The Overlord's Heir (8 page)

Chapter 9

Each breath
dragged from her chest, left jagged tears of pain behind. Sera and Assa sat on either
side of Miki’s bed and used a wet cloth to wipe her sweat-soaked brow. The Ba’asi
pushed the covers to her waist and laid a soothing hand on her stomach. Miki
flinched in pain from the small contact.

Her body
recognized each contraction before it built and tensed to withstand the agony
that spread from her torso across her abdomen and down into her lower belly.
The cycle had repeated itself for what felt like hours. Miki turned her head on
the pillow, surprised at how much energy the move required.

“My youngling, it
comes soon?”

The holy man had
removed his golden robes to reveal a tunic in white with white leggings. The
front of his clothing bore red stains she didn’t want to think about. His brow
creased beneath his troubled, green eyes but his mouth lifted in a gentle smile.
“Not much longer. Stubbornness seems to be a quality this one will bear.”

Miki wanted to
smile. Licking her cracked lips, she asked, “Is Vaan back?”

“Shh. Be easy,
Miki.” Assa counseled and leaned over the bed. “Warlord Argan sent a messenger
this morning. The Overlord will be here soon, I’m sure.”

She had no
strength left. All Miki wanted to do was close her eyes and rest. The door
opened and she jerked, her body half-rising in the bed so she could see. Argan
stood in the entrance, his eyes averted from the bed.

“Is Vaan here?”
She gasped, half-turning on the covers to face her mate’s best friend.

“Not yet, Mikayla.
The messenger has not returned but I vow…” He lifted his gaze from the floor to
meet her eyes and the heat blazing there had her falling back against the pillows.
“I vow, he
will
be here.”

Pain lashed out, cutting
off her response. A wave rippled through her body until she curled up as much
as her middle would deem possible. Assa and Sera cried out and rubbed their
hands up and down her arms, attempting to ease the pain for her.

“Do something,”
Argan snapped at the Ba’asi who once more checked Miki’s parted legs.

If only the
youngling would come forth. The heavy sensation and ache concentrated at her
opening felt as if she’d split in two. Miki gritted her teeth and hissed, her
head rocking back and forth on the pillow. Finally, she gave in and released
the scream rising in her throat.

“Good, the young
is coming.” Dimly, she heard the Ba’asi exclaim.

Burning. She was
on fire. Never before had Miki been consumed by such heat. Heart racing, she
bit out, “I want Vaan. I want Vaan.”

A rough hand
gripped hers and the bed depressed by her head. The palm calloused from
wielding a sword clamped tight to hers as if will alone could contain the
tearing in her abdomen. “You are a warrior, little Raasa. The Warlords have all
seen you as such. We are pleased the Overlord chose you as his mate.”

Blinking, Miki
focused on his words. “You like me?”

Sounds carried
from the doorway as Kavan and Balal entered the room.

“I did not say
that,” Argan joked.

Miki smiled and relaxed,
tense muscles easing for the moment. The Ba’asi moved his instruments around
and tugged on her legs.

Kavan faced Argan.
“The battle is won.”

Argan nodded. Then
ice coated his voice as he declared, “Burn them. There will be no warriors
honor for them.”

Sera rose to her
feet, moving her hands in a shooing motion. “You can’t be in the room during
the birth. All of you must leave.” She pushed them back and closed the door on
their anxious faces.

As Sera turned to
Argan, he only stared back daring her to attempt to remove him.

Argan remained.

Miki dragged in a
deep breath. This was not how she envisioned bringing her youngling into the
world. “Warlord Argan,” she murmured.

He leaned so close
his braid hit the pillow. “Speak, Mikayla.”

Miki couldn’t
recall if he’d ever directly used her name before today. “I’m tired.” Pain
drifted away and everything took on a hazy image.

“You can sleep
when your work is done.”

Miki smiled at his
arrogant statement and closed her heavy lids. She needed to tell him. “I fear I
may not survive.” It hurt to speak the truth but Miki knew deep in her spirit
that she would not make it.

“No. This I will
not allow. Vaan will kill me if something happens to you.”

Her mouth twitched
but he continued, “You are not to die.”

If she could voice
the promise, she would have. Another pain hit. Miki’s back arched from the bed,
only Argan’s hands keeping her from the risk of falling. Gut wrenching cramps
tore the scream from Miki’s throat.

“Mikayla!”

“Miki!”

Different voices
screamed for her. She wanted to answer but the pain swallowed her whole. Hands
grasped her legs, keeping her thighs open. Lips parted, Miki wanted to beg
Argan to tell Vaan of her love. Instead, her lids fluttered closed and darkness
beckoned.

***

Vaan leaped up the
stairs, ice trickling through his veins as his mind attempted to see a life without
Mikayla in it. The thought made it difficult to swallow. When the messenger met
his war party half way to Raasa, Vaan sought to bring himself back from the
rage. The Ba’asi worried Mikayla would labor soon. As Vaan crossed the gate of
his home, Balal and Kavan informed him that the rebel warriors from Kaban had attacked
and got through the gate.

A youngling wailed,
sending joy bursting through his heart. Vaan rushed passed the parted door and
came to an abrupt halt. Argan stood immediately and crossed the room. Gripping
Vaan’s arm, he pulled him back from the room and into the hall.

“No.” Vaan pushed
his friend but Argan shifted his weight and blocked him.

“Go in calmly, my
friend.”

The whispered
warning sent fear crashing through him. Chest heaving, Vaan pushed away and
strode quickly toward the bed and the lifeless form of his mate. Terror clawed
its way up his chest and the lump in his throat prevented him from speaking
further.

Beautiful black
hair lay about her head on the pillow. Mikayla’s eyes were closed, lending her
features a peaceful cast. The Raasa holy man sat on a chair at the foot of the
bed, his tunic and hands covered in red. Mikayla’s life blood. Breath stalling
in his chest, Vaan stumbled forward

With trembling
fingers, Vaan reached out to touch her still form. Gold skin hot to the touch.
But nothing else. A light blue sheet rested at her middle. She wore a pale pink
sleeping gown. No movement from the woman who owned his heart. The Blessed One
would not be this cruel and take her from him when they had just reached
contentment in their joining. Vaan dropped to his knees and threw back his head
to roar out his pain.

Assa approached, cradling
a blanket wrapped bundle. “The-”

“No,” Vaan growled,
keeping his back to her and staring at his mate. “Mikayla.” He whispered her
name softly and hunched closer to the bed. “Mikayla,” he repeated in a louder
voice. Fear thundered in his heart. “What have you done to her?”

The Ba’asi cupped
his shoulder. “The birthing was difficult. She fought to bring your youngling
forth.”

He could not think
of their youngling yet. Vaan brushed his hands over her head, his fingers
drifted down her soft cheek, the curve of her mouth where moist air met his
thumb. Vaan’s head snapped around. “She lives?”

Sera and Assa
stood together, each holding a blanket covered bundle. “She fought fiercely,
Overlord. There are two youngling.” Assa sniffed.

Two. Vaan choked
on a laugh. Ever did Mikayla do things her way. But his focus returned to his
mate and the breath warming his fingers.

“Time will tell if
she recovers but I warn you, she is destined for the Blessed One.”

Vaan had no time
for the old Raasa’s words. “She lives. She
will
live.”

“She is greatly
weakened. You must prepare yourself.”

Never. Never would
Vaan accept Mikayla leaving him. “Go. Your role is done.”

Sera and Assa
protested but Vaan came to his feet. “He stays if he helps Mikayla, otherwise,
his presence is no longer needed.”

“Whatever you
command, Overlord.” Argan spoke clearly behind him.

Vaan’s shoulders
slumped in relief. His friend would see to his wishes. Vaan climbed into the
bed beside his mate and carefully enfolded her in his arms. As her weight settled
against him, he buried his face in her neck and let the tears fall. He had
promised to be with her and failed.

Chapter 10

Morning came and
rays of sun striped the room, pushing back the darkness. A darkness that grew
in Vaan as each hour passed. Saran entered the room without knocking. “Brother,
your mate’s old friend is the only one we lost to death in the attack
yesterday. What would you have us do?”

Propped on his
elbow, lying on the bed beside Mikayla, Vaan brushed a loose strand of hair
from her face. He couldn’t stop touching her and waiting for some sign that she
felt him. Lifting his gaze, Vaan turned weary eyes to Saran. “Have you asked
the Raasa for their death rites?” He had no idea what they did when one of
their own died. After taking care of Tesai, Argan only told Vaan the matter had
been handled.

“Their holy man
defers to you. Eran was closest to your mate.”

Mikayla would want
her Noan treated with respect. Vaan glanced at her still form beneath the
covers. “If it would not offend, have a warrior’s burial prepared.” The
Overlord owed the elderly Raasa a debt that could never be repaid.

Saran’s glance
strayed to the bed. Vaan could not miss the sadness darkening his brother’s
gaze as he bowed and took his leave. Vaan did not care for the thoughts of
others. Mikayla had to live. All through the night, he sat in the chair by
their bed keeping watch over her. When he could bear the pain no longer, he
crawled into the bed and slept beside her. The only time Vaan left was if
necessity forced him. During those times, he had Kavan or Balal sit with her.
He trusted no other to protect that which was his while Argan saw to the
running of their home.

***

Later that
afternoon, Vaan followed the procession as it moved through the main hall, down
the stairs and out to the center of the yard of the compound. Servants had
dressed Mikayla’s Noan in a dark green tunic and matching pants. His body
rested on a flat
dyer
mounted on a large platform for all to see. With
his arms crossed over his chest, the old one looked at peace.

Saran’s forty
warriors from Kaban and Vaan’s fifteen Warlords started to sing. The words of
the March to the Hills rang loudly. Their voices rose in crescendo on the song
warriors sung to accompany one of their own to the Hills with the Blessed One.
Kavan’s smooth voice continued as the others faded off. The Warlord sung with a
purity that had to come as a gift.

He fought
bravely. Death shall not defeat.

Ever do we
honor him.

Warriors will
not forget. Our brother is not lost

He but waits
for us, holding a place on the Hills.

Ever do we
honor him.

The Raasa looked
on in amazement though tears left tracks on all their faces. According to
Saran, Raasa viewed death as another path the body took to continue life in
another realm. They buried their dead with no fanfare but Vaan insisted on a
warrior’s tribute. Mikayla’s Noan gave his life for her and Vaan would honor
his sacrifice.

Kavan’s singing
tapered off. Sera and Vesa held one another as they cried. Assa buried her face
in Balal’s chest, her lithe form shaking in grief. Vaan kept his sorrow deep
within. He only wished to return to his mate but she would want him to say
goodbye on her behalf.

Chapter 11

“Vaan, perhaps you
should listen.”

They sent his best
friend to plead. Vaan ignored Argan but his Warlord would not be denied. “In
all things I will follow your lead, I but ask that you listen as Overlord and
not as a warrior who pains for his mate.”

Vaan brushed
Mikayla’s limp hair back and caressed her cheek. No response. Not even a twitch.
She had been this way for two weeks, her body like death in the bed they
shared. “What would you have of me?”

Argan walked past
the bed toward the window and pulled back the covering blocking the mid-day
sun. “The Raasa have come.”

Vaan frowned,
squinting against the sunlight and faced Argan. “Who has come?”

“Raasa from the
near compounds come to honor your Mikayla.”

Reluctantly, Vaan
stood and left Mikayla’s bedside to approach the window. It took a moment to
understand what he beheld.

Raasa. Raasa spread
out beyond the gate, bald heads gleaming. “What is this?” His thoughts were too
muddled from lack of food and drink to comprehend. If this was an attack, it
was wisely timed for his concern for Mikayla occupied his mind.

Vaan checked the
inner courtyard but his Warlords did not seem alarmed. Saran and the contingent
of warriors from Kaban were still here. In fact, Mikayla’s people seemed
excited to see those on the outside of the perimeter. “Explain.”

“These are Mikayla’s
neighbors. Raasa from the five nearby compounds from what I was able to gather.
They come to honor the birth.”

Front and center,
two wagons overflowed with goods. Impatient hapfe danced on leads. There owners
soothed them easily. At least three-hundred men and women waited. He
could not fathom that the birth of a youngling caused
such a large showing. Turning a frown to Argan, Vaan asked, “You must speak
clear to me. Why are they here?”

Argan leaned
forward, his body extended slightly out of the window to point. “The wagons
over there are filled with food and drink. A gift from Lasan.”

The name meant
naught to Vaan.

“Some time back, Lasan
had very little food to keep his people fed when he received notice of Mikayla’s
intent to visit. It is an honor to have a fellow Su-Su pay a visit. When your
mate arrived with her guards, Lasan fed them all the food he had left. Too
ashamed to admit his troubles, he proudly put on an elaborate celebration for
Mikayla. The next day after she left, two wagons arrived at his compound overflowing
with food. The day after this, two more wagons arrived with cider and drink. On
the fifth day, Mikayla returned with Elson and shared how they managed their
stores and stayed on top of their inventory. Never once did she make mention of
his obvious fall on bad times. She handled it gracefully as a neighbor sharing.”

Vaan closed his
eyes briefly. He did not know of this. “How long?”

Argan knew what he
asked. “Lasan has waited six years for the chance to repay the debt.”

“Tell me the rest.”
For surely there was more to the woman he mated beyond what he knew in his
heart. Mikayla’s generosity of spirit was never in doubt.

“I am not sure
where he is but another Raasa male is here with gifts for the youngling. He and
his mate are most vocal about being admitted.”

Argan stopped speaking.
When Vaan turned from the teeming mass of people, his fearless Warlord
hesitated.

“Finish it.”

“It is a painful
tale, Vaan.”

“I would hear it.”
Anything to help ease the ache in his chest for his she’ma.

“Sendal and his
mate lost a youngling. Mikayla arrived at their compound in the first dawn of
morning and climbed in bed with his mate to hold her in her arms. They spent
the entire day in bed together crying. The next morning, Genisa and Mikayla
came downstairs to eat the morning meal. It was the first time his mate got out
of their bed in the six weeks since the birthing.”

He’d heard enough.
Vaan pushed away from the window, his heart thumping in his chest, hands
clenched into fists at his side. None of this surprised him. Mikayla’s heart
was a soft one and her people adored her. It would seem her loving spirit
extended beyond the gates of her home.

What angered Vaan
was that they had not returned her generosity in her time of need when his
uncle and Thenl threatened her life.

Vaan returned to Mikayla
and sat by her once more. “Turn them away.”

“Overlord, they
come to make amends. All know of your defense of her home. That the Kabanians
stood by her when her own people left her to her defenses is a mark of shame on
their honor.”

Vaan understood honor.
Still, he could not see past his mate and her pale features. No smile graced
her lips. Lifting the slim hand closest to him, Vaan pressed a kiss to the
delicate knuckles.

“Vaan, Mikayla
would want to receive them.”

Because she was
not a hardened Warlord
.

“They may seek
entrance but no one is allowed in the upper levels.” On that, he would not
sway. Her safety was his to guard.

“And the
youngling?”

In exasperation,
Vaan glared. “Ever do you push me.”

“It has been two
weeks, sire. Her people await news of the youngling.”

Since the one
cried constantly, Vaan was not sure how they missed the fact that the youngling
had arrived.

Argan pushed his
suit. “It is Raasa tradition to name youngling at birth.”

Mikayla had a
name. One she would not share with Vaan. Her amusement knew no end at his
frustration and everyone smiled when he threatened to cut his hair as a last
resort to get her to share. But she held firm.

Vaan could not
take that joy from her. “Mikayla will name them.”

“Vaan.”

Vaan lowered his
head to the mattress unwilling to listen to more while his heart was slowly
ripped from his chest.

“Your Warlords
await the naming too.”

Tradition. It came
down to tradition. Vaan straightened. He needed to think of what Mikayla would
want. It was time to put her desires above his own. But first, he closed his
eyes and whispered a prayer to the Blessed One.

“Do you pray for
her?” Argan’s tone was curious.

Vaan stood with a
grunt and released his mate’s hand. “No. I selfishly pray for myself. I pray
the Blessed One refuses Mikayla. I pray Mikayla is stubborn enough to not leave
me.”

He faced his best
friend after revealing his inner most thoughts.

Argan grinned. “It
is a good prayer.”

Vaan shoulder’s
relaxed and he returned the smile. The first one to grace his lips in days. “Where
are the youngling?” He had not seen them since he ordered the Ba’asi to take
them away. Facing them had made his pain all the greater because Mikayla was
not awake to enjoy the moment.

“Balal is with
them in the room next door.”

The room Mikayla
decorated with such pleasure.

Vaan stifled the ache
attempting to take hold and nodded. In the hall, Kavan stood guard at his
bedroom door. He tipped his head toward Vaan as the two passed and entered the
nursery.

Balal sat cross-legged
on the floor, his sword unsheathed on the floor for easy reach. In his arms, he
cradled one of the youngling who sucked eagerly on the bottle in his hands.
Between his legs, the second youngling whimpered.

“Sire, would you
hold your daughter?” Balal removed the bottle and the small mouth formed an
oval and yawned.

Assa took the tiny
one from Balal and came to Vaan. He forced himself to look. Eyes tightly closed
and a head full of dark curls. Assa pushed the youngling at his chest, leaving Vaan
no choice but to hold on or drop his daughter.

Rosy cheeks and a
rosebud mouth pursed as if still nursing. Green eyes blinked up at him and to
Vaan’s surprise, there were wisps of black eyebrows above them and tiny spikes
of eyelashes on each lid. Features so tiny, he could not imagine he and Mikayla
created something this small.

“Have you thought
of a name?” A half-smile curled Assa’s lips.

He wasn’t supposed
to. This was Mikayla’s role. She planned for this moment. Prepared. Vaan was at
a lost.

A name. He needed
to think of a name. One Mikayla would be pleased with when she awakened. When. Not
if.

Studying the
miniature face, Vaan decided. “She is the first born.”

“How are you
certain?” Argan peered over his shoulder to glance at the youngling.

“Because she is
quiet,” he murmured. Vaan remembered the horrifying details Argan gave about
the birth clearly. “She did not cry when she entered the world. We will call
her Erana.”

Assa stuffed a
fist in her mouth.

“For Mikayla’s Noan,
Eran. My daughter will be as wise as he was.” Vaan placed a gentle kiss on his
youngling’s forehead as his heart opened to accept this new love. “Welcome
Erana Mikayla Galip.”

Vaan handed Erana
to a crying Assa. “I would hold my other daughter, Balal, if you are done with
her.”

Balal flushed and
jumped to his feet, bumbling the pink wrapped youngling in his arms.

Argan swore,
stepping forward but Balal hugged her tight. “I would never harm the little
one.”

Vaan shook his
head and extended his arms for the now crying youngling. “I remember this one.”
The youngling who wailed as he raced to his room. He accepted his second
daughter. “She entered the world screaming and has not yet stopped.”

Everyone laughed
for the hall often filled with the little one wailing well into the night.

“Your Warlords
have taken turns sitting with her,” Assa informed him.

Vaan kissed the
red face and the cries turned to whimpers then silence. “My daughter is fierce
in spirit. Like Eran when he took a blade to save my mate.”

They all paused to
reflect on the old Noan’s last actions. Eran put himself between the sword of a
challenging warrior he had no hopes of defeating. There was no greater sign of
courage.

“She also carries
the blood of warriors in her. We will call her Arane Fenala Galip.”

Argan choked,
drawing Vaan’s attention. “Mikayla will kill you.”

Vaan smiled. “It
is fitting they have similar names since my mate graced me with similar looking
young. Never will I be able to tell them apart.”

“Now that they
have names, will you present them?”

Years of
friendship guided Argan, Vaan knew, because he would have avoided this moment
as well if possible.

Tradition.

Protective
instincts stirred. Vaan held the tiny body close to his chest. “Gather everyone
in the main hall. We will do so now.”

***

The lower level
was filled with as many Raasa as could fit. Tables had been shoved aside to
allow more space for those who chose to stand. His Warlords stood at the front
forming a wall to keep the crowd back from the stairs leading to the upper
level.

Sera and Vesa wove
their way through the crowd, removing plates and replenishing others. Taking a
deep breath as all eyes turned in his direction, Vaan forced his feet to move
forward.

Saran immediately
came to his side. His brother’s eyes dropped to the youngling then met Vaan’s. “I
sent my men back to Kaban. I am here for you.”

Vaan could only
nod.

The chatter
dwindled until quiet settled except for the mewling cries of his daughter. “It
would seem that Raasa tradition mirrors Kaban in that a naming ceremony is a
joyous occasion. I would honor tradition though my mate lays ill in our bed
above.”

Tears appeared on
the face of a few of the women and the males as well. They grieved openly while
his warriors maintained a stoic demeanor that did not hide their pain. Vaan
cuddled the youngling and smiled at the small hand that poked from the
blankets. “In Kaban, a warriors’ youngling receives blooded protection.”

Though lacking in
facial hair, the Raasa’s brow creased creating wrinkles of puzzlement. “The
proud father gives his dagger to his trusted warriors…”

A sharp gasp
stopped him from finishing. Vaan continued. “But all know of Mikayla’s temper.”

Some chuckled
outright at the truth he spoke.

“I would blend the
Kaban tradition with one I find favor in among the Raasa. Kisses shall take the
place of blood to combine our ways as my mate and I have blended our home.”
Vaan kissed the tiny forehead. “I offer the kiss of protection.” Without pause,
Vaan held up his first daughter in the air. “May my youngling be as wise as her
namesake. I present to you, Erana Mikayla Galip.” He lifted her high above his
head.

The hall erupted
in cheers. His Warlords and his brother dropped to one knee and unsheathed
their swords.

“All hail the
Overlord’s heir! Erana!”

They rammed the
tips of their swords into the wooden floor, leaving the handles to quiver from
the force. The display caused Vaan to steel his nerve. He had witnessed many
naming ceremonies but this was for one of his own.

Saran stood and to
Vaan’s surprise, stepped aside to allow Argan to pass. His friend dipped his
head to Saran before he stepped forward and with a nervous twitch accepted the
youngling Vaan handed him. Mimicking Vaan’s actions, Argan kissed the tiny
head. “I offer the kiss of protection. I will protect you when your father
cannot. Ever shall my blade stand between you and your enemy.”

Vaan swallowed. He
had not expected such a vow. Argan carefully cradled Erana and walked back
toward the line of warriors and passed the youngling to Saran who kissed her
brow and whispered words Vaan could not hear. After, he walked to a kneeling
Kavan and handed the baby into the waiting arms.

Kavan kissed the
youngling. “I offer the kiss of protection. I will protect you when your father
can not. Ever shall my blade stand between you and your enemy.”