Betrayal's Price (In Deception's Shadow Book 1) (7 page)

“When your Larnkin
dragged me through the gate, it was very dangerous,” he said, stalling, trying
to figure out what was so shocking about what he’d said.

“That…I wasn’t…it
was an accident.” She pinned him with an intense look. “The other thing you
called me...bondmate? Explain what you meant by that. Now.”

“Bondmates.”
Sorntar paused in confusion, how could she not know something so basic, so
primal? “Surely Vinarah told you. Marsolwyn?”

Ashayna shook
her head, eyes narrow and angry. “They told me I’m host to a Larnkin.”

“Ah,” Sorntar
fought down a surge of panic, trying to think how to begin, “So Vinarah didn’t
tell you? She must have known. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“I’m glad you
think something makes sense, because you don’t.” Ashayna ground out her words,
then fell silent. Her lips pursed as if she tasted something unpalatable.

“Vinarah bears
the gift of Far Sight. I believe she saw a vision of us as bondmates. It
explains why she and the others would come here.”

Ashayna looked
at him with greater hostility.

“My sisters did
tell you about Larnkins, did they not?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“One host can
always recognize another.” He stopped to gauge her response. She nodded her
head in an abrupt motion, and he continued. “In the spirit world, two Larnkins
are joined by a powerful bond. When they take hosts in this realm, their
spiritual bond is broken.”

Sorntar
scrutinized Ashayna’s features, trying to read something of her thoughts. She
was shielding herself very well. He didn’t like the disadvantage. Sucking in a
breath, he rushed on. “They live to serve the Light, and guide us. Though I
think they need us as much as we need them. They can’t linger in our world
without a host to act as anchor, and the breaking of their spirit bond, while
damaging, isn’t permanent. It takes them many years to recover after taking a
host, but if they’re strong enough, a Larnkin will seek out its other half and
forge the bond of spirit once again.”

“If this
conversation is heading where I think it is, don’t bother to finish.” Ashayna
held up her hand. “You’re addled. I’m going to see my father. Don’t you dare
bring this rubbish up in front of him.” She walked away, her hips swaying to
the rhythm of her strides.

Sorntar shook
his head. She could run, just not nearly far enough to escape their bond.

No matter how
much she might wish it.

A few moments
later—long enough to let her escape—he followed. Outside he found Elder Cymael
awaiting him with word of the negotiations.

* * * *

After a
candlemark spent with her father, Ashayna had her emotions under control enough
to face Sorntar, she hoped. Alone with her thoughts, she made her way to the
delegates’ pavilion. Around the perimeter another mixed group of her father’s
and Crown Prince Sorntar’s guards eyed each other hostilely. Ashayna brushed
past both sets of guards without pause, entered the tent, and faltered at the
sight of Sorntar.

He stood
surrounded by a small group of elementals. She had done all in her power to
forget his words about Larnkin and bondmates. Dread returned now she was again
in his presence. It had been bad enough when his sisters had told her she was a
mage and her Larnkin had tried to convince her of that. Oh, but this new
knowledge about bondmates was so much worse. To be tied to another to such an
extent bordered on the realm of nightmare. What if there was more to bonding
than just some spiritual Larnkin binding? Was she expected to share his bed?
Was it even possible with a phoenix? Well, if his thoughts headed in that
direction, she’d show him how good she was with a blade.

Sorntar’s
sisters conversed with him, so did the lupwyn queen, and a phoenix with golden
feathers Ashayna had learned was Elder Cymael.

Sorntar looked
between her and her father. Ashayna’s feelings of anxiety tripled. If Sorntar
mentioned anything about Larnkin or bondmates to her father, there would be no
peaceful resolution. Worse, her magic might be laid out for all to see. That
knowledge would prove deadly for her family should an acolyte learn of it.

“Lady Ashayna,
welcome.”

Prince Sorntar’s
greeting came as a shock. His voice sent a strange thrill through her blood.
Was she getting ill? Her magic awakening again?

Sorntar
motioned for her to take a seat at the central table, which occupied most of
the pavilion’s space. She glanced at her father, and he nodded his head before
joining her. After Sorntar took a seat on a stool, Ashayna and the rest of the
delegation followed. She sat with shoulders square and elbows tucked against
her waist, spine rigid. Three copies of the treaty sat upon the table, each waiting
for two final signatures.

Elder Cymael
and General Stonemantle had come to agree that the Elementals would reclaim one
quarter of human occupied lands, and the villagers within those territories
were free to stay or go as they chose, but no acolyte would ever venture upon
Elemental lands uninvited. There were so many details Ashayna had missed while
she’d slept for two days. She couldn’t even focus enough to read the tiny,
flowing script, not with Sorntar watching her through assessing eyes the whole
time.

Sorntar
gathered the papers, gave them another quick look, and then signed his name.
After the ink was dry, he pushed them across the table to her. Under the
sinuous foreign script, which must represent his name or perhaps his title, she
contemplated the first blank line awaiting her signature. Without reading the
treaty, she signed each. It didn’t matter what it said. She knew, no matter the
pretty words they wrote or what they chose to call it, this was the beginning
of her enslavement—her life now belonged to the crown prince.

How would these
magic wielders change her? In a turning of the seasons would she recognize
herself? Would she be like them? To become a mage—to use a gift she doubted and
feared. She glanced up at Sorntar. What of becoming his bondmate? If she was
truthful with herself, bonding worried her more than training to use magic. Did
she have a choice? Would she lose herself to the creature within?

“Then it is
settled,” Cymael said, intruding upon Ashayna’s thoughts. Then the elder stood
and bowed to both General Stonemantle and Crown Prince Sorntar. “May both your
chosen paths in this life know many blessings.”

Her father
ignored the others and faced her. “Ashayna, I’m sorry.” While his voice was
cold, a gruffness in his tone conveyed much more. She heard and understood what
no one else recognized. He wanted to throw duty to the wind and rescue her, but
he didn’t have that luxury.

When the
silence took on a hard-edged quality, Ashayna replied, “Father, I knew what I
was doing when I answered the duel. I knew I couldn’t win, but this way I could
help my people. This is a bloodless way. You taught me well. Now you must let
me go.” She met his intense stare with one of her own. “Duty first.”

Her father
stood unmoving, one hand gripping the signed treaty, the other locked in a
fist. When he moved at last, it was to sigh, a sound full of bitter
helplessness. “Duty first.” He covered the distance in three strides and
reached out, hugging her to him in a fierce grip.

“Take care,
daughter.”

With one last
nod to acknowledge the responsibility she had accepted, he walked out of the
tent. Her father didn’t look back. He was simply and totally gone. The other
officers followed him out. His quick departure hurt, but she understood. A
clean break was better for both of them. Leaning against one of the tent’s
support beams, she slid down its length until she sat in a crouched position.

“I can’t claim
to understand what you’re going through right now,” Sorntar said as he rounded
the table and came to her side, “But I’ll help you as much as you’ll let me.”

 “I don’t need
your help. I certainly don’t want it.”

Ashayna found
herself alone with her nemesis, who seemed unconcerned by the upheaval he had
caused. Sorntar held out a long-fingered hand, expecting her to obey his
unvoiced command to hurry along, no doubt. It was unfair to blame him for
everything, since it looked like he had no more choice than she, but she needed
a scapegoat for her hurt and anger.

Disregarding
his outstretched hand, she straightened and walked from the tent. She halted
when she reached a group of mounted riders gathered between two rows of tents.
The horses stood calmly, almost lazily, accepting both phoenix and lupwyn
without a hint of nervousness. The tallest, a shadow-dark stallion, stood at
least eighteen hands. They had broad, deep chests, well-muscled hindquarters,
and the cleanest legs Ashayna had ever seen. Her sister Sorsha would give a
year of her life just for the honor of riding one of them.

“They’re not
horses. Santhyrians are another of the Elemental races,” Sorntar said from just
behind her.

A new suspicion
grew in her mind. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

“We are
bondmates. Our minds are open to each other—your thoughts easy for me to touch.
It is a natural intimacy between bondmates.” His breath tickled her ear and
caressed her neck. Warmth radiated all along her back.

She fought the
urge to lean into him, and carefully took a step away. When Ashayna looked over
her shoulder, he was looking beyond her, his expression open, unaware he’d been
crowding her space. Unable to bury a spark of anger at his intrusion, she
glared. “Well, don’t do it again. Intimacy isn’t welcome between us.”

He gave her a
sharp nod. “As you wish.”

When he said
nothing else, she followed his lead and looked back to the santhyrians as one
with a flame-bright coat broke away from the group and approached her with a
gentle step. He was the only one without a rider.

The shadow
stallion pawed the ground with a hoof and snorted in challenge to the flame-red
chestnut. Ashayna froze, awaiting an explosion of violence between these two.
Three breaths later, peace still remained undisturbed.

“They’ll not
fight, at least not physically. Shadowdancer just told Summer Flame to hurry
and pick up his mane ornaments—that would be us.” Sorntar laughed. “As you can
guess, Shadowdancer isn’t the most sweet-natured of creatures. However, this
bright one is my oldest and most trusted friend, Summer Flame.” Sorntar rubbed
the stallion’s nose. “We have been together since he was a foal and I a raw
fledgling. Flame, may I introduce Ashayna Stonemantle.”

The big
santhyrian bowed and ‘hailed’ at her shields before speaking.

“Welcome
little human. I offer you my friendship.”

“Thank you,
Summer Flame. I hope we’ll be good friends.” Mild bemusement tugged at her. She
was talking to a horse. Now that wasn’t something she thought to be doing this
afternoon when she’d woke up this morning.

Sharp talons
seized her waist, lifting her through the air in a blur of speed that left her
stomach behind. The world righted itself with a jolt. Ashayna grabbed handfuls
of the stallion’s mane while loosing a string of curses.

“What are…do I
look like a sack of grain?” Ashayna snapped.

“Had I known
there’d be an extra ‘sack of grain’ on the return journey, I might have
requested another santhyrian to join our delegation.” Sorntar mounted behind in
a smooth motion. “But I suppose I can endure riding double if I must.” He used
his weight to shift her slightly ahead. He leaned forward and threaded his arms
under hers to reach a fistful of the santhyrian’s mane.

She scowled at
his dry humor. “I have my own horse,” she added a little desperately. Shifting
farther forward, Ashayna tried to get away from the hum of magic radiating off him
like heat.

“A horse can’t
keep up with a santhyrian.”

Marsolwyn,
astride Shadowdancer, raised her hand and gave the command for the delegation
to move out. Summer Flame surged forward and they cleared the last rows of
tents. The protest Ashayna had at the ready stayed on the tip of her tongue.
Her father and the cavalry stood to either side of the main avenue, and they
were flanked by every soldier, scout, messenger, and stable boy still in the
camp. When they saw her, they stood at attention, showing her an honor she’d
never thought to receive. She swallowed hard—her father had done this. That’s
why he’d left so abruptly.

Ashayna nodded
to her father while bringing one fist to her heart. She couldn’t trust herself
to speak. The santhyrian broke into a gallop, saving her the embarrassment of
breaking down in front of the men.

They’d not even
given her a chance to say goodbye to her mother or sisters, Sorsha and Lamarra.
She swallowed hard and tried to think of other things, like the smoothness of
the santhyrian’s gait. One day, she’d have to find a way to introduce Sorsha to
a santhyrian.

Sorntar
encircled an arm around her waist. Strangely, his touch brought her comfort.
Deeper into the forested hills, Ashayna witnessed just how agile the big
horse-like beasts could be. The santhyrians jumped over fallen branches,
twisted and snaked their way between the broad trunks, and found game trails
Ashayna would have been hard-pressed to spot. But the greatest miracle—they
managed to avoid low hanging branches that would have scraped off a rider.

After a lengthy
uncomfortable silence, Sorntar ventured some questions. “If you don’t mind me
asking, how did you become a scout? I didn’t think humans allowed their females
to partake in a duty where danger was near-constant.”

“I owe my
freedom to luck and a very old superstition,” Ashayna said. “My father has no
sons. His older brother died without siring any either. That would have ended
the direct Stonemantle bloodline. But there is a legend—as long as a
Stonemantle is allied to the Emperor’s bloodline, the empire shall never fall.
Having no male Stonemantle heirs created a problem. The emperor’s advisors came
up with a solution. Long ago a noble- blooded woman could govern her family if
she willingly defended her people. I was trained for battle and named my father’s
heir.”

“You’ll take
General Stonemantle’s place one day? That’s a heavy responsibility for one so
young.”

“No, I’ll never
be a general. My father refused to allow me to join the military. It’s too easy
for a man to lose his heir in the thick of battle. Instead I’m a scout, which
is still too dangerous as far as my father’s concerned. It was scout or
military. He didn’t have a choice. Besides, I don’t take orders well. And
twenty-three is not so young. What about you? You still have nursemaids
following you around.”

Sorntar
chuckled, the rich sound a physical touch along her spine. “I’m twenty-seven,
and will probably still have nursemaids, as you call them, until I reach my
first century. For many immortal races, it’s not age, but training that
dictates how much responsibility we’re given. And I’ve had a lot of training.”
He sobered a moment later. “Back to my original question—since we’ve deprived
your father of his heir, what will he do?”

“Whatever he
must. He’ll continue to strengthen his position, and then he’ll expect me to
charm you into releasing me or escape on my own. If I were to find my way home,
he’d spirit me onto the first boat back to the empire and deny knowing anything
about my whereabouts.”

Sorntar cleared
his throat. “Then why are you telling me this?”

Ashayna smiled,
but felt only despair. “Because we both know I’ll never be free of your people.
I bear a Larnkin. If I returned, I’d die at the hands of an acolyte,
eventually. I planned to leave before the Larnkin could betray me, to run off
into the forest and live or die as fate willed.”

“Grey Spires
will be a grand improvement over starving in a forest,” Sorntar said, and then
tightened his hold on her waist. He sounded upset at the thought of her death.

“Perhaps.” If
only his words were true. “Anyway, tell me something about your city. How long
until we reach it? It must be several days’ ride.” No matter how good a
stallion’s gait, she grimaced at the thought of riding double for any length of
time. The last thing she needed was for the crown prince to realize she was
aware of him.

“My home is on
the opposite side of this land. It would take more than two moon cycles to
travel the distance if we were to ride all the way in a normal manner,” he
explained. “But Summer Flame and Shadowdancer are both powerful mages. They,
and the other santhyrians, will carry the delegation safely through the Wild
Path.”

“Wild Path?”

“It is a place
not of our world; it is a bridge spanning the worlds of living and Spirit. It
does not interfere with an awakening Larnkin like a great weaving for a Gate
would.”

“Can’t I just
walk?” Ashayna murmured to herself, half in jest.

If Sorntar
heard her mutterings, he chose to ignore her comment. “A santhyrian stallion
can access the Wild Path using one of the permanent archways. You’ll be able to
see one very shortly.”

Summer Flame
slowed to a trot as the trees thinned and opened into a meadow. She would miss
her mare, but hoped to become friends with one of the santhyrians. To have a
mount with such speed and grace would be superb, and they were as intelligent
as she. It would be a true partnership any scout would envy.

“The gods may
have done better had they made me a santhyrian,” Sorntar rumbled.

“Most like.” Ashayna
laughed at his dark tone, then choked to a stop with the realization she’d not
mentioned the bit about the santhyrians aloud. Clenching her jaw, she gathered
her courage to give him a sharp reminder to quit reading her mind but swallowed
the challenge. Summer Flame tossed his head, and halted three paces before a
sun-blanched stone archway. Every instinct within her screamed this would be
the last time she’d see her world.

It was after
midday, and the sun’s light shone at an angle that should have passed through
the open archway to land on her skin with its gentle spring warmth. Instead,
she stood in the shadow of something far more solid. A chill raised hair on her
arms. On the opposite side of the meadow, trees blushed with a hint of young
green leaves. Their hues were muted, misty when viewed through the opening. On
a hunch, she lowered her shields. A power unlike anything she recalled brushed
against her senses, wholly foreign, yet on another level, nagging in its
familiarity. This was not the warm living power Sorntar wielded, but a cold,
scentless, weightless power. It seeped through the yet-unopened archway, much
as a persistent draft will find a way around a loose window closure.

“That you can
feel such power is surprising. I can’t. No phoenix can. We’re of air and fire
and can only work other types of magic a little.” Sorntar’s thoughts invaded
her mind. He continued as if he didn’t notice her slight alarm. “The lupwyns,
being of earth, can sense a santhyrian working spirit magic, some few can even
work it. Those lupwyns able to weave spirit often join the santhyrian ranks. It’s
interesting you can work fire and sense spirit.” His tone hinted it was more
than interesting.

“I would say
alarming.” Ashayna gave a small mental push. Sorntar still didn’t take the
hint, so she raised her mental barriers, forcing him out of her thoughts.

Sitting
stiffly, she turned her attention back to the archway and whatever the two santhyrian
stallions conjured. She held her breath. Runes carved into the stone began to
glow with white light. As the light intensified it spilled over into the
opening, like the stone bled. With each passing moment, more light poured forth
until it covered the arch’s entire surface. Before the power had been a mere
trickle, now it flowed like a fast moving river. When the light from both sides
merged in the middle, the surface solidified, banishing the view of the meadow.
A blurred view of a mist covered road appeared in its place. In the distance
there was another arch, twin to the one before her.

The power
washed against her shields in one great wave, then smaller ones, until it
drained away. Ashayna looked over her shoulder to silently ask if such a thing
was normal. Sorntar nodded. There was no time to worry in any case. Summer
Flame galloped through the stone archway. A great pressure descended on her
when they passed under the threshold. The strong, silken hairs of Summer Flame’s
mane cut into her palms.

Thick grey mist
shrouded this new world. No sun or sky was visible, yet it lacked the solid
darkness of night. Illumination came from a dense mist churning around the
santhyrians’ legs. There was nothing beyond the road she could distinguish. In
fact, the only discernable object was the archway. She glanced back and saw not
one, but three arches, with nothing to mark one different from the rest. A
sense of dislocation took hold. How did they navigate such a place?

“Where are we?
What is this?” It came out sounding harsh. She couldn’t help it. Some unnamable
thing here put her on edge. A sense of quietness lay thick against her lungs.
She would go mad if forced to stay in this timeless place for long.

“Each archway
leads down a different branch of the Wild Path,” Sorntar explained. “The
pressure you felt when we passed under the arches is a direct result of
distance traveled. You may find transitions between one location and another
uncomfortable the first few times.”