A leafy green canopy floated above Nariah’s head when she opened her eyes. Gentle breezes rocked her back and forth beneath the trees in some sort of gossamer hammock. Faint tunes of a flute carried to her on the wind. Or was it a tin whistle? The sun’s warmth faded, but a crystalline figure like the ones she had seen at the druantia’s dance appeared with a bundle of cloth in hand.
“Where…?” Nariah whispered, her tongue dry as sandpaper, and her lips pulling painfully, as though locked in place.
“Do not fret, dear one,” a troll with a soft, lyrical voice cooed as she entered Nariah’s vision. “The Lady of the Woods has created a bunting… no, that’s not right… a safety? For your people.”
“A sanctuary?” Nariah wondered aloud. The troll’s large eyes brightened, and a smile curved her stone lips as she nodded.
“My sister…”
“Many did not pass through the forest,” the troll said. “The Lady sent the cursed back to your home. But you are free of curses. We have brought you through.”
Nariah tried to sit up, but her limbs simply would not move. Tears stung her eyes, and brought fire to the raw, burned skin on her cheeks.
“My place is with my people! I’m all they have left!”
The crystalline woman shook her head, draping a light, cool sheet over Nariah’s burning body.
“Sleep now,” the troll said. “We will find Rowan for you when you wake again.”
It struck her as odd that the troll called Life by his name, since they fawned over their lord so much the last time he was there. Her eyelids grew too heavy to hold open, though, and before she knew it, sleep overtook her.
* * *
Nariah woke from a sleep free of dreams to find that strength had returned to her body. Stars dotted the sky overhead, and the druantia’s music echoed from somewhere far away, much deeper into the forest.
Forcing herself up, she found her chest and stomach completely bare. Surprisingly, none of the skin beneath her clothes was burned during the fight with Irony, though she didn’t see how that could have been possible. Soft white robes lay on a tree stump nearby, and she hurried to slip one over her head.
Dozens of trees held fellow Ellonian survivors in similar hammocks to her own. Only one of them had seen more than ten winters, from the looks of it.
A stream trickled nearby, which she tiptoed toward as quietly as she could. The water promised cool relief for her burning arms and face, which had healed surprisingly well. Before her toes tapped the water, though, she paused. What would she see when she glimpsed her reflection in the pure, moonlit waters?
“Nariah?”
She jumped when Rowan laid a hand on her shoulder. Covering her face, she turned to keep her back to him as he tried to stand before her.
“Nariah, what’s wrong? Do you remember me?”
A bitter laugh spilled from her lips. Remember him? How could she not? He was the lord who loved beautiful, shiny things. The lord whose wish she meant to use to save her family, her people. A wish she’d somehow ruined and wasted.
“Don’t cast your eyes on me, lord,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut. “I have squandered your wish. I’m sorry.”
You should never have left it to me! She wanted to scream. Why didn’t your stone save my family?!
Rowan winced, but paused. Softly, he slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her close in a warm embrace.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her hair. “I told you I didn’t know how to wish correctly, either. You made a brilliant wish, Nariah. One that will slowly cleanse and balance out ages of sin and darkness.”
Nariah’s eyes blurred. She tried to hold the tears back, both to avoid the pain as well as maintain what little dignity she could, but it was too late. Sobs wracked her body, but she swallowed hard. She might shake, and she might cry, but she would not be found weak in his eyes.
Turning her to face him, Rowan lifted her chin.
“Nariah, look at me.”
She shook her head, her lips trembling even as she fought for control.
“Why?” he asked, the sadness in his voice only compounding the ache in her heart.
“Because you are the most innocent lord in the bunch,” she whispered. “And I cast flames upon anything I set eyes on, remember?”
Rowan’s arms dropped, and he took a step back. For several long moments, Nariah waited with her eyes closed, wondering if he’d left her alone. Her heart thudded in her chest at the thought. He was a lord, she knew. But there was something small between them that was not there with any of the others.
The lord of Life was kind, brave, and self-sacrificing in his own way. She’d long since quit begging for his brother, Death, to take her. But when had she started praying to Life in Death’s place?
A gentle kiss brushed one of her burned cheeks, and her eyes flew open. Rowan stood before her, hand outstretched, wearing nothing in the moonlight. Flames of a whole different kind flushed her cheeks then. He backed toward the water, motioning for her to follow him into the stream.
“What is wrong with you?!” she snapped as quietly as she could manage. Thrusting a hand toward the trees, she said, “There are children sleeping just over there!”
Rowan’s face fell, but he finally shrugged. Grabbing up what she assumed had been his clothes, she pitched them straight at his face before turning away sharply to go back to her hammock. What was with these lords? Her life was over, her family gone, and he had the audacity to proposition her out in the open without any hint of his feelings?
“Nariah…” Life’s hand caught hers from behind, clinging for all he was worth. “I’m… not a lord anymore.”
His words stopped her in her tracks. Chancing a look over her shoulder at him, she whispered, “What?”
Rowan dropped his robe over his head, and came to stand before her in the moonlight. For the first time, she realized how his eyes no longer glowed on their own account. His body had lost its extra shine. His eyes, such tired, worried eyes, held a human’s fear and uncertainty. Even Lily, his flying panda, was nowhere to be seen.
“How?” she whispered, dropping down on an empty stump. The former lord of Life sat across from her.
Twiddling his hands, Rowan looked up at the stars for a while before answering. Finally, he let out a long sigh.
“You… were dying. You’d given so much already. Your people have no one else. And… you bring out the best in everyone around you, you know? Even Karma, apparently.”
Nariah chuckled out loud, then clasped a hand over her mouth. Giving herself a second to make sure the others had not stirred, she leaned forward before whispering, “Very funny, Rowan. But Truett’s more of the jokester.”
She received no smile in return. Instead, Rowan’s eyes pierced her to her very soul. Respect lingered there, and maybe some lust. But, more than anything, when his gaze held hers, she found endless pools of hope.
“Oh no,” she whispered as her world twisted around her. Darkness edged into the corners of her eyes. Another vision?
Rowan’s hand clasped hers.
“Stay with me.” This time, the words were hers, her hands clutching his as strong as she could. “I… don’t want them in my head.”
Rowan nodded, then rose to his knees. Leaning forward, he brushed her lips with a finger. Curiosity rose within her. Could one kiss a lord—or former lord—and live? What was it that drew them together so strongly, even after so much death?
Rowan leaned forward, but Nariah looked away.
“Rowan…” she whispered, staring down at her scarred hands. “I’m not… pretty, anymore.” The words sounded silly, even as they poured from her lips.
“Pretty?” he asked, tilting his head.
“I mean, you know. I’ve always been so-so to begin with, but a lord—former lord—deserves beautiful people to—”
Rowan’s lips on hers cut her off mid-sentence. His hands brushed through her hair, then caressed her face.
“Nariah,” he breathed at last, keeping his forehead pressed against hers. “What you look like on the outside doesn’t matter. It’s not the outside that I gave up my immortality to be with. It’s here.”
His hand rested against her heart, bringing pricks of electricity with it.
“And here.” His other hand moved to rest on the top of her head.
“Raiyer won’t be happy about this,” Nariah pointed out, shuddering as she remembered the lord of Death’s cold threat at the temple.
“I’m mortal now,” Rowen said with a shrug. “Your healing, your very life, I bought from him with my own divinity. I don’t think he’ll be coming for you any time soon.”
As Nariah pondered the possibilities in Rowan’s words, her eyes traveled over the trees around her once more. Rowan promised her hope and life. They would have to leave Ellonian lands, though, if she were to escape her Doomsaying past.
“And Irony?” she whispered at last, hating to drag up the unspoken fear in her soul.
“Formless, since your mother ended her current lifecycle’s mortal form. And banished, along with Might and Destiny, until she can either round up all six lords and bring them back, or find her daughter.”
“Did you really steal her daughter?” Nariah asked, but Rowan only gave her a coy smile.
“Tell you what,” he teased. “Let’s get to know each other before we take the big steps, shall we? How about a dance?”
Even being so far from the druantia’s clearing, Nariah allowed Rowan to tug her to her feet. As he dipped her and spun her around under the moon, the unknowns of tomorrow faded away. She knew she would go back to Ellonai once she saw these children safely over the ocean to a new life. The cursed guard would serve her, she had no doubt. And she could win the people’s trust again, she was sure, with Rowan to smooth over their hard hearts and with hard work at side-by-side.
“We can start anew,” she finally said, resting her arms around Rowan’s neck. “But I have a feeling the goddesses are still going to want their Seer.”
Rowan grinned then, pulling her close in a tight hug. “That, dear princess, is the realm of the divine. Let the lords and goddesses work out their own spats; I think they’ve had more than enough of you to last ten lifetimes.”
* * *
The Lords’ Gambit Series Continues with the tale of the Warrior Monk Kritinia in volume two:
Monk of Death
Turn the Page to Start Reading Volume Two Now