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EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT from Hers To Claim by Patricia Knight:
Chapter Two
Adonia Corvus
shook off the peculiar agitation that had engulfed her body when she locked
eyes with Prince DeHelios and followed Ari, Doral and Fleur through the halls
toward Ari’s office. She pulled her soft wrap closer around her bony shoulders
with a convulsive shiver. Until almost two years ago, she had known nothing but
the searing heat of the Oshtesh wastelands. Even the temperate climate of
Sylvan Mintoth chilled her tall, spare, twenty-eight year old body.
Doral
murmured something to his queen and she flashed a glance toward Adonia.
“Adonia, are
you cold, again? The trees still hold their leaves. It is a warm fall day.
However did you survive last winter?” Queen Constante laughed at her healer’s
answering shudder and grimace. “You have been at the High Enclave for over a
year. Your blood must have thickened a little.”
“It seems not, Ma’am.” Adonia schooled the tartness
out of her voice. With two attentive lovers, Fleur would never know the
coldness of isolation or lack the warmth of human contact. Adonia’s eyes
shifted enviously to the ice-bear pelts wrapping Prince DeHelios and she sighed
inwardly. I could put those heavy furs to
good use. Drawn by some inexorable attraction, her eyes tracked upward and
the same hyper-awareness as in the audience hall sparked through her as she met
his gaze. By the Goddess! The man winked
at me. She hurried to stay even with Fleur.
“I had a
high compliment about you, today,” Fleur teased, craning her neck to meet
Adonia’s gaze.
“Oh?”
“Yes, from
the Senior Medicus of the High Enclave.”
“The senior
medicus?”
“Yes. Elder
Beckton said he’d never before had a student with such a voracious capacity for
learning. He told me you’d flown through the basic and intermediate material on
applying healing magicks and were well into the advanced uses.” Fleur smiled as
her head bobbed in time with Doral’s steps.
“He’s a good
teacher.” Adonia’s voice fell to almost a whisper. “It is my heart’s desire to
be able to apply the magicks in my healing, but I cannot use the diaman
crystals. My learning is all theoretical.”
“You are an
exceptional medica—even without the magicks,” Fleur maintained stoutly.
Yes, but if not for my common blood, I could do
so much more. Adonia dropped
her gaze to the floor and shrugged. “Thank you, Ma’am. I do what I can.”
She counted
everyday spent with the medicae of the High Enclave a blessing. Her skill with
the healing arts had increased tenfold as she gorged her mind on the practical
knowledge in the High Enclave’s great library.
Practical
knowledge did nothing to assuage her obsessive fascination with the magickal
rites—the sexual rites the highborn
with their prized genetics used to energize diaman crystals to power their
working of the healing magicks. But, that knowledge was of dubious use to her.
Elder Beckton had shaken his head in apology. “Only the highborn need learn this. You waste your time with those books.”
Her
innermost yearning could never be realized. She resigned herself to be an
onlooker, never a participant. She lacked the inherited talents bred into the
noble houses for over five hundred years. Probably
not a bad thing. The Great Rite is said to be arduous—dangerous to a woman’s
sanity. I’d likely wind up like that poor insane creature whose cries filter
through the hall near my rooms. A tendril of fear snaked up her spine. Still…I wonder…
“Your
practical skills serve well, Adonia, and I am grateful that Eric and Sophi were
willing to part with you.” Doral’s low voice brought a flush to her face. She
hadn’t realized the Segundo took note of her existence. I should know by now that nothing associated with our queen goes
unnoticed by Ari or Doral.
Her close
friendship with the Fleur exposed her to the indelible bond between the Tetriarch. At times, she had to turn
away beset by want, overwhelmed by the love that flowed between the
three. I have love to give a man. But two years ago, she’d
buried those desires deep and had thrown herself into her studies. She gave her
love to her patients. It was too painful to do otherwise.
As the group
settled itself into the comfortable leather furnishings of Ari’s office, Adonia
shook off her troublesome thoughts and composed herself to listen. A pungent
smell stung her nostrils. She turned her head, sniffing, lifting her chin to
follow the smell—and came eye to eye with the hulk that proclaimed himself
DeHelios. She dropped her head and turned away at his observant grin.
“I’ve had no
time for the luxury of a bath, Lady. I expect I’m rather ripe.”
“More like
something long dead and rotting.” she muttered under her breath.
The hulk
leaned over and whispered, “It must be the bear pelts you smell, Lady. Every
part of me is alive.”
He’d heard
her! Adonia shot him a sharp glance then faced forward. Did her flirt with her? Surely not. Unthinkable. She snuck a peek out of the corner of her
eye. By Her light. The grin had vanished but his eyes still laughed at
her above a face obscured by curly black hair. She fidgeted with the two-headed
phoenix charm on the chain around her neck and concentrated her attention on
Ari.
“State your
business, Prince DeHelios. You said something about a magistra, a healer and brite-weed.”
DeHelios stood and shrugged off his heavy
outwear before he addressed the room, turning in a semi-circle as he spoke
their names. “High Lord DeTano, Your Majesty, Visconte DeLorion, Lord Ramsey,
Lieutenant Colonel…”
“Oh, by Her
stars, Sir. Let’s not stand on ceremony.” Queen Constante interrupted DeHelios
with a smile. “I am Fleur.” Her arm gestured to her right and then to her left.
“Ari and Doral. Ramsey and Steffania. My medica, Adonia. And you are?”
“Hel.”
“Yes, yes,
but your first name is?” Silence settled into the room. “Sir?” said the queen.
“Just Hel.”
“Your mother
named you Hel?”
“Just call
me “Hel.” DeHelios folded his arms and scowled.
With a
rueful shake of her head, Fleur conceded. “All right, just Hel.
Continue.”
The man
gathered his thoughts for a moment then frowned. “I suppose it all began with
the Haarb invasion of Nyth Uchel and the massacre of House DeHelios. Their
armies took the city completely by surprise.”
“I
understand the Haarb attacked you early in the war. Most Verdantians were
unaware we had been invaded,” said Doral.
“Yes. And
our estates are more isolated than most.” Hel gazed off at some unseen horizon.
“My younger brother and I had gone down our mountain to track and verify the
rumor of war and invasion. We returned to discover that war and invasion had
come to us.” Hel walked to a window and looked out. Every eye followed him.
“The Haarb looted the city and massacred the living. In the weeks that
followed, survivors filtered back into Nyth Uchel but at the time of our
return, all we saw was death.
“For the
first time in our history, Torre Bianca stood dark against the sky, her diamantorre shattered. Nyth Uchel and the city below lay in ruins.
Partially consumed bodies lay everywhere, the wolves and other scavengers so
glutted they had eaten only the choicest parts.” Hel tapped on the stone sill
while he spoke. “My brother and I buried my entire family—my older brother, his
wife and their three children, my mother, my father, my wife and,” Hel paused
and took a deep breath, “my six-year old son and two-year old daughter.”
Adonia ached
at the heartbreak poorly concealed in his flat voice. With a tiny, almost
inaudible moan, Fleur slipped her hand into Ari’s. Her other reached up and
found Doral’s resting on the back of her chair.
Hel turned to face the room, his arms loosely
crossed, his hip cocked on the window casement. He gazed unseeing at the floor. “In the years that followed, I haunted the
Haarb patrols that trespassed onto my mountain and made them pay.”
Doral spoke
into the pause. “Very early in the war, I heard tales of the bás dtost of Nyth Uchel—the ‘silent
death’—of Haarb soldiers gutted and left
hanging from trees by their intestines. We were never sure if it was a
superstitious tale or fact. That was you.”
Hel’s eyes
held Doral’s and Adonia didn’t think she’d ever seen a face so bleak.
“Yes. That
was me. I thought that death befitting for it was what they had done to me.
Their screams were poor compensation for my loss.”
“Another
lull settled into the room until Hel gave a sigh and a shrug. “Finally, the
Haarb stopped coming and the news of their defeat reached even the isolation of
Nyth Uchel. I returned to my shattered city, my people, and we tried to rebuild.”
“It was
during that time that I noticed…” Hel frowned and gave a puzzled shake of his
head. “…dead zones in the forest surrounding Nyth Uchel—pockets of death where
nothing lived, no animal, no green growth. A foul blight polluted the soil. Since
that time, the areas of blight have expanded unchecked and one now threatens
the western border of Nyth Uchel. This unnatural contagion kills the soil and all that grows in it and it
is slowly killing my people. I don’t know how it spreads, but the foulness
attacks a person’s soul, their spirit, their anima, feeding on their life force
until the afflicted simply lose the desire to live. My people call it fading.”
“Is there a cure for this fading? Is there some way to impede the blight?” The gentle voice
of Fleur broke into his pause.
“Brite-weed
administered early and often can sometimes stop death, but it is an uncertain
cure. Energized diaman crystals halt the spread of the contagion on the
ground—confine it. We established a diaman perimeter around Nyth Uchel, but the contagion continually
threatens. My warden tells me the blight has penetrated the western border.”
Hel paused,
closed his eyes and his head fell back. Adonia could see the fatigue that worry
and hardship had inflicted in the way he half-sat, half-stood, propped on the
window casement, a man at the end of his resources.
The desire
to help this beleaguered soul who had taken so much upon himself grew inside
Adonia. This descendent of kings had stripped himself of all pride to obtain
assistance for those dependent on him. She knew something about losing one’s
pride. “You must care deeply for your people.”
Hel frowned
at her. “I am DeHelios.” His statement implied an obvious answer to an
unnecessary question and she felt the hot flush of embarrassment. With a slow
exhale, Hel continued. “Our quarries labored night and day to replace Torre
Bianca’s shattered diamantorre. We heard of DeTano’s defeat of the Haarb and
then watched brilliance light the horizons as Verdantia’s sigil towers regained
life.
Now, I lack
only a magistra to partner me in the Great Rite and the White Tower will once
more blaze in Verdantia’s night sky. I am hopeful, once re-vitalized, Torre
Bianca’s energy will combat the evil menacing Nyth Uchel.”
Ari cleared
his throat. “Would that we could help you, but the ugly truth is we have no
magistras—not of sufficient age to perform the Great Rite. Other than our queen
and Sophi, Doral’s sister, our oldest magistra is thirteen years of age. She
lacks a decade to be of use to you.” Ari nodded at Hel’s appalled exclamation.
“Yes. The Haarb repeated the massacre inflicted on Nyth Uchel throughout all of
Verdantia. They learned of the crucial role our magistras played in our magicks
and they targeted them. The Haarb’s elimination of all our magickal
practitioners was horrifically thorough. Our noble houses number a mere
handful.”
“But, how
did all the sigil towers…?” Hel faltered to a stop.
“We are a
true Tetriarch,” Fleur said. “Just as with your ancestors, Primo Federago,
Segundo Agentio and Prima Isolde, the First
Tetriarch, Mother Verdantia has gifted the three of us with the ability to
empower all the sigil towers on the face of Verdantia when we make love.”
Comprehension
dawned across Hel’s face and he scanned the room, his eyes setting first on
Fleur, then Ari and finally, Doral.
“How did you
think the towers were empowered?” Doral asked, his voice benign.
Adonia sat
bolt upright and paid close attention. She’d heard that tone from Doral before
and it usually preceded something lethal. Ramsey and Steffania in their
positions near the door had straightened also.
“I thought
it done in the conventional manner, a magistra and magister performed the Great
Rite. I never considered the much-heralded Second Tetriarch a true triad. How
could you be? You aren’t of the DeHelios bloodline.” Hel’s eyes swung to Fleur
and unease furrowed his brow. “I…thought our Constante queen hot-blooded,
desirous of variety…perhaps, one lover insufficient for her...” His voice
trailed off.
He extended
a hand toward Fleur but a low growl from Doral cut off what Hel might have said
next.
The High
Lord of Verdantia’s eyes held heat and his clipped words threw down a
challenge. “The Senzienza called to us. There was no mistaking Her message.
Once the three of us came together, there was no mistaking the authenticity of
the Second Tetriarch.”
“Stop it.
Both of you. He didn’t know. He meant no insult.” Fleur’s eyes lifted to hold
Hel’s with a slight frown. “You didn’t, did you? Mean to insult me?”
Adonia could
have hugged the young woman. Fleur’s sweet nature defused a potentially lethal
confrontation between three proud men.
Hel
straightened and stood stiffly. “Your Majesty, I—.”
He never
completed his thought as Fleur’s hands shooed him into silence. “Never mind.
It’s not important. Tell us how we can help you and Nyth Uchel.”
Hel bridged
his temple with his hand and rubbed. “I, ah, I need to sit down,” and proceeded
to collapse into the chair next to Adonia. “So…no magistra. My problem is more ominous than I thought.” He dropped his face
into his hands and Adonia wanted to put a hand out to comfort him—but didn’t.
She didn’t know if this proud man would accept it or embarrass her again by
shrugging it off.
Hel exhaled
heavily, sat up and faced Ari. “As soon as the Haarb retreated from Verdantia,
we rebuilt the shattered diamantorre. If
you re-energized all of the sigil towers on Verdantia, then Torre Bianca should be lit like a star in the night
sky.
Ari pursed
his mouth in thought. “We have always regretted the absence of Torre Bianca’s
light in the eastern skies. Our planetary shield is weak in one quarter of the
western hemisphere without her. We assumed white tower destroyed. We meant to
send a party to explore why she remained dark, but…”
Hel nodded.
“We are not easy to reach, particularly during winter.”
“Your damned
mountain is impossible during winter. A man on foot, perhaps, but not a work
party,” Doral murmured.
Ari grunted
an agreement. “Since the coronation of our queen, the Tetriarch has performed
the Great Rite at least once a month—barring those months when our queen’s
pregnancies excluded her. Torre Bianca should be as a star dropped from heaven.
There is some other malignancy at work.”
Hel sagged
in the chair, his devastation apparent. He scrubbed his face with his hands for
a moment and then stood, pacing to the window. “I still have need of a healer
and brite-weed.”
Adonia spoke
before thinking. “I will go with him. I would like to see the fabled Nyth Uchel and the celebrated Torre
Bianca. I would like to help in whatever way I can.” She rose from her chair
and stepped toward Fleur. “You have many skilled medicae to attend you, Ma’am.
While not as advanced as some, I am a skilled healer and I’m used to hardship.
I have studied with all the medicae at the High Enclave. From the sounds of
conditions, I’d give ninety percent of them a week, or less, before they
retreated to Sylvan Mintoth—if they even finished the journey to Nyth Uchel.”
“Are you
sure, Adonia? It will be arduous and quite possibly dangerous.” Fleur's
delicate brow knit with concern.
Adonia met
Fleur’s eyes. She would miss the young queen. Other than Sophi DeStroia, her
former flight leader, this was her only woman friend—well, actually, her only friend in Sylvan Mintoth—but this
opportunity was unprecedented. “My Queen, I was medica and First Arrow of
Falcon Flight. I am a skilled archer and highly trained in mounted combat. We
of the desert-dwelling Oshtesh fought in the last Haarb battle of Vergaza
alongside several of those in this chamber. I have known the hard life of the
arid wastelands and have traveled the long road from Sh’r Un Kree to Sylvan Mintoth. I am not afraid of the danger or
the hardship. If Prince DeHelios will have me, I want to go.” Adonia felt the
weight of Hel’s perusal and turned to face him. After a long, anxious moment
watching him silently evaluate her, he lifted his chin and brought it down
decisively.
“Yes. I will
have you.”
The
peculiar, slow twist Hel gave to his words made Adonia wonder if he intended
another meaning, but she shook the thought away as ridiculous. He couldn’t want
her that way. Klaran’s damning words
rang in her memory as clearly as if her lover had spoken them yesterday instead
of almost two years ago.
“What is
it you don’t understand? I’m done with you. You got me into service with Ducca
DeStroia and out of Sh’r Un Kree—for that, I thank you. But, did you seriously
expect me to stay with you when I had a choice? There is nothing womanly about
you. From your body to your soul you are a hard creature.” Her former
intended’s furiously hurled words had stripped her soul bare and the
lush-figured, doe-eyed beauty who had replaced Adonia in his arms had loosed
the killing shot. “No man wants between the legs of a gawky, stick figure
reeking of some vile concoction.”
Adonia had fled to Sylvan Mintoth under the guise of advancing her
medical knowledge. The compassion in Eric and Sophi DeStroia’s eyes when they
released her from their service had been the ultimate humiliation. She’d run
like a whipped dog.
“Lord
Ramsey, I would like you to go with Adonia.” Fleur glanced across the room to
Ramsey DeKieran and Adonia disguised a laugh with a cough when he abruptly
straightened after a hard poke from his wife. While the rest of the party sat
in the comfortable sofas and chairs around Ari’s office, DeKieran and his new
wife had remained lounging, side-by-side, against the wall by the door. Adonia
had caught the intense stares and occasional murmurs Ram and Steffania had
exchanged throughout the past hour. From the blush that crept up Steffania’s
cheeks when Ramsey fingered her exquisite choker of beaten gold, Adonia doubted
that either had heard much of what had transpired in the last few minutes.
“Huh? What?
Um, pardon me, Ma’am. I didn’t catch what you said.”
From the
mischief in Fleur’s eyes, Adonia revised her assumption. Perhaps she was not the only one to catch their
interchange of heated looks and whispers. “I wish you to accompany Adonia to Nyth Uchel and stay until she is ready
to return. She will need an escort home and I don’t want her dependent upon
Prince DeHelios or his people to provide one.”
Fleur’s gaze
returned to Hel. “No disrespect intended but should Adonia wish to leave at any
time, I want her free to do so.” The queen’s gaze then found Adonia. “And
Adonia, while you are most capable, you will travel through country with
unknown dangers. It will ease my heart to know you have a strong blade at your
side.”
“So, Lord Ramsey? Will you go?”
“To Nyth Uchel?” Ram blinked several times.
“With him?”
Hel looked
affronted. Doral laughed softly and then murmured something to Ari and a grin
split the High Lord’s solemn face. Adonia would give anything to know what
Doral had said.
Steffania
whispered something to Lord DeKieran and he performed a sketchy bow. “Ah, if
you ask it, Ma’am.” An expression of disgust flashed across Ramsey’s face and
with hands on hips, he turned to Hel. “I suppose you want your horse back.”
~ ~ ~
Adonia could
see the stars dotting the night sky through the windows of the sitting area in
her room. Diaman crystal globes
illuminated the spacious accommodations and a bronze brazier filled with
glowing crystals radiated heat enough to warm an area twice its size. A small
leather duffle sat in one of the chairs. It had taken little time to pack her
few possessions—a medica’s robe and two changes of clothing, a hairbrush and
some ties to bind her hair. Her medicines took far longer, and she knelt on the
floor as, for a third time, she ran through the inventory of medicines and
herbs she intended to take. A sharp rap on her door jerked her upright. Who? At
this advanced hour? Had someone fallen sick? She opened the door and drew back
in surprise.
“High Lord!
Come in, come in.”
Ari entered
with a bundle of plush black fur in his arms and stopped in the middle of her
room. “We want you to have this.” He held up the fur and the glorious item
unfurled. Its silky hairs reflected the light in a thousand blue-black sparkling
glitters and Adonia exclaimed in wonder.
“Mynx! By
the Mother, I have never seen an entire garment of it.” Ari held out a
full-length coat of the exotic alien fur. “Sir! This fur is brought from
off-world. One tiny pelt is
impossibly expensive—to have an entire coat! It is far too valuable. I cannot
take this.”
Ari crossed
behind her and placed the coat on her shoulders. The gossamer fur waved from
just the passage of her breath across it.
“Put it on.
Let me see if it will fit.”
Adonia
reluctantly put her arms into the sleeves and allowed Ari to snug the coat up
to her neck and fasten the clips that held it closed—then he stood back and
observed her. “Good. It is not too long. The shoulders are big, but that will
allow for extra layers underneath.”
She laughed
at the four inches extending beyond her fingertips. “I suppose I could cuff
them.” Adonia held her hands to her face and nestled her nose and cheeks into
the thick, black pile. She luxuriated in its extraordinary softness and then
raised her face with a sigh. “Sir, I cannot accept this. This is a garment for
heads of state—or those with enough money to buy planets. While I appreciate
the queen’s generosity, I cannot take it.”
“It’s not
from the queen.” The High Lord smiled and his expression softened to one of
pleasure. “I gave it as a gift to Doral. Since he is going nowhere for many
months, he wants you to have it. He says you suffer from the cold more than
most.” Ari laughed at her expression. “The things he notices amaze me, also. If
nothing else, consider it a gift of thanks for your tender care of our queen.
She values your friendship. Because of her position, it is hard for her to have
true friends. She counts you among the few.” Adonia dropped her gaze and looked
away uncertain what to do. Ari snorted in mock irritation. “If you won’t take
it, you will have to return it to
Doral. I don’t dare tell him I failed in his errand.” Ari leaned over and
whispered, “He’s a scary man. I fear to cross him.”
Recognizing
a blatant lie—Doral was a ‘scary man,’ but Ari crossed him with impunity all
the time—Adonia addressed him with skeptical eyes. Of their own volition, her
palms stroked the silky fur and her fingers sank into its thick pelt. In this
garment, she felt distinguished, like royalty, and it would be so warm. Nothing she owned approached it on
any level. With a heavy sigh, wishing she weren’t so weak, she surrendered to
the temptation. “Thank Segundo DeLorion for me. Tell him that I’ll borrow it
and return it when I come back.”
The High
Lord’s smile left his face and he studied her in silence for a long moment. “If you come back. DeHelios needs a wife
and from the way he looks at you, I shouldn’t be surprised if he intends to
keep you.”
Adonia’s
eyes widened. “He is highborn, a prince of the first noble House of Verdantia.
I’m common—an ordinary Oshtesh woman from the desert. He would never consider
me for a wife.”
The High
Lord’s eyes lingered on her. He wore the strangest smile on his handsome face.
“Do you really regard yourself as
common?” But before Adonia could summon the courage to ask him what that cryptic comment meant, he bowed,
wished her, “Safe journey,” and left.
As she
stroked the luxurious fur, Adonia considered his remark. She’d always taken
comfort from the thought she was a common desert woman. She’d never questioned
the rightness of her way of life with the Oshtesh until her encounter with
Doral’s sister, Sophi, and her now-husband, Eric DeStroia. After the
cataclysmic events surrounding the battle of Vergaza, Adonia had realized prejudice
and ignorance warped much of what she’d been taught growing up.
The small
religious sect her parents belonged to had indoctrinated Adonia with a scornful
contempt for the aristocracy but in a matter of months, she’d shed their
influence and opened her mind to a different way of thinking. She’d been
wrong about many things. The realization had hurt, but she’d swallowed her
pride, owned up to her prejudices and set about changing how she thought and
behaved. Throughout her internal upheaval, she’d clung to one certainty—Klaran
cared for her. She had a place. She was Klaran’s betrothed, his future wife.
It had taken
Klaran mere moments to obliterate her self-worth and years later, she still bled from the gaping wound. Klaran’s
words had done more than strip her of any sense she was desirable. His betrayal
had obliterated her identity, her confidence in where she belonged in the
world. When he’d rejected her, nothing remained of her previous life and she’d
no sense of her place in a new one. Maybe she would know where she belonged at
the end of this journey. Nyth Uchel’s healer? Yes. She could take pride in
being Nyth Uchel’s healer.
About the Author:
Patricia A. Knight is the pen name for an eternal romantic who lives in Dallas, Texas with her horses, dogs and the best man on the face of the earth – oh yeah, and the most enormous bullfrogs you will ever see. Word to the wise: don’t swim in the pool after dark.
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