Herd Mistress (In Deception's Shadow Book 2) (27 page)

The rhythmic tug of a soft bristled brush being pulled
through her hair shattered the remnants of Sorsha’s dream. She blinked open
sleep heavy eyes, and try as she might, she couldn’t remember where she was.
But the strong arm around her back, and the other pulling the brush through her
hair, belonged to Shadowdancer so she wasn’t too concerned about the where.

“You’re awake?” He sounded nearly as relaxed as she
felt, so there couldn’t be any immediate danger waiting to sweep in and steal
her contentment.

“Hmmm, depends.”

“On what?” He chuckled, the sound more felt than heard
with her cheek and ear pressed against his chest.

“If I awake fully, is someone or something going to
demand we go on another suicidal quest?” Memories were stirring and they were
not overly pleasant ones.

Shadowdancer loosed another deep chuckle. “I think we
might be granted a few days of rest and relaxation, beyond that, I can’t say.”

“Oh,” Sorsha managed the one word before a big yawn
cracked her jaw. “So I take it we both survived. I thought I was dead for sure,
and then when I woke up here, I thought you’d died, too, and this was whatever
comes next...”

“I understand how you feel.” Shadowdancer resumed
brushing her hair. “I thought I was dead when I first woke up as well, but
between the Oracle and the Falcon Staff, we both were healed to battle again
another day. I was told when you recover fully you’ll again become the Oracle’s
Harbinger, with the full use of all your magic.”

“But I remember the bolts from the crossbow...and then
the deep cold of death creeping upon me.”

“I was told the Oracle gave us another ‘gift’ when it
made us its Harbingers.” His eyes took on a faraway look, as if he was
remembering something from long ago, or perhaps, a time he’d rather not
remember. “A preservation spell—one which triggers when it senses our heart is
about to stop. As I understand it, the spell suspends the last moment of life,
allowing the Oracle to heal either of us at a later time.”

“Ah. Handy, that,” What else could she say, she
wondered? To be so close to death, and then pulled back to the living, it was
power beyond anything she knew. But for all that, she realized one thing. “I’m
grateful.”

“No more so than I.” Shadowdancer’s arms tightened
around her.

She curved her fingers around his bicep, holding him
just as fiercely, admitting they had reason for being a little clingy. Hadn’t
she died once today? Or was it longer ago than a day? She had no real sense of
time. At the moment, she wasn’t so much concerned with how long she’d been
unconscious as how long her recovery might take. She leaned forward to nuzzle
him under his jaw.

“So we can’t shapeshift until we’re recovered?” Even
she heard the note of disappointment in her voice.

Shadowdancer chuckled again. “No. But don’t sound so
disappointed. I think there is someone else here you’d like to see and spend
time with. There will be time for us later. For now I’m just happy to have the
chance to walk beside you again.”

A smile pulled at her lips, his words warming her
heart more. “So, who is here that I’ll want to see?”

“If you want to know, you’ll just have to come,”
Shadowdancer’s demeanor switched to playful. “It’s a surprise—one I dare not
spoil for fear someone will try to make my life miserable in retaliation.”

With that he stood, pulling her up with him and
started for the tent flap. Sorsha, unable to slow his overeager progress,
almost found herself dragged from the tent in nothing but a silky robe and bare
feet.

“Whoa, there!” Sorsha tugged on her hand as she dug
her heels into the thick carpet underfoot. “Can I get dressed first? Boots
would be nice.” She tightened the sash. Normally, she wouldn’t be too worried
about modesty since Santhyrians didn’t even understand the concept, and the
rest of the Elemental races seemed to share their somewhat cavalier attitude
concerning humanity’s need for layers of clothing. But if she was about to meet
persons of importance, she’d prefer to do it fully dressed.

Shadowdancer regarded her with a scowl for having
postponed his surprise, but he shrugged and let her dress without comment.

* * * *

Outside it was midmorning, and the day was bright,
warm, and more beautiful because Shadowdancer was walking beside her. She cast
a subtle look up at him out of the corner of her eye. Granted, she felt like a
child next to him, but their present physical differences couldn’t put a damper
on her happiness.

“So where is this surprise?”

With a mysterious look, he simply stepped to one side.
She looked beyond him to where he pointed.

She spotted the exotic silhouette of a Phoenix with
his back to her first. His broad wings blocked whoever he talked with from
Sorsha’s view. Then he shifted a wing and looked over his shoulder and smiled,
nodding to both her and Shadowdancer. The Crown Prince of the Phoenix was as
strikingly handsome as she remembered.

Then Sorntar moved to one side, revealing who Sorsha
had barely allowed herself to hope would be there. Ashayna covered the distance
with her scout’s long-legged, ground-eating stride, the one that even most
human soldiers had trouble matching over any distance.

“Ash!” Sorsha’s brain moved faster than her legs, but
belatedly she broke into a run, almost tackling her older sister.

With a grunt, Ashayna absorbed the impact, maintaining
their balance so they didn’t tumble to the ground. “Easy,” Ashayna laughed,
“Don’t give Sorntar ideas. He’s fond of play fighting. One person tackling me a
day is enough.”

“Ash, what happened with you and Sorntar? The Oracle
said Sorntar had been corrupted.” Realizing she might have reason to fear,
Sorsha shifted her gaze to the Crown Prince, but honestly, he didn’t look all
that dangerous. For all his height, massive wings, and long tail, he was still
lithely built, somewhat like a human—a far cry from the muscular bulk of one of
the Santhyrians or wolf-like Lupwyns.

“Yes,” Ashayna said after a slight hesitation. “His Larnkin
carried a darkness no one was aware he possessed, but Sorntar’s Larnkin is
healed now...it’s a long story. One I’ll gladly tell you in full at a later
time, but there is something we must do that can’t wait much longer. We need to
heal the Falcon Staff. With her help we might have the power to face the Dead
King and free Lamarra without bloodshed.” Ashayna pulled away until they were
at arm’s length, giving her a once over. “Sorntar said you were recovered
enough to aid with healing the Staff. I wanted to judge that myself.”

Sorsha eyed her older sister. “I’ve come this
far—became a Harbinger, rescued the Staff, was almost killed by the Acolytes.
But I survived all that...I’m a Stonemantle. And no one, not even you, will keep
me from finishing this.” Her fists had clenched at some point; she forced them
to relax at her sides.

Ashayna just laughed and then looked over her shoulder
at Sorntar. “Your Larnkin is correct, Sorsha is healed enough to help. And
while she might not be fit for a battle, I’d rather not fight and find out,
which is what will happen if I try to block her from joining the circle.”

“While my Larnkin, Itharann, is sometimes...misguided,
seldom is he wrong when it comes to knowledge.” Sorntar’s expression held a
hint of shame or embarrassment, Sorsha wasn’t sure which.

Looking between the two, Sorsha wondered just what Ash
had had to endure to ‘heal’ Sorntar’s Larnkin. Ash had a way of understating
the difficulty of events.

“Join the circle?” Sorsha asked instead, sensing some
deeper meaning to the words.

Sorntar, who had come to stand at his bondmate’s
shoulder, took a half step back and extended one wing to where a large group of
Santhyrians milled near the river.

“What are they doing?” Sorsha squinted. Shadowdancer’s
sire was there. With Darkmoon’s coloring and build so close to his son’s, he
was easy for her to recognize even over a distance. And the Santhyrian closest
to his flank might have been Shadowdancer’s dam, Windrunner. It looked almost
like the herd was arranging themselves in a large circle, but Sorsha couldn’t
discern exact details over the distance.

“They’re waiting for us to join them—if you’re ready,
we can go now.” Sorntar smiled up at Shadowdancer this time. “You’re family
herd is much less suspicious than the Elders, even after what Itharann did to
Winter’s Frost and Flame.”

Alarm kicked her heart into a faster pace. “You did
something to my friends?”

Sorntar’s gentle smile faltered and vanished.

Ashayna stepped forward, taking up a protective stance
in front of her bondmate. “Itharann enslaved Winter’s Frost and Flame to do his
bidding when he was still under the influence of darkness. Sorntar was as much
a slave as the two Santhyrians. You know that ‘long story’ I promised to tell
you later, this is a big part of it. Both Santhyrians have recovered and
forgiven Sorntar. Let it go for now. They are with the Herd; you’ll see them
shortly.”

“What Ashayna says is true.” Shadowdancer placed a
hand on Sorsha’s shoulder and squeezed. “My sister came to visit me while you
still slept. She told me a little of what she and Summer Flame endured at
Itharann’s hands. And while they will never forget what occurred, they have
come to accept that each of us must face destiny in our own way, though I think
Winter’s Frost has always possessed more fortitude and forgiveness than I.”

“Forgive me, Prince Sorntar.” Sorsha mumbled a swift
and mostly heartfelt apology. “I didn’t intend to imply guilt. Your words
merely surprised me.” What she really wanted was to ply Ash for more
information, but she realized if Sorntar, Flame, and Winter’s Frost had all
been slaves to a Larnkin, there was a good chance Ashayna had been enslaved at
one time, too. Sorsha would let it go. But she would learn what had happened to
her older sister as soon as there was time. For now, Sorsha allowed herself to
be led out to where the Herd waited. Shadowdancer trotted at her side.

As promised, both Summer Flame and Winter’s Frost
broke away from Darkmoon’s side and came over at Sorsha’s approach. She eyed
them critically. They did seem unharmed by whatever ordeal they had endured.

“Hello, little human. I’m delighted to see you
survived your trials.”
Winter’s Frost
bobbed her head in greeting, and then ambled over for a scratch under her chin
and another on the withers. After a few more scratches, a snort, and an all
over shake, the mare stepped to the side, her eyes dark with the shadow of old
sorrows.
“There was a time I didn’t think any of us would see each other
again. Never have I been so glad to be wrong.”

Sorsha grinned. “I’m happy you were wrong, too.”

Apparently tired of waiting his turn, Summer Flame
butted his head into her chest, seeking his share of attention. Sorsha obliged
with a laugh, the tight knot of apprehension in her middle easing at last.

After the quick greeting, and the promise of a longer
one later, both Santhyrians rejoined the rest of the Herd. Their heartfelt
greeting warmed some of the chilly uncertainty in Sorsha’s heart and allowed
her to walk into the center of the waiting herd with more confidence.

She had no idea what to expect when she reached the
middle of the large circle, but the small area of trampled grass with twelve
complex runes burned into the ground wasn’t it. Somehow, she’d thought healing
the Falcon Staff would require a temple, a crystal Ward Stone, and the magical
non-water from an Oracle’s pool.

A laugh had Sorsha glancing up at her sister with
curiosity, wondering what Ashayna found so funny.

“You should see your face.” Ashayna stopped laughing long
enough to answer Sorsha’s unvoiced question. “I’m sure I had that same exact
look on my face when Sorntar burned that simple circle into the grass. But his Larnkin
says the Twelve do not require great temples or worshippers, Ward Stones,
Oracles, or bonding chambers to fuel great weavings. We are magic, in its most
primal sense. Or at least, that was the nonsensical explanation Itharann fed
me. Just nod your head and do what the boys suggest—that’s my plan. The sooner
this is over, the happier I’ll be.”

With an arched brow, Sorsha cast Ash a quizzical look.
It seemed while Ash had fallen in love with one of the most powerful of the
magic-wielding Phoenix, she had yet to develop much tolerance for magic itself.

Ash snorted. “Don’t give me that look. I’ve come a
long way. A little over six moon cycles ago, I loathed and feared magic like
any good, untutored bigot.”

“Peace.” Sorntar step between them. “We have work to
do.”

The tall Phoenix led them into the circle, pointing
each of them to one of the twelve symbols burned into the grass. Sorsha stood
looking down at hers. It was a swirling, pretty thing of tight curls and
elaborate knots. She hadn’t a clue as to its meaning. Her gaze followed the
pattern and it seemed to glow in her mind’s eye.

Blinking spots from her vision, she looked around.

Now what? Sorsha mouthed.

Ash rolled her eyes in her bondmate’s direction, one
eyebrow raised. Sorsha followed the move and noticed Sorntar nod to something
behind Sorsha’s back.