Betrayal's Price (In Deception's Shadow Book 1) (21 page)

Judging by her
quiet demeanor and pale complexion, she was still shaken by both the strength
of her Larnkin and the violent dispatch of the wardlens. He didn’t blame her.
As a first showing of power after their bonding, it was rather spectacular. She
still hadn’t spoken, only dragging her share of the boar’s weight as they
walked the last stretch to camp. Finally she drew a deep, shaking breath and
looked in his direction.

“I’m going to
go clean up.” Her voice sounded hollow. He didn’t miss the way she rubbed at the
gooseflesh covering her arms.

He doubted
Ashayna’s upset was purely caused by their brush with death, or having to kill
the wardlen. No, it was something else. Something she wouldn’t be able to wash
away. Magic.

She made for
the stream, but paused and turned to him. “I’ll help you with the boar first.”

“I’ve got it.
Go wash up. I’ll be along shortly.” She nodded her thanks and left him to
finish butchering it. It was a good activity to keep him occupied. Better than
worrying over why there were more wardlens loose, or the ease with which his
bondmate dispatched creatures with a natural resistance to most defensive
magic. No matter what the elders said, or weren’t saying, the evidence was
stacking toward one harrowing conclusion. But there wasn’t anything he could do
about that tonight.

By the time he
finished with the boar, darkness had fallen, and Ashayna was still standing
upon the river’s bank, looking out across its moonlit waters. “When I killed
them with my power it felt right, so very right. Like I was born to dispatch
them. I took joy in it…what am I?” Her voice drifted into silence. Though, the
edge of horror in it still echoed in Sorntar’s ears. She sounded so lost.

“My bondmate.” He
stepped up behind her, encircling her with his arms. From respect and desire,
tenderness grew in his heart. When he started to undress her, she allowed him.
Her outer vest was the first to go, and then he tugged her shirt free from the
waistband of her pants. The buckle of her belt gave him trouble, but at least
she held still while he fought it. Her pants were easier. When she stood before
him in only a shirt, he stopped, taking a moment to discard his own clothing.

After unlacing
the ties of her shirt, he raised her arms and pulled it over her head. Her breasts
glowed pale under the light of the moons, her nipples a dark shadow. His eyes
glided down her flat belly to another patch of shadow between her legs.

While his body warmed
to the sight and scent of her, he wanted to give her comfort, not stir up more
complications between them.

After he
grabbed soap and a rag, he eased into the slow moving water, tugging Ashayna
along behind. The water was cool, but easy enough to suffer. When it reached
his thighs, he stopped and faced Ashayna away from him. He ran the rag over her
shoulders, and then moved down, leaving a trail of suds along her lower back
and over the curve of her butt. He moved down her legs.

When her back
was clean, she turned around at his urging. He washed her graceful neck, then
her breasts, and when he slid the rag lower, Ashayna sighed, relaxing into his
touch.

“I think I’m
jealous of a rag.”

“Sorntar?” With
a shake of her head and a weary little grin, Ashayna broke free of her
depression. She finished washing herself.

As he scrubbed
blood and gore from himself, he kept an eye on Ashayna, watching for signs she
was sliding back towards depression or shock. When he was clean, he dragged
himself out of the water. Guiding Ashayna along ahead of him, they returned to
the fire.

She still didn’t
look like her normal spirited self, so he wrapped her in a blanket and then he
sat down and settled her between his legs. She relaxed against his chest and he
started to groom her hair. Now, if he could only draw her into conversation.

“I was thinking
about how to arrive in the human city, since my flying in would cause
pandemonium.” As he had hoped, she glanced over her shoulder at him with mild
interest. “I think it best if we arrive in disguise. I can cast a weaving over
you to change your hair and features. For myself, I can manage some shape
shifting when needed. Any ideas of what I should pretend to be?”

She thought
about it for a moment before a wan smile touched her lips. “I’d like to see you
as a plain, work-hardened farmer, complete with calluses and bronzed by the
sun.”

“Do I detect
another comment about me being too handsome?” He played along, visibly preening
at the idea, more than willing to take the blunt of one of her pointed barbs if
it would restore some of her confidence.

“Most
certainly. Let me see a work-weary farmer.”

He stood up and
came around in front of her. Immediately he missed the feel of her in his arms.
But he needed to distract her, not himself, so he let his eyes drift closed as
he turned his thoughts inward. The familiar heat of his power flowed out in
small waves, much like when he went from bird to hybrid, though not nearly as
strong. He felt one moment of dislocation as his physical body melted into fire
and another shimmered into being.

The image in
his mind had been of a stranger with pale skin, brown hair, a strong build and
of medium height.

“Yes, that’s
much better, but for the fact none would believe you to be a farmer. Perhaps a
well-off merchant; not rich, mind you, or there would be no need for you to be
here. Nor have I met a rich merchant with a warrior’s build.” She kept her eyes
level with his shoulders. “You need to be taller if I’m to be your daughter. I
can say I get my height from you.” She licked her lips and swallowed nervously.

Sorntar grinned
when her gaze dropped lower. Apparently, he was more of a distraction than he’d
intended. “Is there anything else you would like to criticize?”

“Yes actually,
change your voice. It belongs to nothing human.”

“Very well, let
me try this again.” The second time he called much less power, only the merest
trickle. After delicately picking through Ashayna’s thoughts, he knew he now
had a tall frame, dark hair streaked with grey, and a time-weathered face, but
one still striking. A neatly trimmed beard framed a hard mouth, one he hoped
would put fear into the heart of a lesser merchant.

As if she
couldn’t help herself, her gaze roved to study his new body. Sorntar picked up
another of her thoughts: well-endowed.

“For the love
of everything good, could you please find something to wear?” She jerked her
head to one side. An interesting shade of crimson climbed her cheeks.

He picked up
another blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders, then sat down behind her.

After a few
moments of urging, she relaxed against his chest. “Now what about your voice?”

He didn’t
answer right away. Instead he debated what phrase a merchant might utter. Then
it came to him. He was glad she couldn’t see his wicked grin.

“My lady, might
I interest you in sampling some of my fine wares this beautiful evening?”

Ashayna coughed
and snorted with laughter. When she had herself under control, she peered at
him over her shoulder. “Use that tone on the ladies of the court and they will
be very interested in sampling your merchandise.”

“I trust you’ll
defend my honor.”

When she
grunted in her usual manner, he relaxed, thankful to have been able to distract
her from her worries. Sorntar practiced using his new voice until Ashayna’s
head began to nod and sleep claimed her. Smoothing her hair away from her face,
he stroked his knuckles along her cheek. After he fussed with her blanket, he
settled her more comfortably against his chest and just watched her sleep.

So this is
love.
The thought was accompanied by a deep sense
of contentment.

* * * *

In the next
three days of travel, Sorntar practiced being a human at each rest stop and
when they made camp at night. Thankfully, there were no more incidents with the
wardlens. As it was, he did not need to report the incident to his parents. His
mother had contacted him moments after Ashayna had fallen asleep, informing him
they were tracking his progress and were aware of the attack. Only many
carefully chosen words and reassurances to both queen and council had convinced
them he and Ashayna were well able to protect themselves. The Elders had
grudgingly allowed them to continue into human-held territories.

On their eighth
day of flight Sorntar told Ashayna they had crossed into human lands and would
soon catch up with their santhyrian friends. They would land at the next
clearing and walk to where the santhyrians waited.

She was growing
soft.

Or at least her
feet were. Ashayna glanced over her shoulder to see Sorntar, in human form,
struggling up the narrow trail several paces behind. His boot caught on a
protruding tree root. Without his wings to aid his balance, he lacked his usual
grace and stumbled into a tree trunk. Ashayna didn’t laugh at his disgruntled
look. Instead she focused on the weight of her pack and the two bundles under
each arm.

Thankfully they
were almost to their destination. The smell of cooking had been with them for
the last bit of the journey. The path turned suddenly and a clear view of the
camp was visible. It didn’t occur to her tired mind to wonder at santhyrians
making fire and cooking food. She remembered Sorntar had mentioned the
santhyrians had made some friends, human friends…and those same human friends
might find their arrival rather too sudden.

A series of
surprised gasps greeted her moments before a hunting bow was pointed at her
heart by a young woman who frowned with a Stonemantle glare. Ashayna blinked,
then shouted in joy. “Sorsha, you’re here! How?”

“Who are you?” Sorsha’s
voice held no warmth.

“It’s me.”
Ashayna wanted to run across the distance and scoop up her sister in a hug, but
she spotted Lamarra hanging a step behind and she looked uncertain, almost
afraid. Sorsha, on the other hand, didn’t look unsure or fearful. She’d always
been good with a bow and now she held her it leveled at Ashayna’s heart.

Sorntar circled
in front and gestured with one hand. The bow ignited in blue fire and burned to
ash, scattering pale dust upon the ground. Sorsha jumped back with a cry of
surprise, gingerly cradling her blistered fingers with her uninjured hand.

Ashayna
realized what was wrong. Sorntar’s weaving worked very well, apparently. “Sorsha,
Lamarra. It’s alright. It’s me, Ash.” She tried to reassure them, hoping her
voice, which hadn’t been changed, would be enough for them to recognize her.

“Who are you
really?” Lamarra’s face twisted with bewilderment.

“One moment,”
Sorntar said in a stiff voice. “I can clarify the situation.”

Sorsha’s
expression darkened when it settled on Sorntar. “Tell me who you are. Answer
truthfully.”

“Sorntar,” he
said with a regal nod of his head, “Crown Prince of the Phoenix, though not
even my own mother would recognize me in this form.”

On the heels of
Sorntar’s words, Ashayna felt power prickle along her skin. The weaving began
to unravel.

Sorsha stood
frozen, speechless for once. Lamarra took advantage of the rarity. “Ashayna, it
is you, but how?”

Ashayna drew
breath to answer, but Sorsha broke free of her shock and gave a happy cry of recognition.
Before Ashayna could react, she found herself in an iron embrace as her sister
tried to squeeze all air from her lungs.

“Ash, we’ve
missed you so. We got your letters… your santhyrian friends brought them. Why
didn’t you tell us you were coming in person? Never mind that.” Sorsha started
gesturing wildly towards the other side of the tent. “It doesn’t matter why you’re
here. I’m just glad you are. Summer Flame was hurt. Shadowdancer and Winter
Frost went to find Old Mother—they’re not back yet.”

Ashayna’s mind
was awhirl, though she understood the gist of her sister’s words. She’d met Old
Mother and her two grandchildren, Beatrice and Roan, while she’d been scouting.

And for the
better part of seven years Ashayna had been trying to get Old Mother to return
to civilization, but no amount of arguing could change the old woman’s mind.
The elder claimed she couldn’t live in the village where her only son had died.
Ashayna knew there were other reasons for living alone. If Old Mother carried
magic in her blood, then an acolyte would eventually sniff her out. When he
did, Beatrice and Roan would not long outlive their grandmother. Ashayna couldn’t
blame the old woman if she thought the risk of lupwyns was the better choice.
Being torn apart quickly had to be better than smelling one’s skin charring as
the flames melted flesh from bone. Gooseflesh rose on Ashayna’s arms. If
Sorntar hadn’t come into her life when he did, she might have faced a similar
choice.

Apparently, all
her friends knew each other. She’d bet anything Larnkins were involved with
this mess.

“Summer Flame
is hurt?” Worry colored Sorntar’s voice, and he took a step away from Ashayna’s
side for the first time.

Sorsha’s eyes
narrowed as she studied Sorntar. “Ash’s letters mentioned you, but more
importantly she gives you her back. It’s notoriously hard to gain Ash’s
confidence. If she trusts you, so will I. This way.” Sorsha nodded her head
towards a small hut. Ashayna couldn’t see anything over the tall grass, but as
the evening breeze picked up, she detected the coppery taint of blood.

“Summer Flame
was caught in one of Roan’s snares. His left hind leg is badly lacerated.
Beatrice is inside trying to mend it, but she’s still early in her training.
Shadowdancer and Winter Frost split up to go look for Old Mother.”

“I’ll see what
I can do until the others arrive,” Sorntar said.

Sorsha led the
way to the small hut in the center of the clearing. “He’s sheltering inside.
Beatrice fears he’s going into shock from blood loss.”

Sorsha held the
door for them. It was dark inside, only a small fire offered illumination. With
a slight motion of Sorntar’s wrist, a pale mage globe burst into being. The new
light increased in brightness, giving Ashayna’s eyes a chance to grow
accustomed.

Summer Flame
stood with his head hanging down, his eyes dulled by shock and pain. The other
occupant in the tent—a small, blonde girl—jumped to her feet and faced Ashayna,
her expression a mix of surprise and betrayal. “Sorsha! How can you bring a
stranger here?”

Ashayna
realized the girl was addressing her and had mistaken her for her sister in the
dim light.

“I’m Ashayna, Sorsha
and Lamarra’s elder sister. This is Sorntar, my bondmate. He is not human for
all he looks it now.” Ashayna raised her empty hands in a motion of
pacification. “He can help.”

Sorntar moved
to Summer Flame’s side. Beatrice hovered at Sorntar’s elbow, watching him with
misgiving as he examined the santhyrian, but her healer’s training quickly
overrode her doubts as Sorntar ordered her to blend various herbs to strengthen
the santhyrian. Ashayna moved to a safe distance while Sorntar and the girl
attended to Summer Flame.

A slight
tugging sensation under her heart warned her when Sorntar began sharing power
with Summer Flame, but she didn’t feel depleted at all, almost like power was
flowing in from elsewhere as fast as Sorntar was giving it away. Ashayna was
sure Sorntar would find it interesting, but she’d rather their power have some
kind of limit.

Ashayna didn’t
budge from her corner until thundering hooves outside announced the arrival of
the other two santhyrians. The hut’s door shuddered as it was thrown open. An
old woman walked in. She took one look at Sorntar, where he knelt tending to Summer
Flame’s leg, and smiled. “You can stay, and Beatrice; everyone else, out now.”

She had no wish
to challenge the old peasant woman to a battle of words. Old Mother would win.
Ashayna made to follow Sorsha and Lamarra out when Sorntar spoke.

“Go no farther
than the fire. I will join you when I can.” Sorntar didn’t look up, and she
didn’t question him. She just hoped the fire was close enough to pacify their Larnkins.

“Do you need
help?”

“No. Go, be
with your sisters. Old Mother is skilled and I can feed Summer Flame power.”

Ashayna nodded
and left the hut. Outside, Sorsha stood with an arm over Shadowdancer’s neck.
She rubbed his nose with her free hand. The stallion seemed pleased with the
attention. Somehow Ashayna wasn’t surprised those two had become fast friends.

When they saw
Ashayna emerge from the tent, Lamarra and Sorsha both watched her with
disbelief, like they expected her to vanish again at any moment.

“It’s me,
honest.” Ashayna gave them a tentative smile. “Seems we all have much to tell.”

The sun slid
past midday with the full telling of each other’s stories. They were just coming
to the conclusion of Ashayna’s flight when Sorntar emerged from the tent.

“Old Mother
sent me to reassure everyone Summer Flame will be running again soon. She also
said to remind Lamarra and Sorsha of the lateness of the hour…” By Sorntar’s
slight smile, Ashayna bet his wording was phrased nicer than Old Mother’s
version.

“Don’t worry, I
can say we were with the seamstress, getting fitted for tomorrow’s masquerade,”
Lamarra said.

Sorsha, who had
been uncharacteristically quiet, jumped up with a laugh. “You and Ashayna must
come as surprise guests to the party. It will be grand. I’m sure you could
think of some official reason for coming.”

When Sorntar
agreed, Ashayna groaned. Helpless to stop her sisters and Sorntar, she sat back
and listened while they made plans. Once everything was arranged they said
their goodbyes and departed with a promise to meet in the morn.