Betrayal's Price (In Deception's Shadow Book 1) (18 page)

She sank down
and knelt beside him, one hand braced on the bench next to his thigh while the
other caressed his primaries. His wings twitched gently, and she murmured
nonsense to him until the quivering subsided. He leaned toward her touch,
rubbing his cheek against her palm in his sleep. Her heart thumped in her chest,
and once again she didn’t seem able to control her breathing when she touched
him. She ran her fingers through his crest. A compulsion to lean nearer, to
take him in her arms, to press herself against him and forge a closer tie,
flooded her mind. She froze, her fingers buried in his crest. She narrowed her
eyes and forced her hand back to her side. Power swirled through her blood.
Likely it had been building for a while without her realizing. It had been so
long since she’d last felt its manipulation’s, she’d forgotten the danger her Larnkin
represented.

“I think not,”
she said to her magic. Resisting its influence, she turned her attention back
to Sorntar. “I need space. Time to think. To understand what I feel for you.”
Knowing he would want to be informed of her leaving, guilt kicked in her gut. “I
won’t be gone long, I promise.”

She fled the
room. Her throat tightened with emotions she’d kept in check, until now. Thick
carpeting muffled her footsteps. Its somber black and grey pattern matched her
mood. As the corridor descended, she glimpsed other rooms along its length, one
easily the size of the Great Hall. Her Larnkin stirred once, then stilled.
Ashayna halted and waited to see if it was going to cause trouble, but it
returned to sleep.

“Sorntar deserves
better than to get stuck with a stubborn, short-tempered bondmate, who doesn’t
trust or can’t control her magic.” Ashayna directed her statement at her Larnkin.
“Why would you choose me for your host? I’m a human, for mercy’s sake! Even the
elders think you chose badly.”

As she
expected, her Larnkin gave no answer.

The corridor
branched again. This new one easily large enough for ten or more santhyrians to
walk abreast. Curiously, it curved steadily downward in a spiral. She prepared
to turn back when she glanced to the left and caught sight of a dimly
illuminated room. Hair on the back of her neck and along her arms rose. A
thread of power slid over her skin. She sidestepped, drawing closer to one
wall. With her back again solid stone, she treaded closer to study the room for
danger. Entering, she saw a large, stone-topped table—the room’s only
furnishing.

Air, heavy with
a deep sense of sorrow enveloped her. She hastily backed away.

No one
living dwells here. This is a place for the dead.

The thoughts
came unbidden into her mind. If they came from her Larnkin, all the more reason
to leave. Fleeing the room, she broke into a jog for a dozen paces, only to
come to a sudden stop when nothing looked familiar. She glanced back to the
hall. Shadows flirted across the tiles in front of the entrance.

“It’s a trick
of the light, nothing more,” she mumbled to herself.

The subdued
presence from the hall followed her, growing thicker as she stood there.

“And my
imagination.” In her haste to leave, she must have taken the wrong exit. She
went back into the hall and chose the only other door. It led to another
unfamiliar tunnel. Impossible.

Cursing narrow
passageways and untrustworthy magic, she returned to the first tunnel. It had
to be the correct one. Yet both directions led farther down instead of back to
the world above.

“I did not just
get lost again. No, I refuse to believe it.” Ashayna continued her denials
until the sound of talons on stone interrupted her thoughts. She fell silent
and followed the sound. At least whoever she followed likely knew where they
were going. Rounding a bend, she spotted the distant figure of a phoenix. Her
earlier experiences cautioned her against calling out. By the time she reached
the place where the phoenix had been, the mysterious person was gone.

Stale, musty
air lay heavy on her lungs as she descended. Ahead, the path opened onto a vast
room, stretching far into the distance. It must take up a huge section beneath Grey
Spires, and filling it was a garden of stone. A giant tree arched its branches
above her head. Lifelike leaves seemed to have been ruffled by some long ago
wind, then in a blink of an eye frozen in stone. She trailed her fingers over
its realistic bark as she walked by, snorting at her own whimsy. More likely it
was just more intricate artwork, not of magical origins. Whatever its purpose
or origin, she found it rather beautiful, if a bit strange.

Too busy
staring at her surroundings, she didn’t see the stone pedestal until her knee
banged into it. The ancient body lying in state shifted sideways a hand-span
before coming to a stop. She screeched and scrambled back a few paces.

The body, not
much more than a few dried feathers and bits of bone, was encased in armor.
Looking around, she saw more bodies on pedestals tucked in among stone trees.

Her stomach
tightened—these were the dead of a magical race. There was no telling what
ghosts might walk among the stone trees in this cold place.

Closing her
eyes, she calmed her breathing. She shivered once more, but her heart followed
the lead set by her lungs and grudgingly slowed its rapid pace. She was
preparing to retreat the way she had come when something shuffled behind her.
Her heart rattled against her ribs anew. Whirling towards the sound, she saw a
corpse walking towards her. A shout of fear escaped her even as instinct guided
her hand to her sword hilt.

The figure
moved closer. He was not a dead one awakened from its long sleep after all, but
a flesh and blood phoenix painted in shades of ash-grey and charcoal to look
like death.

“I’m sorry.”
Her words fell flat, swallowed by dead air. The stranger made no response. “I
didn’t mean to trespass.”

“You have
disturbed the sleepers in the Garden of Eternity.”

She shivered at
the whisper of his voice along her mind, even though the tone lacked anger or
any other emotion for that matter. This one was absolute tranquility.

“Forgive me.”
She responded, narrowing her thoughts down to a focused point.
“I
meant no insult. If you point me in the right direction, I’ll be more than happy
to leave.”

Another guard,
a large gryphon, appeared beside the phoenix. A soft buzzing sensation on the
outer edge of Ashayna’s consciousness warned her they communicated mind to mind
for a brief time.

“You are to
come with us.”
The phoenix covered the last bit of
distance, now nearly upon her.

“No, I must
return to where Sorntar waits.”
She evaded his
talon-tipped grasp and placed another statue between them as she continued to
back up.

“None may
leave once they have entered the sacred cavern.”
The new mind voice belonged to the female gryphon. It held a hint of pity.

“I don’t
think Sorntar would like that.”

“The Dead
King wishes to speak to you. Come willingly or be hunted down. It is your
choice.”

She must have
imagined the pity, for the gryphon’s tone was as unforgiving as a winter ice
storm and twice as cold. Ashayna backed away, retracing her steps. Though, by
the scent of magic permeating the air, these two were formidable. She’d be
lucky to get a hundred paces before they caught her.

The garden of
tombs held a menacing air, laden with urgency and darkness. Movement fluttered
at the corners of her vision. Urged by her Larnkin or her own fear—Ashayna didn’t
stop to ponder which—she turned and fled, as if every skeleton had arisen to
give chase. Luck held and she made it to the morbid garden’s outer edge before
a chilling power raised the hair on her body. It tried to instigate itself into
her heart, creeping past her shields and along her skin. This new power was
akin to the Wild Path’s strange magic, only stronger, so much stronger. A
compulsion grew in her mind and insisted she surrender to that cold eerie
power. She slowed, listening to its silent command. Her Stonemantle
stubbornness, mixed with a liberal dose of fear, wrenched her mind from its
seductive call.

With very
little knowledge, less skill, but plenty of desperation, Ashayna summoned a
shield of protection as she ran. Somewhere behind her one of the guards
summoned power. The hair on her arms rose to attention a moment before the
attack. To her amazement, her shield held against the guard’s first volley, but
she sensed that the other cold power flowing after her, giving chase, was the
true danger. It probed at her shields, learning them, seeking weakness.

Another twenty
paces and she was free of the garden. Continuing to run, she desperately called
to Sorntar. Terror, generated by the presence of what lay behind, helped her
focus her power.

Her Larnkin
flared to life. Its power flowed into her arms and legs, giving her strength.
Ashayna embraced her magic for once. As she ran with renewed speed, the ground
underfoot angled up in a gradual curving spiral. Had she really just found her
way free? Ashayna laughed in giddy relief. Yes, she had. Without slowing, she
risked a glance behind. The corridor was empty, no sign of the guards or the
dread presences. Too late she realized the way ahead wasn’t as empty as behind.
Another phoenix ran towards her. A familiar warm magic brushed her skin,
pushing away the soul-deep cold chasing her. Sorntar’s spicy scent surrounded
her a moment before they collided in a tangle of arms, wings, and legs.
Feathers of indigo blocked her view of the corridor. She scrambled to her feet,
and then helped Sorntar up.

Sorntar pulled
her to him, sheltering her protectively in his wings. “I thought they’d
kidnapped you again.” Ashayna felt his burning power before she saw it. Fire
licked at her arms, but did no harm, so she tightened her hold on his waist.
Odd though the sight was, his magic gave her comfort in a way she couldn’t
explain. She must be more addled than she thought.

“Hurry, we must
get out of here.” Seeing he would balk at her request, she lowered her shields
and shoved all her thoughts of what had occurred at him.

“Tomb guards,”
he said. Without another word, he loosed his hold enough so she could move and
dragged her up the spiral stairs.

The cold
emptiness still pursued them, though her fear lessened now Sorntar was with
her. He, at least, must have some idea of what occurred and possibly a
solution.

Pushing her in
front, he shoved her down another corridor without a word. When they were some
distance from the garden of death, he slowed. “It’s too much, first the Oracle
Tower and now this. You should not be punished for the fears of others.”
Sorntar’s black look skimmed over her face. His expression softened a notch. “Ashayna,
I give you my word I’ll do everything in my power to keep you from the Dead
Rulers.”

“I know.”

The corridor
came to an end, opening onto a balcony. Such a vast open space shattered her
thoughts. Sorntar grabbed her hand and ran to the edge, dragging her along
behind. Struggling and twisting in his grasp did nothing to slow her advance
towards the pink-tinted sky.

Fear stuck words
of protest in her throat.

“Don’t fight
me,” Sorntar warned while he turned her to face him.

Movement behind
him alerted her to their enemies’ arrival. Ashayna drew breath to warn him, but
he must have sensed them at the same time. Wrapping his arms around her
shoulders, he hoisted her onto the balcony’s railing.

“Put your arms
around my neck, avoid catching my wings.”

She did as
instructed and gripped his hips with her thighs hard enough to leave bruises.
Sorntar hopped up onto the railing and balanced there a moment before launching
them both over the edge. Ashayna screamed as they plummeted, her arms locked
around his neck, her face buried against his chest. Long moments slid by as
they fell. She imagined she could feel the earth approaching from below,
awaiting the right moment to shatter all her bones. Sorntar unfurled his wings
to their fullest. Ashayna’s downward motion stopped so suddenly she was sure
her spine had just kept falling.

Sorntar beat
his wings once, then again, slapping at the air. He grunted, wings laboring to
gain altitude. Slowly, too slowly, he began climbing upwards. Glancing over her
shoulder at the scant distance to the ground, a small yelp escaped her before
she locked her jaws together. Sorntar chuckled in relief and lifted her higher,
placing a supporting hand on her rump. “We’re actually still alive. I wasn’t
sure we were going to pull up in time.” He brushed his lips against her ear. “My
little scout weighs more than I thought she did.”

He could make
bad jokes or place his hands anywhere he liked and she wouldn’t say a word.
Being alive always put her in a better mood.

Sorntar landed
on the Oracle’s Tower and set Ashayna down carefully. He hoped the tower’s
stronger magic would hide them. A fat orange sun vanished behind the lofty
western summit of Dragon’s Ring Mountain, taking with it the illusion of
safety. A gust of wind buffeted them, its scent of recent winter. Even in the
shelter of his wings, Ashayna shivered. “What do they want with me?”

“I don’t know,”
he said, honestly. “Tomb guards have a sacred charge to watch over the dead. No
other living being is allowed within the tombs. You shouldn’t have been able to
find the path by accident. Someone tampered with the shields guarding their
territory to make you a threat they’d eliminate.” He did what he could to calm
his emotions, afraid if he spoke too loudly or dwelled too long on a thought it
would draw unwanted attention. “There are two possible outcomes. They could
hold you hostage as punishment for intruding upon their domain. In which case,
my mother might be able to intervene. However, if the Rulers of the Dead led
you there on purpose, whatever slim hope you had just narrowed by half.” His
mouth turned dry and he swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“What are the
Rulers of the Dead? King Ryanth mentioned them.” Ashayna shifted uneasily and
looked back the way they had come.

“Powerful and
old, there have always been two—a king and a queen. Their office predates this
city, their function never changes. They guard against threats to the Balance.”

“Are they
really…dead?” A visible shudder raced down her body. “The guards are flesh and
blood, but something else down there set my teeth on edge.”

“Yes. Though I
have never seen them in person.”

Her eyes
widened, but otherwise, her expression didn’t reveal the amount of fear their
situation warranted. She’d shut him out like she always did when scared, so he
couldn’t read her thoughts. Like so much of her magic, it might be more
instinctual than actual control. Whatever the reason, it was a disadvantage he
could have done without.

“Ash.” He
placed a hand on her arm, curling his fingers gently around the tense muscle. A
tremor betrayed some of the bone-deep terror she tried to hide.

“There must be
something I can do,” Ashayna pleaded. “I’d do anything to avoid a tomb guard’s
fate.”

“There is one
means. They cannot take you if another holds a previous claim to you, a binding
claim.”

“You mean to
bond.” Her words, while blunt, were free of judgment.

“If we complete
the first phase of bonding, you would be protected. I’m innocent of any wrong
doing. By the laws of my people I can’t be punished, and there is no greater
punishment than to separate a bonded pair.” He placed one hand on her shoulder.
“I know of no other way. I’m sorry.”

In the silence
of the spring evening, with winter’s scent still a fresh memory, a chill
rippled through his body. Full dark had settled and he couldn’t see her
expression. The sound of Ashayna’s ragged breathing brought forth every
protective instinct he possessed. His wings quivered with the need to shelter
her or to fly with her to some distant location, but no place would be safe.

Her voice
reached out of darkness, soft yet certain. “I can’t live in the darkness below
this city. I would rather die.”

Fear struck
deep in his soul. His Larnkin stirred uneasily. “I’ll not let tomb guards or
death take you. Bond with me now, while there’s still time. I’ve conveyed our
danger to my Larnkin and used his strength to create false trails, but if they
search the tower or the area around it…”

By her
turbulent expression, she fought an internal battle. She closed her eyes and
drew a deep breath. “If I must choose between you and the cold presence below
this city, I would choose you.” Ashayna hesitated. “But you deserve better. I’m
flawed in some way. Can’t you feel it?”

Sorntar’s
breath escaped in a hiss of surprise. He’d come to expected Ashayna to be
stubborn, harsh at times, and very, very sure of herself…but this vulnerability
shocked him. “Ash, your Larnkin is young, untrained. You’re not flawed. You may
even find it easier to control your magic once we’re bonded. I’ll be able to
help.”

Ashayna nodded.
Her expression blank, like she was lost in thought over some serious matter.

At her
hesitation, pain twisted his heart.
Is bonding with me really so horrible?
Surely I am better than death.

“I’ll bond with
you.”

Even though her
voice lacked any hint of pleasure at the idea, relief swept through his body,
leaving his feeling weak. Once they were bonded, he’d have time to convince her
magic wasn’t all bad. They could find common ground, strengthen their growing
friendship. Maybe she’d even come to love him. At the thought a mix of fear and
excitement flooded his body, causing an involuntary shudder to ripple down his
wings. Silently, he thanked the evening breeze for cooling his nervous sweat.

* * * *

The tower’s
deep-rooted foundation reached many layers into the mountain. A double set of
stairs burrowed down the tower’s center. At their base was a vast cave-like
chamber illuminated by a pale silver glow. It took a moment for Sorntar’s eyes
to adjust in the minimal light, but he caught the reflection of a pool glowing
with power. Like a tree drinking water from a river, the tower drank power
welling up from the magic-laced spring at its base.

Skirting the
pool, he ducked under a stalactite and made for a stone table and bench tucked
into a recess carved from the cavern wall. A mortar and pestle lay beside
several cloth-wrapped bundles. As he began unclasping his arm bands, magic
uncoiled from where it slumbered in his chest, reaching out to his limbs,
pressing him in the direction it wanted him to go. At his Larnkin’s wordless
prompting, Sorntar scooped up one of the packets. The herbs, preserved by
wards, still smelled fresh enough, even though they were many seasons old.

Ashayna came up
behind him, her curiosity nearly palpable. Stepping to one side so she could
watch, he started to pulverize a few pinches of herbs.

“You know what
to do?”

“No, actually, I
don’t. My Larnkin is guiding my hand.” Sorntar shrugged. “It feels rather odd,
to be honest.”

“Thanks, that’s
reassuring,” she snorted, and leaned closer. “Is there anything I can do to
help? Those guards can’t be far away.”

He handed her
the pestle. “Take equal parts of these three herbs.” He pointed to the ones he
wanted. “Grind them into a powder, add water from the pool behind us and make a
wet paste out of it. When that’s done, pour a little into these three pots.” He
grasped one of the stone jars stacked along the table’s edge and pried its lid
open with his talons, then sniffed at the contents. He chose two more. “Take a
small fistful of each and mix it into a different pot of paste.”

She vigorously
started grinding herbs.

Her fierceness
caused a smile to tug at his lips. He smoothed his expression while he glanced
at the chamber’s rear wall. An archway had been cut from the grey-veined
limestone, leaving behind a void darker than the surrounding rock. Even light
from the pool failed to reach beyond the archway. “I need to check on the
Wardstones within the bonding chamber. I’ll only be a moment.”

Summoning a
mage globe, he sent it soaring through the archway. The room beyond was thrown
into dim illumination. Shadows warred with the light, reflecting off the
facetted surfaces of twelve massive Wardstones stretching from floor to
ceiling. Sorntar created three more mage globes and stationed them randomly
around the room. He patrolled the chamber, checking for flaws in the crystal.
Finding none, he returned to Ashayna.

She had
finished her herb paste and watched the palely glowing pool with her hands
fisted at her sides. “If you take much longer preparing, I might lose my nerve.
The scent and feel of that,” she gestured at the pool, “...is unsettling this
close. It’s the same liquid we drank at our testing, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Only
much more concentrated. We must paint the seven symbols of the Larranyn—the
Servants of Creation—upon our bodies, drink a small amount of the magic blessed
spring water, and then bathe in the pool. Our painted symbols act as gateways
for the Larnkin. It aids their escape.” Tugging at the buckle clinching his
belt together, he shed it and tossed it aside. His kilt joined it on the ground
a moment later.

“What are you
doing?”

Sorntar shifted
his wings out of the way and looked over his shoulder at her. “What? Overcome
with modesty? If you wish to change your mind there’s still time.”

“A fate worse
than death or you.” The light of challenge flashed in her eyes. She raked his
height with her stare. Lingering a moment more, she studied his shoulders and
chest, then dropped her gaze down to his feather-covered loins. “That’s not a
very hard decision.”

He turned from
her, using the ruse of embarrassment to hide his true feelings. However it was
pride, not self-consciousness, which sent waves of warmth radiating throughout
him. His little human’s fiery disposition never failed to amuse him. He hoped
Ashayna trusted him enough to obey when it came time to bond. It could be their
deaths if she argued.

When she began
removing clothing, he walked past without glancing in her direction, trying to
give her at least a semblance of privacy. Coming to a stop at the table, he
picked up a pot of paste and gave it an unneeded stir.

“Now what?”
Ashayna’s tone was abrupt, which spoke of nerves.

“We must paint
the symbols…” He turned to her as he explained to find her standing rigid, her
fists pressed against her hips and eyes locked on his left wing. His eyes
skimmed over her form, and it was more than just simple curiosity at seeing a
naked human. He found her smaller, battle trained body with its supple muscles
and balanced grace interesting. And her curves, which were more bountiful than
what nature graced a female of his species with, he found those strangely appealing,
too. With a greater act of will than he’d thought he’d need, he looked away
from her pert breasts and gently flaring hips. He realized belatedly, she had
stood straight and uneasy under his assessing gaze. At least the feathers
covering his loins hid the evidence of his growing desire from view. Good
thing, too, since her every muscle and locked joint spoke of her need to find
cover. Only sheer stubbornness held her in place. Her fierceness and her beauty
drew him equally. He regretted she’d never offered to instigate courtship. But
she was human and did not know the ways of phoenix relationships; perhaps she
expected him to take the first step.

A blush crawled
up her skin at his appraisal. Sorntar, realizing he’d looked far longer than
was polite, gathered his scattered wits and cleared his throat, trying to find
his tongue. “We must paint the symbols of bonding. There are seven in all, one
to honor each Larranyn.” Sorntar tapped his forehead, area over his hearts,
abdomen, hips, and lastly held out both palms. He didn’t miss how her eyes
tracked his hands. Her skin darkened another shade.

“Just get this
over with…please.”

Her ‘please’
sounded more command than plea. Sorntar spun around, heading back towards the
table with the pretense of retrieving a pot of paint. It was a good excuse to
prevent Ashayna from seeing his grin. He couldn’t seem to help it. The
situation should have demanded his fear in full measure. Instead other emotions
eclipsed his fear. Desire, pride, joy, happiness…. Sorntar shook his head. The
stress must be getting to him.

“What are you
thinking?” she asked. “You slammed your mental shields up so fast it made my
ears ring.”

“Sorry. I think
I’m addled.”

“I could have
told you that.” She snatched the pot from his hand. “Tell me what to do, since
you seem unable to pull yourself together.”

“Here, sit on
the bench.” He motioned to a bench hidden away in another alcove. Ashayna
walked over and sat without a word, her posture just as stiff as when she’d
been standing. “Don’t slap my hand away, even if this tickles. The patterns
must be accurate. Watch as I paint them and then you’ll have to recreate the
same ones on me. Understand?”

She nodded.
Dipping his finger into the paste, he surrendered control to his Larnkin.

Power welled up
within, spilling over into his consciousness. Magic flared, danced along his
skin and among his feathers. Opening his eyes, he watched his hand paint the
first symbol on her forehead, then it glided down to lightly paint the next on
the upper swell of her breast. His Larnkin was all business and moved on to the
next symbol, stroking paint onto her belly. Ashayna trembled at his touch,
clearly not unaffected. He tracked his hand’s movements as it flicked and
slathered damp paste onto her skin, his body winding tighter with each touch.
Suddenly, he wanted to be the one commanding his hand, touching and caressing
her until she shivered with desire as powerful as his.

With the
seventh symbol painted, his Larnkin returned control to Sorntar.

“Your turn,” he
whispered as he looked Ashayna in the eyes.