Destiny's Star (27 page)

“There is not much to tell,” Bethral said. “Her name is Amastra, and she was born of the Tribe of the Horse. She had her required children, served in the armies, and then decided to see the world. Her wandering brought her to Soccia, where she met my father, Caden. Father said he pursued her until she caught his heart.” Bethral lifted her head a bit. “Mother warned me that those of the Plains are prolific: I am the eldest of five children. Both Father and Mother taught me the way of the sword, and I set out to seek my way as a mercenary, which is how I linked up with Red Gloves.”

“Five?” Ezren asked. “After she had five on the Plains?”

Bethral nodded. “Two brothers and two sisters.”

“Would you have gone back to Soccia,” Ezren asked softly, “if this had not happened?”

Bethral placed her hand over his heart. “No. I’d thought to serve Gloriana for a few years, and then perhaps go to Athelbryght, and breed horses. I hoped that I might catch your eye, but I knew that in all likelihood you would be wed to one of the ladies of the Court within the year. Still, I dared to dream.”

Ezren snorted. “Oh my angel, there was no fear of a noble marriage for me. I am of common merchant stock and no warrior. My parents were good people who despaired that their only son was a wastrel and a sloth. I had no interest in buying and selling, only in running with friends and causing havoc. I was the life of the party, and loved to regale my friends with tales of my misdeeds.”

“Until . . .” Bethral said.

“Until I chanced to go to a tavern of even less than my normal low standards.” Ezren chuckled. “I and a few of my mates decided to go to the Crate of Diamonds, a tavern in the Wastesides of Edenrich. Its clientele was even more questionable than its beer.”

“I’ve been in a few of those in my day.” Bethral smiled.

“We grabbed a center table, demanded drinks, insulted the food, and began our usual drunken carousing.

“Until this tall, lean elf walked in, with a long braid of gray hair and a serious face. He sat on a stool by the fire, and the entire place went silent. Absolutely silent.” Ezren’s voice was distant. “We even shut up, if you can believe.

“He opened his mouth and told the tale of Radaback Roc-Rider, adventurer extraordinare. His face was so serious, and yet the story was so funny . . . the entire place was laughing within moments, and he never once lost them.” Ezren darted a glance at Bethral. “To tell a story that way—to hold your audience for that long . . . controlling everyone with his voice. It was like magic, the only kind of magic I ever wanted to wield. He was amazing.

“Once the tale was done, everyone pounded the tables and offered him drinks, but he shook his head, and waved them off with thanks. I could not believe it. He did not pass a hat, or have one at his feet.

“The next morning, I went to the Crate and found him, and asked him to teach me everything he knew.” Ezren gave her a grin. “After a bit of persuading, he agreed. So I was apprenticed to Joseph Taleteller, to my parent’s relief and my friends’ dismay. I was very lucky. King Everead heard my tales and asked me to his Court, and I received royal patronage and access to the castle libraries. That is when I started developing my theories about stories and people and how we . . . and if you don’t stop me, I can go on like this for days.”

Bethral propped herself up on her elbow, letting her hair fall on his chest. “Wait until foaling season, when I won’t leave the stables for any reason.” She ran her fingers through his hair. “Are your parents still alive?”

“No,” Ezren said, “and I thank the Lord of Light that they were gone before I was enslaved by the Usurper. Father died in his sleep. And Mother . . . well, the heart just went out of her. I lost her not six months later.”

Bethral leaned down and brushed her lips over his. Ezren cleared his throat. “Yours?”

“Alive and well, when last I saw them.” Bethral pulled back to look at him. “That was just before Red and I left Soccia to find work.” She rolled her eyes. “Mother will gloat when she learns I’ve been to the Plains. All those afternoons making me learn her language when all I wanted to do was ride.”

“I am grateful to her”—Ezren lifted his hand and ran it through Bethral’s hair—“for her beautiful—”

“You think I’m beautiful?” Bethral asked.

“Yes.” Ezren frowned. “Do you not think so?” Bethral shrugged. “I am not ugly. But I don’t see where I am anything special, Ezren.”

“Let me show you,” Ezren said. He reached up to tug her mouth down to his.

“It’s not yet sunset,” Bethral whispered against his mouth.

“No matter,” Ezren whispered back, “there is still so much we can do. . . .”

BETHRAL was sure she would perish, convinced that Ezren’s strong fingers would take her breath at any moment.

If this was how it felt to be caressed, how would it be when he entered her? The very thought made every touch that much more maddening.

The man was so intense, so focused on her. Yet she couldn’t get enough of him, wanting to learn so much. How the soft hairs of his nape lifted off his skin when she kissed the back of his ear. How he trembled as she stroked the soft skin of his inner elbow. The taste of his mouth, the scent of his body . . . it would take a lifetime.

One they didn’t have.

They’d worked themselves to a fever-pitch, clinging and kissing and reaching for each other until the need to breathe drove them apart. The blanket was at their waists; Bethral reached down to push it off. Ezren lay gasping, a faint sheen of sweat on his chest.

Bethral’s senses were swamped with their love play, but there was a silent part of her brain that kept watch. It listened to the birds in the alders and the rain dripping through the leaves. It kept track of her weapons, tucked next to her where she could get to them quickly. She was too well trained, too long a mercenary to let that portion of her mind drift off.

She knew the illusion for what it was; sooner or later they would have to stir from this shelter and set off again. But right now, she was in his arms and they had what was left of this day and this night.

Ezren sighed, and shifted so that he could open the tent flap. Cold air crept in, carrying the smell of the rain with it.

“Still raining,” he said, easing the edge back down.

“I love listening to it,” Bethral said, reaching for the blankets now that she was cooler. “Being warm and snug while it beats on the roof.”

Ezren pulled her close and kissed her. “Yes, but how will we know when the sun sets?”

Bethral used her free hand to guide his mouth to her breast. “You’ll think of something.”

 

 

AT some point, they must have drifted off. Ezren awoke when Bethral tensed, lifting her head. There was a sound outside the tent and a polite cough. “Warlord? Singer?”

“Cosana?” Bethral had a dagger in her hand. “What—”

“All’s well, Warlord,” Cosana said quickly. “I wanted to know if you want food. The ogdan roots are done, and . . . well . . .” She giggled nervously. “You’ve been in there most of the day.”

Bethral put her weapon away.

“We thought maybe you’d like the use of the pond to wash,” Cosana said brightly. “So we’re all set to give you some privacy. We’ll retreat into our tents, and leave your food warming by the fire. It’s going to rain on and off all night, at least that is what Arbon says.”

Ezren heard her shuffle her feet as she took a breath. “I was wondering if you ever thought of three-souls-sharing. Because I’d be will—”

“Cosana,” Bethral said, glaring right through the tent.

“I think it’s a custom of our people that you should consider trying.” Cosana kept talking. The poor girl sounded so sincere. Ezren started to laugh, but Bethral put her fingers over his mouth.

“Our thanks,” Bethral growled. “But no.”

“Oh,” there was silence for a moment. “Well, if you are sure.”

“We are sure,” Bethral responded. “Has the sun set yet?”

“Oh yes,” Cosana replied. “Arbon and I will take watch until it gets too dark to see. The rains will start up again, probably around full dark.”

“Good,” Bethral said.

“Are you really sure?” Cosana asked quickly. “About the sharing? Because I—”

“Yes,” Bethral growled. “Very sure.”

Cosana sighed ever so sadly. “Well, then, your food is by the fire.” She walked off quietly. After a moment Bethral took her hand from Ezren’s mouth.

“Even her footsteps sound crushed.” Ezren gave Bethral a grin. “How could you deprive her of a chance to teach us all the customs of the Plains?”

Bethral sat up, reaching for her tunic. “I don’t share the sharing, beloved.”

Ezren sat up. “Say that again.”

She looked at him, her blue eyes startled, then warming. “Beloved.”

He took the tunic from her hands. “It is after sunset, Angel.”

“We should eat.” She looked at him from under her eyelashes. “And bathe. Before the rains start again.”

Ezren caught his breath. She was so lovely, her long blonde hair spilling over her shoulders, hiding her breasts. How in the name of the Lord of Light could she love . . .

Yet it was there, in her bright blue eyes and calm face. His heart started to beat faster as he reached for her and pulled her down to their bed.

She came willingly, she who could kill with a single blow, his Angel of the Light. Her mouth opened to his as she welcomed him into her arms.

No more waiting, no more teasing. One move, and he was over her, nudging her legs apart with his. She opened to him and he slid into her wet heat. He froze, breathing hard as she moaned. “Bethral?”

Her eyes opened, their blue depths clouded with a haze of pure desire. “Ezren, please . . .”

He kissed her, thrusting as she arched her back and moved under him. He fought back his own pleasure, trying to make the moment last forever, but he might as well try to hold back the sun. He’d just enough control left to make sure of Bethral’s pleasure before he claimed his own shuddering climax.

Ezren collapsed on top of her, and felt her arms around him, stroking his back as he drifted off.

When he woke, she was sleeping next to him. He reached out, pulling a strand of hair away from her face. She opened sleepy eyes and smiled.

“I had planned to go slower, beloved,” he whispered.

“Any slower, any more waiting, and I’d have died.” Bethral bit his earlobe. “There’s time yet before the rains.”

Much later, after they’d loved and slept, they ate and bathed in the rain. The water of the pond was cold on their fevered skin. They returned to their tent, and dried off as best they could under the dripping branches.

Once they climbed into their nest, the blankets warmed their chilled skin. Bethral bound up her wet hair in a long braid, and they lay together and listened to the rain.

Ezren took her hand, weaving their fingers together. “Marry me, Bethral,” he dared to ask. “Be my wife.”

Bethral sucked in a breath, stunned into silence. She reached out with a trembling hand and stroked his face, her face luminous with quiet joy. “Yes, Ezren Storyteller, I would be honored to be your wife.”

Laughing and crying, they kissed. “Would you wear my ring? I wish we were in Edenrich. I would buy you the loveliest ring. I would not care how much gold it cost.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bethral said, tears in her eyes. “I’m more than satisfied with what a copper can buy.”

 

 

BETHRAL roused when Ezren stirred beside her.

She couldn’t see much, for it was barely dawn. Ezren was on his back, shifting restlessly under the blankets. Dreaming, perhaps. She shifted to face him, and reached out to stroke his face.

He was moving his head back and forth, as if arguing with someone. She whispered his name, and ran her fingers through his hair.

He settled then, with a sigh. She kept stroking him gently, easing him awake.

His voice was rough with sleep when he spoke. “Bethral?”

“Here,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Bad dreams?”

She felt him nod. “I need to go back,” he mumbled, and she knew he was only half awake.

“Go where, beloved?” she asked.

“There.” He lifted an arm and brushed her shoulder as he pointed. “Need to go that way. It is important. . . .”

Ezren went silent for a moment. Bethral put her head on his shoulder, and waited.

“Bethral?” His voice was clearer now.

“Ezren,” she answered. “You were dreaming.”

“There was some place I had to be,” he said. His voice was taut. “Some place important. Something I have to do.”

“You pointed toward the Heart of the Plains,” Bethral told him.

Ezren cursed in a language she didn’t recognize. “We need to keep moving, do we not?”

It wasn’t a question. His voice was flat and determined. She nodded against his shoulder. “I think so.”