THE SHADOWLORD (16 page)

"Make me yours, beloved." She brought up her legs to capture his hips and anchor him to her.

The tip of his fleshy sword entered the sheath of her heat. He sighed, giving in to the undeniable urge to claim her as his. He thrust slowly into her warmth, driving to the hilt of his weapon. Her moan of pleasure swelled his heart with pride.

He rode her like a man possessed, taking her hard and deep, and branding her flesh for all time. His seed shot into her waiting core, and his name on her lips as release found her brought an answering howl from his straining throat.

Satiated, truly fulfilled for the first time in his life, he rolled onto his back, pulling her with him, settling her body full-length against his. He held her in his arms and darkness came to the grotto.

When he awoke, he was shocked to feel the stickiness of his night emission clinging wetly to his thigh and puddling beneath his rump. The ripe stench of spent semen made him frown. He threw back the covers and left the bed. Going into the bathing chamber, he relieved himself, then washed the telltale wetness from his flesh. Upon returning to bed, he stretched out under the covers as gently as possible to keep from waking his new bride.

He could not remember ever having what the soldiers vulgarly called a Wet Mare. He wasn't sure if he should be angry or ashamed that he could not control himself. Rarely did he feel the need to take matters into his own hands to relieve the physical urges that sometimes plagued him. Saahira's none-too gentle ministrations when she visited his quarters did nothing more than eliminate his pent-up fluids, and he had never taken pleasure in her grudging hands.

Turning his head, he stared at his sleeping bride and wondered what it would be like to hold her as he had in the dream. He longed to know the feel of her naked flesh, ached to enter her and experience the pleasure of her. Watching her sleep, he saw the vulnerable side of her, the defenselessness of her position, and felt so protective, so grateful she was his, he spent the next few hours studying every square inch of her face. When sleep finally claimed him, there was not a mole or a freckle, a tiny blemish or vein he did not know by heart.

Aradia rose well before dawn, quietly leaving her marriage bed and the man whose light snores made her smile. She padded barefoot to the inn's kitchen and, to her surprise, found no one there. In most establishments, the proprietor and his workers would be laboring away, preparing a meal for their guests. Such was not the case here, and Aradia felt she knew the reason--she and her husband were not welcome.

Gritting her teeth to the insult, she searched for coffee. When she found it, she began to brew a pot, her anger lending speed and complete dedication to the task. Rummaging about the bins, she discovered bread and cheese, then added fig preserves, a couple of oranges, and a few pomegranates to her hoard. When the coffee finished perking, she placed everything on a tray and returned to her room. Just as she neared the door, it swung inward. Jaelan stood there shirtless, barefoot, with his leather breeches unbuttoned at the waist.

"It's still raining," she said as she passed him, "although lightly."

"You'll get used to it," he said, swiping an orange from the tray.

"No one else is up."

"Oh, they're up. They have been for hours."

She placed the tray on the table by the bed. "Then where are they?"

"Most likely with Samiel." He peeled the orange, sat on the bed, and crooked one knee on the mattress. "If you noticed, you were the only one who ate last eve."

Aradia's eyes narrowed. "They did not feed you?"

"They never do. I don't come here often, but when I do, they make sure not a crumb passes from their hands to my belly. If I want it, I fix it myself or I go hungry."

Hands on her hips, muscle working in her jaw, she turned to him. "Are you hungry now?"

Jaelan held up the orange. "Starving," he replied, then plopped a section of fruit into his mouth.

"Then by the goddess, you'll be fed!" She stalked out the door.

Chewing another orange section, Jaelan melded his mind with hers and read her angry thoughts. He tracked her through the inn to the kitchen and winced at the uncharitable feelings running rampant in her mind. She made a racket, throwing around pots and pans, and generally destroyed Jahna's kitchen as she set about preparing a meal she thought would satisfy his hunger. His stomach growled at the thought of being fed, and he leaned back on his elbow, slipping the last of the orange into his mouth. Crossing his bare ankles, he contented himself to wait for the meal he knew would be the best he'd ever had.

Provided Aradia knew how to cook!

Samiel let the curtain close. "She's in your kitchen."

"I figured as much," Jahna grumbled.

"I'll not clean up after her," Sofia said. "And neither will Naseema!"

Jahna rolled his eyes. "It is not the lady who is our enemy."

"It is not her I mind feeding!" Sofia's hands curled into fists. "Though she threatened me."

"If he were your husband, you'd have done the same," Samiel remarked.

Sofia threw him a look of disgust and went back to her knitting. Naseema was sitting beside her mother-in-law on the settee.

"She is nice for an Amazeen," Jahna commented. "I would not like to make an enemy of her if I could help it."

"She should be pitied," Sofia decreed. "I can not imagine any woman surviving being Joined to that son of a jackal."

"I warned her not to Join with him," Zaitan, the Magistrate, put in. "He has no doubt put a spell on her, for she would not listen to reason."

"The boy has no such powers," Samiel said.

"Who really knows what evil that
boy
is capable of?" Sofia demanded.

Naseema moved to the window. She pushed aside the curtain and looked across the courtyard, seeking out the young woman who had married the village's hated son. Upon observing smoke wafting through the chimney, she turned to those assembled and made the sign for fire.

Jahna hitched his shoulders. "Let us hope she knows what she's about, else she may burn the place down around their ears."

"He
should be burned," Sofia said. "I would give much to see him chained to the stake and the faggots lit beneath him."

Samiel frowned. He hated Sofia's savage words, but he could say nothing to his dead wife's sister that would make her see reason. She had always viewed Jaelan as an interloper; an unwanted blight on the family, and her hatred of him had only grown in leaps and bounds through the years. And the death of her only son at Jaelan's hands had driven her to the brink of madness.

"Be careful what you say, woman," Zaitan cautioned. "He hears every word we think."

"Let him," Sofia snapped. "He knows I hate the ground he walks on. I would like nothing better than to see him in pain!"

"I believe he would like nothing better than to see you in pain," Zaitan commented.

"Before any harm is done, someone should ask them to leave," Samiel said. He looked expectantly around the room. When no one met his gaze, he let out a long breath of air. "I suppose that someone must be me."

"You are his
father
, are you not?" Sofia threw at him.

"You'll not let me forget my mistake, will you?" Samiel shouted, having reached his limit.

"When you forget your mistakes, you're doomed to repeat them," Zaitan said. "Our village might not survive another such tragedy."

Aradia placed a tray of food on a table near the window where her husband stood staring across the courtyard. He had consumed all but the bread and fig preserves she had earlier provided. She sighed. "You'd better eat every morsel of this, warrior."

Jaelan glanced at the meal. "You
do
know how to cook." He took up the platter laden with salted fish, fried bread, and crisp sweet potato wedges.

"Of course, I know how to cook," she snapped, offended.

"Anything other than things you soak in grease?" he asked, sniffing a potato wedge. Deciding it smelled all right, he popped it into his mouth and grinned. "That's good."

Aradia grunted and tore off a chunk of the bread she'd brought in earlier. She spread fig preserves over the light brown surface. "I'm curious..."

"About what?"

"Things," she said, then poured him a cup of black coffee.

"What is it you wish to know?"

"How did you come to be in this evil place?"

"Samiel bought me as a present to his wife," Jaelan explained as he ate the fish and fried bread. "They had been trying to have children for many years, and she was near to the age when she would no longer be able to bear one."

Aradia poured herself a cup of the aromatic brew. "So he brought you."

"He thought he was doing something that would please her. Despite the wickedness in that woman's soul, she loved her husband and wanted to please him. She told him how thankful she was to be given a child to raise."

"That was a lie?"

"Meridia did not want a castoff brattling from another woman's womb. She wanted a child of her own. She hated me on sight, but did not let Samiel know."

"He didn't sense it?"

"Samiel was a caravan leader, like his father before him and his father before him. They had been granted the route between Abbadon and Dahrenia from a charter given to their family from King Ranus' time. It was a profitable route and much envied among the Hasdu, whose businesses required them to travel about Rysalia. To safeguard his route and keep the charter intact, Samiel led the caravans himself. He was gone much of the time. When he was home, things were almost normal. Meridia treated me as she did Sofia's son, Rami. But once Samiel left, I was...at her mercy..."

"She abused you."

Jaelan picked at the bread in his hand. "There isn't a place on my body she did not beat when I was a child."

Aradia sat back in her chair. "And no one stopped her?"

"Why should they? I was not a native son, but an outcast from the Prophet-only-knows-where, the product of two unknowns who obviously didn't want me. I was nothing to the people of this village...disposable. What did it matter what Meridia and her sister did to me?"

"Did you tell your father what was happening?"

Jaelan looked away. "If I had, things would've only gotten worse."

"Did you ever consider running away?"

"Where would I have gone?"

Aradia shrugged. "Amazeen women are trained from childhood to look after themselves. Even in the middle of an ice field, there are ways to survive. The Sisters of Fate plan our lives from birth and They--"

"The Rysalian Goddess of Fate had plans for me, too, wench."

"What do you mean?"

"Females don't like me, or haven't you noticed? Even the goddess Mammetu. She spun her web to keep me here until the Prophet decided my
simtum
."

"What is that?"

"My fate."

"Which was?"

"As a Shadowlord," he said through clenched teeth. "By the time I was six, I knew I was different from the other children. Much to my surprise I could read Meridia's mind, hear what she was thinking, and knew when to avoid her. I took to staying away from home, fending for myself as best I could. Most of the time, they were glad to be rid of me. When Samiel came back, I would, too, and when he left again, I left. I stole food where I could find it. I learned to fish at Lake Ashwi. There was an old goat herder's hut near the lake, and I made that my home, stealing blankets and taking castoff clothing from garbage heaps."

Aradia winced at the thought of a lonely boy being forced to wear filthy clothing thrown away by people who should have been caring for him.

"It wasn't as bad as it sounds," Jaelan said, intercepting her thoughts. "I rather enjoyed it, because no one came after me with a belt or a switch. And no one called me bastard to my face or told me I was a demon from the Abyss."

"You must have thought you were evil when you read her mind."

"I have never thought of my ability as being evil. I think of it as a gift the Prophet gave me to help me stay alive."

"But others think it evil."

"That they do."

"How old were you when people began to know you could read their thoughts?"

Jaelan dredged the last piece of fried bread through the pebbly fish gravy on his plate. "Nine."

Aradia took a sip of coffee. "How did the village react?"

He pushed away his plate, his appetite gone. "You need to know what transpired before that day in order to understand." He took a deep breath, then continued. "It was high summer, and the heat was so intense no one dared venture outside. Meridia ordered me to make sure the geese had water. I did as she demanded, and when I came back to tell her the birds were all right, she attacked me like a wild beast. I didn't even know what I'd done to anger her. The next thing I knew, I was lying on a pallet, barely able to move and in so much pain, I thought I was dying. Not knowing where I was frightened me so badly I couldn't speak."

"And where were you?"

"In a tent somewhere on the caravan route with Samiel. He told me Meridia was dead and I would be traveling with him from then on."

"How did she die?"

Jaelan drained his cup of coffee and held it out for her to refill. "He said it was a massive stroke. She died beating me."

"Sweet Merciful Alluvia," Aradia whispered. "Why?"

"I had tracked mud into the house. I suppose she thought I did it on purpose."

Aradia let out a long sigh. "Did things get better for you?"

He shrugged. "For a while, but that was before the King's agent came to ask Samiel to lead a caravan of nobles on a tiger hunt in Fazdia."

"Which king was this?"

"King Kharis, the father of our present king."

A shudder of distaste rippled through Aradia. "I've heard he was an evil man."

Jaelan smiled, but the emotion remained clear of his tawny eyes. "Not nearly as evil as his son, Hasani."

"The thought of my sister with that one makes my skin crawl," Aradia said through clenched teeth.

Jaelan leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "His wickedness aside, he loves females. He'll treat her well enough, for she's beautiful. Once he's broken her maidenhead, more than likely he'll forget about her."