Herd Mistress (In Deception's Shadow Book 2) (28 page)

Parting down the middle, the Herd allowed Herd
Mistress Neveyah to make her way through. She was followed by a procession of
others. After a moment’s study, Sorsha recognized some of them as the Lupwyn
and Phoenix healers who had tried to heal Shadowdancer after the Wardlen
attack.

Five matching pairs of Santhyrians followed next with
heavily gilded litters perfectly balanced across their broad backs. The poles
of each litter were padded to prevent slippage, but otherwise were without
harness or restraints that Sorsha could see. Only the Santhyrians’ natural
grace and perfectly matched strides kept their burdens from crashing to the
ground.

As the first litter reached her position, Sorsha stood
on tiptoes and peered at what it held. Not altogether surprised, she spied
pieces of the Falcon Staff resting on plush black cushions.

With a hardy dollop of humor, Sorsha realized the rest
of the Elementals treated the Falcon Staff with a great deal more respect than
she and Shadowdancer had during their hurry to rescue the talisman. Sorsha
touched on the blurred memory of dumping out their supplies before haphazardly
tossing pieces of the Staff into the two rucksacks.

As the first pair of Santhyrians reached the circle
burned in the grass, four Lupwyns stepped forward and relieved them of their
litter. Neveyah approached them next and gently removed the Staff pieces to
place them in the middle of the circle.

All watching remained silent as the Herd Mistress
repeated the procedure four more times. When at last the Staff in its entirety
rested among the grasses, Neveyah turned and gave a bow to both Sorntar and
Ashayna and then turned and bowed before Sorsha and Shadowdancer.

“May the Twelve grow strong and true once more.” After
Neveyah’s words whispered into silence, she straightened, and then backed from
the circle.

Sorsha watched her go with a sinking feeling and
wondered if she’d let her Stonemantle bravado lead her into another awkward
situation since she didn’t
actually
know the slightest thing about
healing a shattered Talisman, and nothing Shadowdancer had taught her about her
magic was helpful in this circumstance.

“Don’t worry.”
Ash’s mental voice suddenly invaded Sorsha’s worried thoughts.
“We don’t
actually have to do much, just aid Sorntar by feeding him power. His Larnkin
will to the repairs needed.”

Sorntar started to sing. It startled Sorsha at first;
she hadn’t thought of music being a way to summon magic, but as Sorntar’s voice
rose from a deep chanting rumble to true soaring song, shivers coursed up and
down her spine. And her own magic stirred in answer to Sorntar’s summons.

Across from her, Ashayna stood with her head bowed.
Magic, like a pale silvery fire, flickered along her skin before flowing to the
ground. The symbol at her feet glowed with power. Startled, Sorsha looked down
upon herself to see a similar sight.

To her right, Shadowdancer was likewise rooted to the
ground, magic flooding from him as he swayed to the power of Sorntar’s song.

Magic burned around the outside circle, rising high
into the air. Reaching higher still, it formed a dome of fiery protection.
Sorsha closed her eyes against the intense brilliance. She gasped in wonder,
the flicker and dance of magic still visible even behind her closed lids.

It felt right, summoning power, giving up self for the
greater good of the Twelve. They were never meant to be alone, she realized.
The Twelve broken asunder was unnatural. She sensed the wrongness of it, four
when there should have been twelve, and she vowed to fix that too, after she’d
faced the Dead King and freed Lamarra.

Power overwhelmed her then, and she no longer
concerned herself with the future; worries fled before the Falcon Staff’s need.
There was only now. And the need to heal what was broken.

Sorntar’s beguiling song continued to weave in and
around them, but Sorsha’s mind started to work once again, and she detected
more purpose to his magic as if he was now focusing in earnest.

Sorsha blinked open her eyes and squinted until they
adjusted enough to make out a burning column of power at the circle’s center.
Sorntar stood, bent ever so slightly toward the Falcon Staff, his wings out
stretched before him, blue fire dripping from his crest, wings, and tail.
Ashayna had told her about a Phoenix’s ability to burn without harm, but seeing
it still took her by surprise.

She took a half step back.

“Easy, love.” Shadowdancer soothed her.

With more inquisitiveness than fear, she looked back
toward the Phoenix in time to see his magic flare. The column of fire
surrounding the Staff flared in unison. Then in a blur of motion, Sorntar
folded his wings and dropped to the ground in a deep bow. Shadowdancer and
Ashayna joined their leader in homage.

Sorsha dropped moments behind the other two, wishing
someone had given her some kind of warning. She chanced a glimpse up at the
column of fire to find it gone. In its place, the Falcon Staff stood ruffling
her wings. The gilded statue’s talons gripped the delicately carved filigree at
the top of the staff. Three gold bands hugged the polished black wood near the
top and another three circled the lower third of the staff.

Not a blemish marred the wood; it was as if the damage
had never occurred.

Sorntar stood first, and then he held a hand out to
Ashayna and helped her to her feet. Together they approached the Falcon Staff.

So focused on what they were doing, Sorsha didn’t see
Shadowdancer’s out stretched hand until he waved his fingers in her face. She
took it then, giving his fingers a squeeze, and allowed him to pull her to her
feet without taking her eyes off the other two.

The golden falcon moved as if alive, preening her
feathers and shaking out her wings before hopping onto Sorntar’s offered arm.
As Sorntar talked with the Staff, other Elementals began gathering, asking him
questions.

So they had recovered one of the Twelve Talismans.
Sorsha wondered what was next.

Warm fingers brushed along her jaw before cupping her
cheek. “Your eyes are expressive, but your mind is closed.” Shadowdancer’s warm
breath fanned across her ear. “What are you thinking?”

“That we still have so much unfinished business.”

Shadowdancer pulled back a little and his voice
sobered. “Yes. I hardly know what to think or where to begin.”

Sorsha sensed he’d read more into her words than she’d
intended. The moment of joy his touch inspired evaporated. “How is it that we
won a victory and yet I feel so defeated?”

“Because you still fear Lamarra’s fate.” Shadowdancer
supplied the very thing which caused her the most bitterness.

“Yes. And duty demands we see to Trensler as well.”

“But we don’t have to face him alone.”

With his words Sorsha found her eye trailing back to
where Ash stood shoulder to shoulder with Sorntar. The Crown Prince was
surrounded by others Sorsha hadn’t met in person, but by their demeanor she
assumed they were Elders or Council members.

“You’re right. At least now we have help. Never again
will we be alone in facing either Trensler or Dakdamon.” It slowly dawned on
her what the members of the Twelve were to each other. “We’re a family.”

She studied Ash—the Destroyer, protector of the
Twelve. Then her eyes slid to Crown Prince Sorntar’s tall form next. He was the
Judge; a figure of wisdom and authority.

But what of Shadowdancer and myself?
She had a harder time picturing their roles in the
Twelve.

“Should I be jealous of a certain Phoenix after all?”
Shadowdancer snorted with humor and she remembered back to one evening long
moons past when they’d walked the night together, and he’d asked would it have
been better if the gods had made him a Phoenix.

“A Phoenix? No, but there was one fellow I miss. I’d
first mistaken him for a drunken sailor who snuck into my room naked as the
dawn. Him, I thought rather handsome even as I chased him through the window at
arrow’s point.”

“Oh, him.” Shadowdancer laughed harder. “I think he
might be able to make an appearance again someday soon.”

“I’d like that.” She twined her fingers with his.

“Good, but first I think our noble leader might have
need of us.” Shadowdancer gestured with his free arm, taking in Ash, Sorntar
and the growing crowd. “Sorntar is looking more like an untried princeling than
renowned Judge, Leader of the Twelve.”

“You might be right,” Sorsha chuckled. “I think our
‘family’ may have need of us. Lead on, love.”

Shadowdancer tucked an arm around her shoulders and
they made their way over to where Ash and Sorntar were fending off Council
members and Elders alike. Sorsha sighed, thinking the next few candlemarks
might be more trying than facing down twenty Acolytes. She’d never been fond of
politics, but at least the one she loved was with her.

She’d survive a round or two of politics and then
spend some much deserved time with Shadowdancer and their families. And then
they would find Lamarra, reunite the Twelve, and deal with Trensler.

The End

Thanks for giving
Herd Mistress
a try. If you
enjoyed the read, you may also like Betrayal’s Price, book one of my In
Deception’s Shadow series. Death’s Queen, book three, is forthcoming summer of
2015.

I’m also launching a newsletter for fans, highlighting
future projects, sample chapters, freebies, review copy giveaways, contests and
more. To gain access to those kinds of fun tidbits and bargains, just visit my
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http://www.lisablackwood.com/
  and sign up for my newsletter.

Lisa Blackwood grudgingly lives in a small
town in Southern Ontario, though she would much rather live deep in a dark
forest, surrounded by majestic old-growth trees. Since she cannot live her
fantasy, she decided to write fantasy instead. An abundance of pets, named
after various Viking gods, helps to keep the creativity flowing. Freya, her
ever faithful and beloved hellhound, ensures Lisa takes a break from the
computer so they can rid the garden of cats with delusions of conquest.

* * * *

Betrayal’s Price:

A Fantasy Romance Novel

Chapter One

Ashayna shivered at the slow tickle of moisture down her back. The
day had dawned unusually humid for so early in the spring. Still, her
discomfort had little to do with the heat and everything to do with the
stomach-souring dread currently tying her in knots.

 Glancing down at the tracks she’d been following since dawn,
Ashayna frowned. Her anxiety spiraled up another notch as an unseen force
guided her mare around a pile of deadfall, taking the same path as the tracks.
Lupwyns had increased their raiding in recent days, and she’d seen similar
sights on other scouting missions. At first glance, this set of prints was
ordinary enough, but it didn’t explain why she couldn’t set one foot in any
direction but forward.

Lord-Master Trensler and his acolytes would be quick to label what
forced her onward as ‘demonic magic’—the darkest of evils. If she had to call
it something, she preferred the name ‘sentience.’ It was somewhat less dire
than calling herself demon possessed. A chill swept down her spine at the
thought. Naming it didn’t help her out of her current predicament, nor did it
explain how she’d become possessed in the first place, or why the sentience was
so interested in this particular lupwyn’s tracks.

Time to test fate again
. Her stomach
twisted as she exerted her will against the sentience and reined in
Swiftrunner. Her mare halted with a questioning flick of one ear. Ashayna
sought a calm place in her mind while she waited. It didn’t take long for the
reaction she had come to anticipate.

Spreading out like ripples on a pond, waves of hot and cold washed
over her, flowing down her arms all the way to her fingertips while other
tendrils reached out for the rest of her body. Power. Magic. Heresy
.
It
wouldn’t be long before iron bands of pressure forced her into obedience like
it had the last four times she’d stopped or turned away from the tracks.

“Fine. You want me to follow these damned tracks?” Ashayna
challenged the sentience. “I’ll follow them.” With a huff she dismounted and
glared at the prints. “But my horse isn’t going to become some lupwyn’s evening
meal.”

She started up the trail, one slow step at a time. With each one,
the sentience loosened its hold by small degrees, much like a snake uncoiling
from its lifeless kill. A shaky breath escaped her. “I am a Stonemantle. I am
not afraid of you—whatever you are. I. Am. Not. Afraid.” She wasn’t certain if
she believed herself, and doubted the sentience believed her either.

Pressing the heel of her palm against her forehead, she tried to
stave off the beginnings of a headache left over from the rapid departure of so
much power. It probably wouldn’t work, but at least the sentience was content.
For now.

Ignoring the grasping fingers of the wind, she pushed errant strands
of hair back from her face. Much like the wind, the sentience was unpredictable
and dangerous–and just as persistent.

Ahead, the prints veered off the path, sloping toward where she
could hear the soft rumble of a stream. A hemlock’s expansive branches obscured
her view. With a muttered curse, she ducked under the wet foliage. The stench
of rotting vegetation rose up to swirl through her nostrils. Prickles of anger
danced along her control when her feet slipped from beneath her and she slid to
an ungraceful heap next to the water’s edge.

The sensation of being herded hadn’t ebbed completely. She gritted
her teeth, wanting to strike out at something, tired of feeling helpless. But
fighting, yelling, or sobbing wouldn’t do her a lick of good. Answers were what
she needed most, and the only way to get those was to continue on the path the
sentience chose. She flexed her fingers to stop their shaking. She just hoped
her own personal curse didn’t get her killed by a lupwyn. Or worse, burned
alive. A shudder raced over her at the thought of the punishment awaiting her at
the hands of her own people, should her demonic possession be revealed—maybe it
would be better to be a lupwyn’s dinner after all.

Hunkered on her heels she appraised the ground. Ignoring the icy mud
and moisture seeping between her boot laces, she sank ankle deep into the
quagmire. The tracks didn’t disappear into the water; rather, a little ways
north of her position, three sets of tracks now marred the mud.

She crouched next to the new tracks and skimmed her fingertips along
them with a light touch, afraid the saturated soil would collapse. Embedded
alongside the familiar prints of a lupwyn was a much rarer track. Human-like,
the prints had three elongated forward-facing toes and a thicker, heavier digit
at the rear. Each ended in a deep gouge mark where talons had sunk into the
soil.

Sticking a finger in the icy water she measured the depth. A low
whistle escaped when her fist touch the mud before her finger reached the
bottom.

“Damn big talons.” Though she’d never seen their likeness, she knew
these were made by a phoenix. They fit the sketchy descriptions she’d heard
soldiers whisper about when the acolytes weren’t near.

Was this what the sentience wanted her to find?

She glanced up, scanning the stream and its bordering trees. Their
branches far enough apart, a phoenix flying overhead might be able to navigate
between them to land safely in the water.

A phoenix here?

This new development explained the increased lupwyn patrols she’d
been evading. This was the closest the enemy had ever come to the vast city of
River’s Divide. What if they were mobilizing for an organized attack?

She prowled along the stream, scanning the ground for more clues. A
few steps from where the phoenix tracks first emerged from the water, something
glimmered in the dappled light filtering through the canopy. Ashayna edged
closer until the mystery resolved itself into a bit of silver and a bright
slash of indigo. Reaching down, she plucked the silver chain from the mud.

An indigo feather the length of her hand dangled from a silver
clasp. Frowning, she stroked a finger down its silken length. A surprisingly
pleasant scent, reminiscent of heat, spice, and the crisp fresh air of a
mountain plateau, tickled her senses.

And it wasn’t the only thing tickling her senses. An alarmingly
familiar mix of heat and cold was stirring in her blood again, tightening its
bands of control. Numbness spread across her palms. Her fingers tingled with a
frosty ache. When she tried to drop the necklace, her hand wouldn’t obey.

Even as she backed up the slope to solid ground, the hairs on the
back of her neck stood. Desire rose, so strong it robbed her of her breath.
Power radiated out like tentacles. Not again, she moaned at the sudden rise of
the sentience.

Like a hound on a scent, it flowed below her skin, alternately
caressing, and then probing forcibly at her mental barriers. A second wave of
energy crashed against her shields, buckling them. The sentience invaded her
mind. Where fear and desire had been its favorite tool, it now flooded her with
joy. Delight, elation…those feelings seemed too small, too insignificant to
encompass what she felt beneath her skin, within her mind. Her possession was
now complete—every sense was alive with the feelings, even as she watched it
from afar. Almost against her will, her hands looped the medallion around her neck.

Silvery flames burst to life along her arms to pool between her
hands. It didn’t hurt. Agony she could have dealt with, this…this new sense of
rapture was so much worse.

A cloud appeared in the air, to hover an arm’s length from her.
Faint as smoke, it thickened, swirling and rolling like fog. Churning and
spinning, colors danced until it had grown in size.

Vivid greens, muted greys, sun-bleached whites. They formed a stone
courtyard adorned with fountains, statues, and lush foliage. Then darker whorls
of indigo mixed with lustrous browns, coalescing into an exotically handsome
man. He was tall, bronze-skinned, bare-chested, and wore some kind of bright,
indigo-colored cloak. The cloud of magic spun itself larger, revealing more of
the man. Oh, it wasn’t a cloak. He had…wings. Not a man at all, this must be a
phoenix. She glanced at the indigo feather hanging from the necklace, then
lifted her gaze to what—or rather who—might be the source of the feather. While
she’d spent a dumbfounded moment staring down at the feather in her hand, he’d
turned, his back now to her as he looked out over a stone-tiled courtyard. His
fingers tapped against his thigh in clear agitation. From behind, he looked
less human.

A stiff breeze ruffled his crest feathers into disarray and
plastered a long, fan-shaped tail against his calves. He whirled around,
whipping his tail out of the way, and paced in her direction. She focused on
his face. His strong brow, well-defined cheekbones, and firm jaw surpassed
human beauty. Still, the intensity of his gaze would give a wise woman pause.
She wasn’t sure if his frown was a normal fixture or just a reflection of some
inner conflict.

Her gaze roamed his broad shoulders, down the naked expanse of his
muscular chest to his waist where a paneled-leather kilt hung low on his hips.
He truly was majestic, exuding a sense of contained power in his every move.

“Hmm, perhaps I’m not the wisest of women.”

She sighed, mentally pushing aside the faint hint of longing. There
would be no place for such feelings. It was war, and those who commanded armies
had already decided their species would be adversaries. “Yes, he’s attractive,
but you must have other reasons for revealing him to me.”

Magic swirled faster through her blood. “Guess that’s a yes.”

Wincing at the throb in her head, she concentrated on his image.

He paced in a semi-circle, his frown deepening as he searched his
surroundings. When his gaze locked onto something in her direction, tension
rippled along her spine and lodged between her shoulder blades. Graceful,
predatory he stalked toward her and swiped the air. Nothing happened. He
continued to look perplexed, his feathered brows furrowing into a frown.

Sweat dampened her skin in a sudden cold flush; her breath grew
shallow. Ashayna scooped a handful of debris and heaved it at him. It flew
through the image and smacked into a tree trunk behind it. Was it just a vision?

His expression turned thoughtful. Tilting his head to one side, he
closed his eyes. His lips moved, shaping unknown words. Instantly, the
sentience flared in response, sending a wave of its foreign wanting through
her. She clamped her will down, determined she wouldn’t be enslaved. A rush of
power surged through her mind, expanding out, breaking past her control. For
one horrifying moment she felt her body gathering itself to move closer to the
strange window, but blessed and merciful Creator, something distracted the phoenix
from his work. He looked over his shoulder to someone behind him, just out of
Ashayna’s range of view. The outer edges of the magic window blurred,
softening...until, one tendril at a time, the cloud destabilized and vanished.

With the disappearance of the window, the wellspring of the
sentience’s chaotic magic slowed, its attacks less focused. Slowly, its chilled
touch receded from her mind and followed her blood vessels back to her heart,
where the sentience coiled in upon itself. She sucked in a surprised breath and
flexed her fingers to restore circulation.

Was the strange window to some distant place really gone?

Ashayna hugged herself, cold down to her soul. Shivers started in
her arms and fingered their way down her back. Even her knees shook. A pulse
pounded in her head. The ground heaved uneasily to her eyes.

Woozy, she slammed a shoulder into a nearby tree for support. Rough
bark bit into her back, grating against her leather vest as she slid to the
ground. Pine scent engulfed her. Her hair snagged in the bark and tangled in
the small drops of pitch leaking out of fissures.

Lowering her head, she pressed her forehead against her knees. “I’m
a Stonemantle, I don’t cry, I will not disappoint my father. I can deal with
this. I
will
deal with this.” She inhaled slowly, forcing her breath
through her nose and willed her heart to calm.

Something nudged against her hip. A strangled sound, half grunt,
half yell, burst from Ashayna’s throat. Swiftrunner shoved at Ashayna a second
time, continuing her quest for one of the few patches of grass struggling to
grow in the dense shade. A shaky laugh escaped her. She shifted her knees and
the mare snatched up a mouthful of greens.

When Ashayna’s body shivered as her sweat cooled, she reached for
the new weight around her neck. Wind caught at the feather, making it dance on
the end of its silver chain. From the coloring this feather belonged to the
phoenix she’d just seen in her vision. It seemed the sentience was very
interested in making his acquaintance.

She closed her fist above the delicate clasp and brought her other
hand up to stroke the feather. Its strangely familiar scent wafted around her.
Gently she tucked the feather under her vest, ignoring her first instinct to
rip it from her neck. After all, she might find a use for the necklace at some
point, and it seemed to pacify the sentience.