withdrew.

“You looked troubled just now when you came in. Is everything well, my lady?”

His voice reached straight to my heart. I wished for nothing more than his lips back on mine.

“Fine well, my lord.” But then I remembered what I had meant to talk to him about. “The concubines have...concerns.”

His forehead furrowed. I ducked my head in shame.

He carried the weight of an entire island on his shoulders. Was I really so consumed by a small power struggle among concubines that I had forgotten the whole world was burning? I would handle the Lady Lalandra.

But before I could change the course of our conversation, he said, his voice suddenly weary, “Should I send them gifts?”

Concubines gained their status from the silks and satins and jewels that their lords gifted them with for their good service.

I stifled a sigh. “That might help. Maybe some furs for the winter.”

I hated the base ugliness of jealousy, that it could so easily set up tent in my very heart. “And southern wine,” I added.

Batumar’s expression softened. He reached up and brushed his thumb over my bottom lip. “And what would you wish for, my lady?”

The easiest of all questions. “Only you, my lord.”

He offered a rare smile that rearranged the scars on his face. My bruised heart responded. How could it not? His features were too stark, his scars too numerous to ever call him handsome, but he was most precious in my sight. I loved him with all my heart.

He took my hand and drew me into his bedchamber, to the bed where we lay on top of the furs, reclining on tapestry pillows against the headboard, fully clothed. We often began our evenings that way, talking in the warm glow of the fire that burned in the hearth.

To my shame, my gaze searched the chamber for signs of Lady Lalandra’s presence the day before. I did not know what I expected to find, a veil or a silk stocking, but I saw nothing and swallowed a groan that I could be so foolish as to look.

Batumar gathered me against his side, my head resting on his wide chest. His heart beat strong and steady under my ear, his chest hard with muscles under my palm. I burrowed against him, trying to find the sense of peace that had eluded me all day.

The High Lord’s quarters were as simple as any warrior’s: a wool rug warmed the stone floor, a plain wooden chest at the foot of the High Lord’s bed, a small table covered in maps. Yet I felt more at home here than in my own luxurious chamber in Pleasure Hall.

Before I could ask Batumar about the maps, he kissed my hair. “I must leave in the morning for Ishaf.”

Had the mystical three-headed talking warthog of Morandor trotted through the door, I could not have been more startled.

I raised my head to look at him. “My lord, the Gate cannot be reclaimed. You cannot leave the island.” Even if the Gate could be reopened, Batumar could not reach it through the ring of enemy soldiers.

He caressed my cheek with a finger callused from sword fight. “I mean to go by ship across the ocean.”

That had me sitting up fully. My heart lurched hard against my ribs. No one sailed the wild ocean.

Batumar turned away from me and reached over to pull one of the tapestry maps off the table. He laid it over us like a blanket and dragged his finger along the route he planned to take. He started on Dahru, our island, the largest of the Middle Islands, charting a course across the Mirror Sea to the Strait of Ghel that led to the wild ocean.