Surprisingly, the interviews went smoothly.
The Vattoro clan arrived at their allocated times and did not put up much resistance to the guardian’s painstaking methods.
Oshali decided to sit in on the interviews of Zendyor and Sethorn. She reasoned she had already met Tyomar, and even though she was burning to see him again, the guardians might wonder why she would want to sit in on his interview when she saw him all the time. She was curious about the omega, but she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to sit in on the brothers. Based on what she’d read about each brother in her studies, Nyro was the least interesting—he was exactly what she expected a dragorai-alpha to be. Khyros, as the leader of the clan, was quite mysterious and somewhat intriguing, but it was Zendyor and Sethorn whom Oshali had read the most interesting things about.
Zendyor was notorious for his temper, which was more ferocious than the usual dragorai-alpha. His anger fueled his viciousness in battle, and many feared him, including other past dragorai clans. There were even reports that in his fury he had once killed a dragon with his bare hands. Oshali would normally choose to avoid any meeting with him, but within the confines of the guardians’ recording process, this was an opportunity to observe him safely.
Sethorn, however, was reported to have a cold cruelty about him, polar opposite to Zendyor. In the records, during the attack on the dragorai, many attributed the highly effective defense of the Vattoro clan to his foresight and strategies. It was unusual for a dragorai to think so strategically yet be an innately feral being. Those characteristics gave way to the rumors that Sethorn was highly seductive. Not satisfied with simply taking a woman to bed, he wanted every woman he desired to worship him, to be completely devoted to him, so much so that she would sacrifice her well-being to ensure his. He was so skilled at it that apparently many women killed themselves when he finally discarded him, having had his fill. It was even once rumored that he nearly seduced one of the Goddesses. No one knew which one, but one of the theories for why the Goddesses no longer appeared to their people, and hadn’t tried to save the dragorai when their numbers were threatened, was because one of the Seven had been fooled by Sethorn.
It intrigued Oshali. She didn’t believe the Goddess rumor, but the other accounts were still quite inflammatory. If it really was true, how he would behave with the guardians? It was said he could not be in the room with a beautiful woman without seducing her… if he decided to have her. Oshali doubted the Mheyu Guardians would be of any interest to him, but what if they were? It wasn’t as though the Mheyu were forbidden from sexual activity or even marriage—it was just that nothing could impede their duties, and from what she knew of them, it wasn’t their top priority. So she was intrigued by Sethorn, since he seemed to defy many of the common dragorai traits.
Thankfully, the interviews were organized within the week, and Oshali prepared for them while also focusing on the last few topics of her training.
Zendyor’s was first. Two guardians sat on either side of him writing notes on pages of parchment, while the main interviewer, Guardian Tavelai, sat in front of him. Oshali sat in the corner of the room out of the way, watching, listening, and making notes of her own, though she was focusing on the guardian’s process of questioning and not on what Zendyor was saying.
“Is there anything else you can think of that you would like to add to your testimony?” Guardian Tavelai asked at the end of her standard questions.
Zendyor shook his head. “I’ve told you everything I can recall.”
The guardian nodded and scribbled down more notes on her parchment before continuing her questioning.
He looked and sounded exactly like Oshali thought he would, considering his reputation. He had a similar wild and primal energy that seeped from him, similar to Tymoar, but Zendyor’s was unsettling. Even though he sat leaning back in the chair appearing comfortable and calm, it was as though chaos could occur at any moment. It was disconcerting, and made Oshali realize just how equally similar and different Tyomar was.
The tensest moment of his interview was when the guardian transitioned from asking about the details of the new pairing and began asking Zendyor about himself. He frowned and slowly leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands. Oshali held her breath. It was such a slight move, and yet it seemed so threatening.
“I cannot see how my personal feelings about my brother’s mating are relevant to your records, Guardian,” Zendyor said, his gritty voice echoing through the room.
Guardian Tavelai did well in her response. “How you feel about this recent development to your clan is just as relevant as the facts,” she said. “But you are only required to share what you feel necessary. You don’t have to tell us what you feel about it if you don’t think future generations would benefit from your insights.”
Zendyor’s jaw hardened as he glared at her, no doubt seeing through her goad. “It is our right to mate and breed, just like everyone else,” he said firmly. “That’s how I feel about it. Finding our mates and expanding our clan is natural. The fact it has been denied to us because of our circumstances does not make my feelings any more significant. Next question.”
Oshali stared at Zendyor, surprised. She expected him to refuse to answer, but not like that.
The guardian continued. “Have you encountered any female who has inspired anything different in you, any change in behavior, similar to what your brother experienced? Maybe someone new to your lair?”
Zendyor shot up from his chair, the guardians on either side of him jumping in surprise as his chair tumbled back, clattering to the ground. “That is a fucking ridiculous question!” he bellowed. “Not only is it none of your business, but the point of this interview was not to question me about my private encounters, but to focus on my brother.” He continued to bellow at Guardian Tavelai, who simply watched him, quietly in her chair. But Oshali noticed that even as she stared up at him, her hand was still scribing on her parchment.
Sethorn, however, was quite different. His eyes kept flicking to Oshali every few moments during the interview. Finally, when it seemed he was unable to continue to hold his tongue, he targeted a question directly at her. “You are my brother’s Mheyu, aren’t you?”
A thrill shot up Oshali’s spine, and she stilled, unsure how to answer. His brother’s Mheyu? Why did he phrase it like that? She wasn’t even an actual guardian yet.
Before she even had time to think of an answer, Guardian Tavelai him intervened. “You are only to speak to me in here, Anointed One,” she said respectfully. “Will that be a problem for your interview?”
Sethorn shot her annoyed look. “Why are all these other people in here if I am only permitted to speak to you?”
“For the accuracy of the reporting methods,” the guardian replied.
“You mean I cannot trust that you will accurately report what I say?” Sethorn said, his frown twisting into a smirk. His eyes flicked back to Oshali. “Why do you bother to wear a veil when none of the other guardians do?” he asked her, not bothering to wait for a response from Guardian Tavelai.
Heat spread up Oshali’s neck and she shifted uncomfortably in her chair, but that was the wrong thing to do—Sethorn was watching her closely. “Forgive me,” he said, his deep voice smooth. “I’m sure there are many reasons to shield your beauty, but I am curious.”
Oshali gripped her pen tighter and glanced at the guardian, wondering if and how she was going to reign him back in to focus on the interview.
“I suddenly feel sorry that my brother has been denied it for so many years,” Sethorn continued. He patted his knee. “Come here and let me look under it so I can report back to him.”
A burst of annoyance shot through her at his arrogance. “Your brother has seen me without my veil,” she found herself saying.
Sethorn raised a brow. “Oh?”
“Yes. It disappears when in the presence of good looks or intelligence.”
Sethorn’s expression grew hard, and Oshali simply smiled underneath her veil.
Of course, he was also very good-looking like all the other brothers, but he did not have that same raw divinity of beauty that Tyomar did. After seeing both Zendyor and Sethorn, it was clear to Oshali that Tyomar was special.
The interviews took place over two days and in the evening of the second day, Oshali flopped onto her bed exhausted. There had been so many procedures surrounding maintaining the records that the interviews seemed like they were probably the easy part. The good thing about being busy was that it took her mind off Silette and Joren. She wondered where they were in realm now, but the more she thought about them, the worse she felt. As much as they insisted they were her family, how could they be when they’d left? She was alone now.
* * *
Late that night, Oshali slipped out of her room and headed to the library.
When she wasn’t able to sleep, it was the best place to go.
It wasn’t really a library; it was a pretty, organized archive of the colorful history of the Twin Realms, but the children of the sanctum treated it like a library. Growing up, there weren’t many recreational activities, and it was the best way to learn about the Twin Realms, especially since the current war had distorted everything.
The library was semi-dark and quiet, like the rest of the sanctum, with only whispers of sound echoing from the guardians on night patrol.
Oshali slipped among the bookshelves and began searching for her favorite stories, the ones that inspired and comforted her the most when she was feeling down. With Silette and Joren gone, this was the worse she’d ever felt—lonely and completely at a loss as to what she was going to do when her twenty-fifth arrived. But there had to be something in the archives that could whisk her away for a while, take her mind off the betrayal she felt. There had to be.
While the sanctum was a home for many children who had been taken in, raising abandoned children was not the Mheyu’s primary purpose. The guardians were devoted to the legendary culture of the Thrakonds, the race of Gods rumored to have created everything in existence. In some of the origin texts, it was the Thrakonds’ language that created the Twin Realms, their spoken poetry that smoothed land, raised mountains and their songs that deepened waters and colored the skies. The earth was their playground, and they created the constant changing beauty of the seasons, the roughness of the wind and rain, and the harsh destruction of flame.
When the Thrakonds became bored with the Twin Realms and moved on to create other worlds and other lands, seven of them stayed. The Seven Goddesses. They were the ones who created mortals, many kinds that existed and perished over eons, though it was said they were most proud of the dragorai.
The Seven were the last remaining of the Thrakonds and their language—the language of creation—could never truly be spoken authentically by any mortal, but the Goddesses had to communicate with their creations so they taught them a simplified version. It was never known whether the Goddesses knew that version could, with the right song, and spoken poetry, control the ethereal magic that heavily imbued the land.
Oshali had spent hours in the library reading about it all with fascination; the origin of the Thrakonds and their language, the details of the Seven and how they organized life on these beautiful but ruthless lands. The various stories of all their creations were so vast it was impossible for Oshali to read it all, but she tried, searching for some reason why they may have abandoned their creations. Had they finally become bored too? Did they miss their own race? Had the greed and violence of the smaller mortals offended and disgusted them? It was a mystery that would probably never be solved, but Oshali had read everything she could about it.
Drifting along the shelves, she found herself in the section housing the dragorai texts and records. She ran her fingers along the spines of the records, smiling to herself. This was where she spent hours learning everything she could about their existence so she could become their liaison, even some of the private archives that weren’t available to the rest of the sanctum.
Many of the other children treated the records like stories to be read. Any scandalous story spread like wildfire around the sanctum in hushed tones. The fosters would meet to discuss the sensational detail, and of course, the extensive tales of the dragorais’ incredible sexual vigor and prowess were well-read and well discussed.
The dragorai were lascivious beings, keen to sate their desires as vehemently as they were to defend their territories. Some accounts claimed the dragorai would kidnap women and brutally force them to enjoy the depraved, animalistic way they had sex. There were an equal number of accounts that claimed that the dragorai’s bed activities were superior to any other being. But the negative opinions were drowned by countless testimonies from women who’d emerged from their lairs bruised and battered, looking as though they had been fighting the beastly dragon itself, yet gave starry eyed accounts of experiencing pleasure unlike anything they had ever experienced before. Every single one of these Mheyu-documented accounts was extremely explicit and detailed, and Oshali once again found herself captivated, equal amounts of horror and arousal at the idea. But soon the horror of it faded, and she frequently recalled the graphic details at night, her hand between her legs, biting her lip as she swallowed her moans, Tyomar and his gorgeous smile in her mind’s eye. She often wondered if it really was that good. Of course, she would never know.
“Oshali.”
Oshali jumped and spun around, her heart pounding in her ears that she’d been caught out of bed after the night bell.
Guardian Vy sat in one of the large, comfortable reading chairs in the center of the room, looking at her. She hadn’t been there when Oshali had come into the room, had she?
“Join me.” The guardian gestured to the chair opposite her.
Oshali made her way to the chair, unsure what she should say. The Guardians were strict about children being out of their beds at night, and they were even stricter about unauthorized access to the archives, but she couldn’t deny she had broken both rules. In the end, she said nothing. Settling into the soft chair opposite Vy, she watched her, waiting for her reprimand.
“Your training is over.”
Oshali tensed and leaned forward, her heart pounding. “How can it be over?”
“You’ve learned everything there is to learn and you are proficient.” Guardian Vy lifted a shoulder. “More than proficient, most have said.”
Oshali stared at her. “Does that mean I’ve… passed?”
Guardian Vy said nothing for a long moment, taking the time to observe Oshali. “You are one of the most rebellious children we’ve ever had here.”
Oshali drew in a slow breath and held it.
“You are incredibly bright,” Vy continued. “You have an unusual affinity for magic, a quick and brilliant mind, and your tenacious curiosity has helped you develop into one of the most well-informed and talented novices we have ever raised in the sanctum. But you have rebelled against almost every rule in one way or another. You have repeatedly questioned our lifestyle and the purpose of what we do. You’ve even gone as far as to question the logic and mindset of the Goddesses.”
Oshali wasn’t sure what to say. She’d certainly argued a lot with some of the guardians over the years when she was trying to understand their culture—why they simply recorded events rather than go out and live them—but she didn’t realize her questions would be considered unusual or disruptive. And yes, she had been very mischievous as she came of age, but most of the orphans had.
“But the fact remains that we believe you would be an excellent Mheyu Guardian,” Guardian Vy said.
“You do?” Oshali breathed out a heavy sigh. She’d been wondering where the guardian was going with this line of thought.
“Absolutely,” she replied. “You cannot seek the truth without a curious mind, and you certainly cannot record the history of events if you do not care enough to question how the information came to be. Being a Mheyu Guardian is not just about records and dates and archives, it is about the integrity to record history in a fair way. It is an incredible responsibility that many do not consider important, and yet it affects us all in some way or another.”
“You mean it will affect future generations?” Oshali asked.
“Not just them,” Guardian Vy said. “It affects us all right now.” She smiled at Oshali’s puzzled expression. “I’m sure your opinion of the dragorai would be different if you hadn’t studied every single thing written about them from times past,” she explained. “If you hadn’t gained an understanding of who they are and the significance of what they mean or meant to the realms, and what they have experienced and been through, it is unlikely you would feel or behave the same toward them,” she pointed out. “This knowledge affects your conduct now.”
Oshali nodded. That was true. “But not everybody reads the Mheyu records. It only matters if the information is passed on. Right now, it just sits here.”
Guardian Vy pursed her lips. “For now,” she agreed. “While the realm is at war, we cannot expect people will want to read them. But eventually, they will seek our records. There is a reason the warring king and queen do not attack the sanctum.”
“You think it is because we have the favor of the Goddesses?”
Vy’s expression grew sour. “The dragorai had the favor of the Goddesses and look what many mortals did to them.” Her lips puckered. “No. I’m sure that the Mheyu are being spared because whoever wins would like to rewrite our history, read all of our records and documentation, and either destroy or hide it. Then maybe create records in their favor. I do not think the king or queen are above doing that.” She held Oshali’s eye. “And I hope you can imagine the power that would give them?”
An uncomfortable shiver trembled down Oshali’s spine. The way Guardian Vy was talking, it was as though the Mheyu and all their work, over a thousand centuries of history, could be under threat. And that wasn’t something Oshali had ever imagined.
“The only concern we have about you becoming a Guardian is that rebellious nature you have,” Vy said after silence had stretched through the room. “The lack of control.”
Oshali frowned. “Surely I have proven I can control myself, Guardian?”
“I explicitly told you not to speak in the dragorai interviews. Not only did you speak, but you insulted one of them.”
Oshali was taken aback for a moment. She tried to explain herself. “He was trying to intimidate me. He talked about my veil and his brother—”
“So?” Vy’s gaze was stern. “Nothing is more important in that scenario than getting the testimony. Nothing.”
“Guardian Tavelai wasn’t saying anything,” Oshali protested. “She was letting him distract himself from the interview. There was nothing of benefit happening there.”
Vy leaned forward. “Wasn’t there?”
Oshali stopped to think for a moment, suddenly unsure. The guardians in the interview had still continued scribing, even when Sethorn had been speaking to her. Maybe there had been some benefit she hadn’t seen.
“We knew it was unlikely that you would stay with us once you turn twenty-five,” Vy said, interrupting her thoughts.
Oshali opened her mouth to speak but again, realized she didn’t know what to say. Part of her had truly considered what it would be like to stay, to remain where she was comfortable. But the only truly exciting thing about being here was talking with Tyomar, and that was more nerve-racking than anything else.
“But we allowed you to pursue earning the Gowns to help you take control of that curious nature you have.”
“So… you never intended for me to actually become a guardian?” Oshali asked, shocked.
“Did you intend it?” Vy asked back, not unkindly. “It seems to me your primary intention is to leave the sanctum. Attempting to achieve your Gowns when you have no intention of being a guardian seems like a cruel deception, Oshali.”
“No. I…” Oshali shook her head, trying to gather her thoughts and explain herself. Achieving her Gowns when she was not going to be a Mheyu Guardian seemed like a waste of time, energy, and effort for everyone involved, but she couldn’t have passed up the opportunity to do it—she just had to.
“It wasn’t just about keeping you busy,” Vy said. “Yes, we wanted you to remain challenged and engaged while here. Someone with your mind and your talents couldn’t have nothing to do until you reached twenty-five; it would have been all seven hells for all of us, not just you.” The corner of Vy’s lip curled up in a wry smile, but Oshali was too focused on what the consequences were going to be to smile along with her. “We thought you would do well too. We just didn’t expect how well. And now, after meeting with the Vattoro clan, circumstances have changed a little.”
Oshali frowned. “How?”
Vy leaned forward in her chair. “We believe they all will eventually find their mates.”
Elation and relief gripped Oshali, but only for a moment because Tyomar sprung to her mind. Beautiful, powerful Tyomar. He would indeed find his mate. The ugly feelings about that idea rushed back to her, but she tried to focus on what Vy was saying. “How does that change things for me?”
“We have an assignment.”
Oshali drew a breath in, her eyes widening. “For me?”
Assignments were one of the most exciting tasks that Mheyu Guardians undertook. They were missions to travel to different places across the realm to witness an event first hand, record a testimony, collect an item of importance, something the guardians could not do from inside in the sanctum. In Oshali’s opinion, assignments were one of the main reasons to even earn the Gowns, but not every guardian was trained to go on them. From Oshali’s understanding, the guardians who traveled were awarded certain privileges and protections, even with the current war that waged the lands.
“Currently you are the most appropriate person we have to do this assignment,” Vy replied. “You don’t have to go, but we would like you to. Once you complete it for us successfully, you will be free to leave the sanctum for good, like your friends.”
Oshali stared at Vy for a long moment as she thought. If she could go out into the realm as a Mheyu on an assignment, she would be able to explore while remaining relatively safe. It was the perfect opportunity to do everything she wanted and have everything she wanted for a short time. And it wouldn’t be a terrible thing to be away from Tyomar for the first time in seven years. “So if I take the assignment, I can leave the sanctum?”
“If you complete it successfully,” Vy added. “Though there is never any guarantee. You may not even survive it.”
Oshali nodded. “Right, but if I don’t go?”
“Then you stay here at the sanctum beyond your twenty-fifth,” Vy responded. “And spend your lifetime putting to use the years of training we have invested in you.”
“Oh.”
Vy leaned forward again. “I know you want to explore the realm. There are many benefits that your talents can offer the Mheyu Guardians, Oshali. If you are in any doubt about what your purpose is to the goddesses, or to the realms, you have a uniquely honed talent for everything we do here. You would make an excellent guardian.”
Oshali smiled, her face heating at the guardian’s praise. “I do love what you do here,” she admitted. “I just need something more.”
The guardian sighed and leaned back. “I know. Most of our young people do. They need to experience the realms for themselves and not just through words on parchment. It is unfortunate because some of them would no doubt do better if they stayed with us.”
“But don’t you allow them to come back if they choose?” Oshali asked. She already knew the formal explanation of why, but she wanted to hear Vy say it, because Oshali would love to explore the lands and then come back if she wanted to. But the Mheyu didn’t allow that.
Vy slowly shook her head. “There is a concept in the Thrakond culture that idle people among a group contribute negative results. Anyone here must be dedicated to the Mheyu cause. We guardians do not monitor each other, we trust each other to do what we are supposed to do. Every single guardian has faith in the Seven from the moment we put on our cloaks. The children who have never left, who have had that faith in the Mheyu and stay with us, are the ones that we realize and recognize to be faithful to our cause. The ones who want to go out and see what the world is like are not interested in that, so it would not benefit them to return here. We are not a shelter. We look after the innocent and guide them the best way we can until they are self-sufficient adults. That is as much as we can do. Everyone else has to make up their own minds and make their own choices. We cannot do it for them.” Vy looked closely at Oshali. “With you it is slightly different. You displayed certain skills before your time. You have an ability and talent for learning language that we have never seen in any other child in the time we have been here. We expect all who train in the Mheyu way, whether they end up as aides or novices or get their Gowns, to learn Thrakondarian and steep themselves in the history of the Thrakonds… but that doesn’t mean that they take to it easily. You have a gift, and that is what has led to this unusual scenario. So the decision is yours to make.”
Oshali leaned back in her chair slowly, exhaling a breath. She had been short-sighted and selfish to think she could go through all the training they’d offered and not stay around to make use of it. It didn’t really occur to her. The training gave her something to do and focus on; Silette and Joren had even encouraged her to do it. But it wasn’t fair to the guardians. Even if they had offered, she could have refused and made it clear she wasn’t staying, but she hadn’t wanted to let the guardians down. While she didn’t always agree with them, they had looked after her and the other children over the years without complaint. And even though her life may not be as exciting as she would like, the purpose of having children at the sanctum was safety from the horrific and arduous war. She held a great deal of respect for the guardians for that; their lives would no doubt be easier if they didn’t have to constantly monitor, discipline, and teach children.
And she also had to be truthful with herself about Tyomar.
As much as she wanted to ignore the pain that plagued at the thought of him mating, it clearly signified something she never wanted to admit. It was more than just desire and attraction she felt. And those feelings were strong enough to make her wonder if it would be so bad to stay. It wasn’t surprising she had been in denial about it—after all, he was her savior and, in some ways, her overseer. As much as it was against the guidelines, he asked her how she was, offered support in his own annoying way, and debated with her about a range of topics. But he was a dragorai. His affections could never be for a “lesser-mortal.” They considered the smaller mortals inferior—good for some things, like adoration and devotion, but not for anything significant. She’d like to think that Tyomar was different—he certainly didn’t treat her like she was inferior—but he treated her like a child. Yet what was Oshali planning to do? Stay at the sanctum, become a guardian and stay in love with the one man she could never have? A powerful dragorai who twisted her insides and left her tongue-tied most of the time. Was she to spend the rest of her life pining for him while he plundered and hunted and laid with every woman in his path? She didn’t doubt that Tyomar was just as wild as his brothers. Just because he was prettier did not mean he didn’t have the same instincts, the same drive. She had often wondered if being with him would be like what she’d read. To be destroyed by his savage kiss, to have him desire her… it was truly an unbelievable thought. It would never happen. Now, there was a real possibility his mate was waiting for him. And that made her feel incredibly stupid, because it illuminated the difference between them, something she should have always remembered; he was an anointed being, and she was a mortal whom he felt responsible for. That was all. And it wasn’t a reason to stay.
Her eyes flicked up to Guardian Vy. “You said this assignment was important?”
Vy nodded. “It is. If the Mheyu were to ever be under threat in ways I mentioned earlier, it would be very problematic for us. This assignment will help to protect us.”
“And you all believe I am best suited to it?”
“Yes. We hope that the extensive knowledge you have gained as a Mheyu will help balance your inexperience.”
Even if this was offered as an ultimatum, the guardians were giving her an opportunity to safely explore the lands, and afterward she would be more confident to go out into the realms and live her life, away from the dragorai and away from all rules and procedures. That was what she wanted, and that was what she deserved.
Her earlier excitement returned, slamming into her with the full brunt of all the years she had waited for the chance to leave the sanctum.
Deciding, she stood up, smiling at Vy. “I’ll do it.”
* * *
The next day, the buzz of excitement that floated around her body didn’t seem to want to fade. Everything seemed different now. Her immediate future looked bright, and so did her long-term future. With this assignment, she would get to do everything she’d wanted to do, and she was going to grab the opportunity and make the most of it.
As she was finishing her preparations, an aide knocked on her door
“The dragorai is here to see you again,” the aide said. “He appears agitated.”
Oshali frowned. Why did he need to see her again so soon? He saw her last week, and he had visited the temple the last two days when his brothers attended their interviews. Still, she promised him she would not refuse his requests for an audience again, and it would be an opportunity to say good-bye.
Sighing, she made her way to the older part of the sanctum, put on her veil, and fixed her hood over her hair. She walked out onto the platform; the breeze playing with her robes, and took her position. “By the grace of the sacred Seven—”
“You did not attend my interview,” Tyomar growled out. It was an accusation, not a question.
Oshali’s shoulders dropped, disappointment filling her that he was once again annoyed. She began the welcome prayer again. “By the grace—”
“Forget the fucking welcome prayer,” Tyomar bellowed. “Why did you not attend my interview?”
Oshali stared at him, bewildered. “I told you I may not be able to attend. Interviewing is reserved for the guardians—”
“You attended my brothers!” Tyomar almost roared. “Two of them! And yet you did not attend mine.”
Oshali face hardened as she glared at him. “I could only choose to attend two.”
“That does not answer my question.”
“I see you more regularly than I see your brothers, so—”
“So you wish to see my brothers?” His voice dropped to a deadly growl, and he clenched his fists, causing a ridged tenseness all the way up his arms to his shoulders.
Oshali froze. What exactly was happening here? What was he so angry about?
She exhaled and took a moment to quiet her thoughts. When she peered closer at him, she saw that he wasn’t just annoyed but angry. He was pacing at the edge of the ledge, watching her with furiously dark eyes, his neck bulging. Maybe he arrived angry about something else, and it had nothing to do with this situation? He shouldn’t have been expecting her to attend his interview in the first place. Maybe he was offended that she had attended his brothers and not his. Regardless, it shouldn’t have made him this angry.
In truth, she hadn’t considered that he would be petty about it, but Sethorn’s taunt flooded into her mind. Maybe he did believe that she was his Mheyu, and maybe it was time to dispel that notion.
Squaring her shoulders, Oshali spoke calmly. “I apologize if I offended you for not attending your interview, Anointed One,” she said, trying to keep as much annoyance out of her tone as she could. “However, there was much for me to learn from attending your brothers’ interviews.”
Tyomar paused his pacing, glaring at her. “Like what?” he demanded.
“To meet them and see how they respond to questions,” Oshali said. “There have been many records made about your clan over the years. It was unlikely I would get the opportunity again to observe your brothers, whereas I have regular contact with you.”
That seemed to make him even angrier. Damn it! She couldn’t say anything right. A rough growl erupted in the back of his throat, and his eyes flashed. Immediately a tingling sensation sparked in her stomach, swirling down between her legs, but she ignored it. She had to.
“It will please you to know,” she said, taking the opportunity to change the subject. “That I am now considered a full Mheyu Guardian.” She smiled at him. “My training was successful.”
The anger afflicting Tyomar slowly ebbed away. His fists relaxed and his eyes became more focused as he looked her over. “Congratulations, little cloak,” he said gruffly. “You are still wearing your usual gray robes.”
“My Gowns are being made,” she explained. “But they will be ready for me soon.”
Tyomar nodded, but he seemed distracted. “Does that change anything regarding you being our contact?”
“Yes. In a few days, I will no longer be your contact.”
“I see.” The dragorai was silent for a long moment, his face like stone. “So someone will replace you while you familiarize yourselves with your new duties? I’m not sure why it makes any difference if you are still at the sanctum.”
“I won’t be at the sanctum,” Oshali clarified. “I will be traveling.”
Tyomar suddenly tensed, his frown deepening. “What? Where could you possibly be traveling to?”
“Across the realm. I’m going to the South—”
His face distorted into an expression of disbelief. “No, you are not.”
“They have given me an assignment. It requires that I travel South.”
“You can refuse it.”
Oshali’s frown deepened, her annoyance building. “I don’t want to refuse it. I’ve been looking forward to exploring the realm since I was little.”
That seemed to disarm him a little, but he looked at her like she was insane. “You will be traveling into dangerous territories during a war, little cloak. Many lives have been lost in this war, and many lives brutally destroyed. Death isn’t the worse thing out there.”
“I know,” she replied, “but I’m prepared. I want to experience the realms. I won’t be risking my safety.”
“No. I forbid it.”
Oshali’s anger burst to the forefront of her hard-fought-for control, and against all of her training and all of her willpower, she snapped back at him. “You cannot forbid it! Your permission is not required.”
Tyomar’s face twisted into a snarl. “I’m sure that if I ordered the Mheyu, they would—”
“They would tell you we do not follow orders from the dragorai,” Oshali finished for him. “They are the ones who are giving me this assignment. What could you possibly say that they don’t already know about me traveling the realms?”
Tyomar shook his head. “You are going into this blindly. You do not know how much danger you will be in.”
“You think I am defenseless?” Oshali asked, almost laughing out loud. “You think I have absolutely no way of protecting myself?”
“Your Mheyu Gowns will not protect you from everything,” Tyomar bellowed. “You think guardians haven’t died out there? You do not know the people out in the realms, the lives people live that make them desperate and angry and do unspeakable things. It is foolish for you to make decisions about anything when you are wholly ignorant of what you’re getting into.”
Oshali huffed out a breath, realizing what was happening. Since he still thought of her as a child, he believed she was incapable of doing anything so adult as to travel across the realms by herself. And the more she thought of it, the angrier she became. Did he think just because he visited and spoke to her now and then that he could control her? Did he think that because he rescued her as a child, that her life belonged to him now? The only thing that rang true from her heated thoughts was that he still felt she was incapable.
Gritting her teeth, she surveyed where they were. High near the top of the mountain, the platform was wide enough for them to be ten feet apart, but behind Tyomar was an enormous drop and the rest of his mountain range spread out, vast and beautiful.
Oshali began to cast, drawing on the Thrakondarian language to create rhythm and pattern in her speech, building and crafting the gorgeous poetry that called on magic to aid her. It responded immediately, rich and plentiful, waiting for her instruction as it gathered. Tyomar’s face dropped, astonishment evident, but before he could do or say anything, Oshali launched into a sprint toward him. Everything she was about to do was against all rules, but Oshali was beyond that. She was too angry. She didn’t need him to cause problems between her and the Mheyu, and destroy her chance to go out into the realm. If he thought she was incapable, then she simply had to prove she was not.
Powering all her energy into her legs, she ran so quickly toward him he had no time to react. Veering slightly to his left, she jumped off the ledge, spreading her arms outward as she jettisoned herself out into the air. Magic buoyed her, allowing her to sail across the range in a beautiful, smooth arc. She kept casting, the magic flourishing under her, lifting her higher, and the wind rushed past her ears, rippling through her robes. Yelling out, she rejoiced in the rush of excitement and freedom. Twisting her body, she turned onto her back as she continued to fly over the range and was shocked to see the dragorai soaring after her, his handsome face contorted with fury. Calling on magic again, she angled lower and increased her speed, but he kept with her, adjusting his direction to match. Casting again, she bore right, whipping past mountain peaks as her speed continued to increase, but the dragorai was still gaining on her as he chased.
If it wasn’t for how angry she was, Oshali would be enjoying it. Soaring through the air, aided by magic, over his range, trying to out race him was never something she thought she’d be able to do, and yet the joy of it seeped into her bones, cooling the flames of her annoyance with him. As common sense returned, she recognized the potential foolery of her decision to jump off the ledge only aided by magic. Most casters never did that. Magic was usually unreliable through speech, and anyone who was not significantly proficient in casting would risk their life doing what she was doing. Tyomar could argue that to prove she wasn’t ready.
But she knew she had been well trained. Her magic had never wavered, never failed her since she was eight. She had tried this before in the sanctum garden, when she had been unattended. Every so often she practiced it, although, of course, she had never flown across a range, so high, and with such a dangerous drop if the magic were to fail. Still, she had never felt so sure of herself or her abilities as she did right now. She would not allow the dragorai to make her appear as if she were foolish. Muttering under her breath as she cast, she twisted around, heading toward the sun, allowing its rays to warm her face. Closing her eyes, she took a moment to enjoy every single exhilarating experience filtering through her body. The wind in her ears, fresh air on her flesh, the weightlessness of her body buoyed by magic, the rich exuberance of the abundant magic that surrounded her, and the freedom.
Something hard and heavy slammed into her, wrapping itself around her and weighing her down. Oshali fought for a moment before realizing it was Tyomar. He wrapped his arms around her torso and pressed her flush against him, trapping her. She stilled, her mind spinning.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!” Tyomar roared. The vibration of his voice boomed through his chest onto her cheek, but Oshali barely noticed. Warm, smoky, and rich, his scent clouded her nose, seeping into her and sparking a strange excitement that gripped her whole body. He smelled so good! She pressed her face into his chest and breathed deeply, taking at least three lungfuls, almost intoxicating herself. Within moments, she was pressing herself against him as hard as she could before realizing what she was doing, which was basically making a fool of herself.
She stiffened, blinking as she focused on his continued tirade. “Unhand me,” she ordered, interrupted him. “I’m completely capable of flying back to the sanctum.”
“Do you know how dangerous what you just did was?” Tyomar bellowed. “Not even we, the dragorai, make a habit of traveling through thin air with only magic to support us for any length of time! You could have fallen.”
“I would not have fallen,” Oshali argued. “In case it has escaped you, I’m an excellent caster.”
Tyomar fell silent for a long moment as they soared back to the sanctum. “You are proficient in magic.” Again, it was not a question, and yet Oshali still felt the need to respond.
“I am fluent in Thrakondarian, yes.”
Tyomar made a noise the back of his throat. “That I am aware of,” he said tersely, “otherwise you wouldn’t be able to communicate with me at all. But knowing incantations is completely different. How did you learn that?”
“It was always part of my training,” Oshali said. She glanced at him. “You know the Mheyu are excellent casters, too, don’t you? They’d have to be.”
“Do they teach everyone Thrakondarian at the Mheyu sanctum?” Tyomar asked.
Oshali shook her head.
“Then why did they teach you?”
“It came easy to me,” she said, shrugging. “And it made sense for me to learn properly after I accidentally made all the books in the sanctum dance for five days.” She shot him a look. “So you can let me go.”
“No.”
Oshali exhaled in frustration and fought against him, but his hold was too strong. So she began to cast…. Potent magic swirled around her once again before filtering between them to pry them apart.
“Stop it!” Tyomar thundered, his arms jostling her slightly as he looked down in fury.
Oshali didn’t. She continued casting, glaring up at him.
So Tyomar began to cast too.
Magic twisted, sparked, and transformed in jagged motion around them as they tried to outcast each other, but Tyomar’s arms remained tight around her—no matter how hard she tried to escape them.
When he flew them back to the ledge, their landing was rough. Coming in at a strange angle, they crashed to the ground and then rolled over each other a few times before coming to a stop.
Oshali groaned, trapped under Tyomar’s weight, their legs tangled. An aching pulse embraced her shoulder and hip, and she was sure she heard her robe tear, but a low groan came from the alpha on top of her, and she realized Tyomar’s nose was pressed against her neck. Her whole body responded immediately, that familiar jitter expanding over her.
She intended to push him away but her palms ran up his muscled arms, the arms she had been watching for seven years, and her mouth went dry.
When Tyomar rose up onto his elbows, he looked at her with a ferocity that made her wince. He grabbed her robe with his fists and tore it in two, bearing her breasts.
Oshali yelped in surprise, but before she could say anything, his mouth was on her.
Hot, wet, and powerful, Tyomar’s mouth dominated her with a pleasure she’d never expected. He kissed down between her breasts, bit on her fleshy mounds, and licked the undersides. But when he sucked a nipple into his mouth, she lost all competent thought. Sensations careened around her body, making her whimper and grip onto his hard, bulging arms, and a powerful tingle heated between her legs.
The pleasurable rush increased as his attentions roughened; biting, sucking, frenzied laving, until Oshali was writhing in wonderful torment. He pinched her other nipple, sending a jolt through her before his mouth moved over, and she arched her back, eager for more.
But when his hand landed on her bare leg, she jumped, surprised, and Tyomar slowed. He rose slowly, his teeth pulling her nipple before releasing it, until he was leaning over her again on his elbow. His hand rose higher on her leg until it reached the thin material of her undergarment, where he slowly curled his fingers against her.
Oshali could barely catch her breath. She stared up at him in wonder, her chest heaving and her body tingling. At this close distance, she could see every beautiful feature on his face, and after having remained ten feet from him for so many years, he was even more dazzling than what she had seen from the distance. He pulled his hand away from between her legs, and leaned on both elbows, a strange look in his eyes.
Oshali blinked, her sanity slowly returning. Why had he stopped? Had he suddenly realized who she was?
When he spoke, his voice was husky and deep. “I forbid you to go. I want you here.”
He wanted her here? At the sanctum? While he waited for his mate to arrive? As much she wished she could lay like this with him all day, she couldn’t let him trap her here, no matter how much she desired him. She pushed against him, trying to wriggle out from under him, but he jostled her again with a growl so powerful, it vibrated through her body.
“It’s not about what you want!” she yelled at him, frustrated. “I am doing my duty as a Mheyu.”
Tyomar’s jaw hardened, but he said nothing for a long while. Then, he tucked an arm underneath her and got to his feet, lifting her with him.
Oshali fumbled to cover herself with her ripped robes but he held her close, pressing her breasts up against his chest. He held her like that for a moment, before Oshali realized he was looking down at her.
“Now that you are a full Mheyu,” Tyomar murmured as he searched her eyes, “does that mean that you will remove your veil to travel across the realm?”
Oshali reached up to touch her face. Surprisingly, her veil was still firmly in place. “Yes.”
Tyomar’s reaction was once again puzzling. His nose flared, his eyes flashed, and his already hard body tensed, sending shivers up her spine. He looked away as though he wanted to bellow a furious curse out over the range, but he didn’t. After a long moment, as if battling his own thoughts, his gaze returned to hers.
“When do you leave?”
“In three days,” Oshali said. “On my twenty-fifth.”
Tyomar nodded and slowly let her go, brushing his hands down her back, and over her bottom before returning them to his sides.
Oshali wrapped her torn robes across her chest, suddenly weak and cold without his touch. This was it—their final time together—and she wasn’t even sure what to say. “It has been a pleasure being your point of contact, Anointed One,” she said haltingly.
Tyomar didn’t respond, simply watched her with his hard, dark eyes.
Oshali inched back, waiting for him to at least bid her farewell. But after a long while it became clear that he was not intending to. Her heart sunk. This was the last time that they would ever speak, and he was behaving as though she was foolish and disobedient. Why couldn’t he be happy for her? She couldn’t help but compare it to her farewell with Silette and Joren. Good-byes made everything worse.
Lowering her eyes to his chest, she spoke freely, knowing it would be the last time. “Thank you for saving me, Tyomar,” she whispered.
His body jerked in surprise—it was the first time she had ever called him by name to his face.
“I owe you so much for bringing me here and assuring my safety. I have had such a great education, and it’s all because of you. I know I’m lucky. But I’m not taking it for granted. I will be fine out in the realm. I wish all the best for you and your clan.”
After she spoke, he still said nothing, and she couldn’t bear to look him in eye.
Taking a breath, she fumbled through the farewell prayer before turning and hurrying back inside. As soon as she was back inside the sanctum and out of his view, she leaned against the wall and burst into tears, a mix of emotions battling within her. Jumping off the ledge had been one of the most foolish things she had ever done, but also the most exhilarating. It was unbelievable that Tyomar had not only captured her midair but touched and… pleasured her afterward. It was the first time he’d ever touched her and the first time she’d been close enough to experience his scent and touch him back. It made her want to give up everything she’d just agreed with Guardian Vy. Every part of her body hummed, yearning for more of him—especially between her legs. An urge to pleasure him back had arisen, to run her hands all over him and crush her nose into his body and breathe him in forever. But she knew none of that could happen. Why did this have to be so hard!
Oshali remained against the wall, reminding herself of all the reasons she could never have him until her breathing came back under her control. Wiping her tears, she firmly pushed away the conflicting feelings—whatever the reason Tyomar was compelled to touch her like that, she couldn’t let it sway her. But she wished he’d at least said a proper good-bye. He had been such an important person in her life, and now that she was leaving she didn’t want to leave things badly. But she couldn’t do anything about about that. She needed to do this assignment, and more importantly needed to be strong about what she wanted her life to be. Finally, after years of dreaming about her freedom, it was time for her to experience it.