She tried to infuse confidence into her voice but even she could hear the breathy whisper. “I’ll walk.”
Marek leaned forward, his mouth next to her ear. Her heart stumbled. His masculine presence filled her senses.
“Coward,” he murmured in a soft burr.
She giggled, not able to deny his accusation. But her laughter faded when he remained close. With a surprising tenderness, his fingers brushed through her hair. He turned into her, his breathing ragged. At least he could breathe. Her lungs had forgotten how to function. Little shivers spiraled down her body. She slanted into him. But with a sudden exhale, he moved away and she scrambled to regain her balance.
“Very well,” he muttered before placing a hand on her elbow and guiding her toward the main tent.
When he stopped and held the flap open, she paused. Typically, only the king and his Criton riders slept in the large tent. She thought she’d have her own. But since she didn’t wish to offend, she slipped through the opening and stood just inside the door.
Marek entered and stepped to the front. Grabbing her hand, he led her into the dark stillness filled with the whispered snores and soft breathing of the men. A small lantern near the entrance offered sparse lighting, forcing her to cling onto his arm to avoid tripping over anything…or anyone. She kept her eyes glued on his back, trying not to notice the men around her. Aside from Sampson, everyone seemed to be asleep. Even in the dim light, the gleam in Sampson’s eyes and the fact he didn’t avert his gaze, disturbed her. Although her modest dressing gown covered her entire body, her skin crawled under his slicing stare.
Marek escorted her to a large mat in a corner away from the other men. He removed his belt, sword, and the two dirks strapped across his chest before sitting. Not sure what to do, she watched him place his weapons within arm’s reach and remove his boots. When he looked up, a small smile danced across his lips. His eyes glinted in the lantern light, but not in a way that made her uncomfortable. Although she could sense his desire, it was tempered behind a gentleness that made her heart stutter.
“Come, Carina,” he commanded softly, his voice pouring into her. He reached out for her. “Come lie next to your king.”
Her sputtering heart skipped beats as she took his hand and let him pull her down onto the mat. She settled into the soft cushion while he threw a wool blanket over them and stretched out beside her, closing his eyes. Lying on his back, one arm cradled his head while the other rested on his stomach.
She could barely breathe. Her nerves zinged with restless energy. Although they were not touching, she vibrated with anxiety at his nearness. Aware of his body, her senses hummed on a hyper-alert frequency attuned to Marek. The rest of the men in the tent disappeared from her mind.
A dull ache, emanating low in her belly, grew into a steady throb, pulsating with an intensity that radiated throughout her.
What was wrong with her?
She kicked off the blanket to cool her overheated body, and shut her eyes to focus on her breathing just like Master Dupree had taught her. She narrowed her senses until only the inhale and exhale of air entering and exiting her lungs consumed her mind. Slowly, she relaxed and the ache dissipated. Although the cold, autumn air chilled her, she ignored the discomfort hoping the breathing exercise would lull her to sleep.
But no matter how hard she tried, her body remained stubbornly aware of Marek’s presence. Sleep, her companion for every night throughout her life, eluded her. As if angered by his closeness, it refused to offer her peace.
With a sigh, she rolled onto her side and stared at the tent wall, clenching her teeth in frustration. Realizing dawn would not greet her anytime soon, she struggled to remain still and grew more impatient as the minutes ticked by. She considered sneaking out of the tent to get some fresh air to settle her nerves, and contemplated the logistics of traversing through the sleeping bodies without waking anyone until Marek moved.
Her body froze in a silent panic when his arm pulled her into the hard muscular wall of his chest. He grumbled and fumbled with something behind her before the heavy wool blanket thumped over her again. Draping his arm across her waist, the back of her head rested just under his chin.
“Be still, Carina,” he murmured. “All is well.”
He smelled of leather, wood smoke, and pine—a combination that threatened to rekindle the fire she’d worked so hard to extinguish. But the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back soothed her.
Marek holding her this way seemed very inappropriate, but sleep—her long lost companion—welcomed her back into its embrace before she could ponder the consequences of their impropriety further.
13 – MESSENGER
As promised, Father sent a messenger to the bordering king, Villar Remy, with information of Marissa’s newfound availability. To Marissa’s delight, King Remy had dispatched a rider stating he would arrive to court her within the week. His prompt reply was the type of response she deserved.
She’d been up in her rooms wondering whether the servants should unpack her bags because if she found King Remy to her liking, they’d just have to pack everything again. Deciding she liked her belongings around her, she’d finally ordered them to unpack. But when they got underfoot, scurrying around like mice emptying her many trunks, she’d opted to flee her comforts for a quiet stroll through the grounds.
Still unseasonably warm during the day, she wore a light pink and white lace dress, and carried the perfect accessory—a small matching umbrella—to protect her delicate skin from the sun.
She followed a cobbled path toward the barns, lost in her contemplations. She hoped King Remy was as fine a masculine specimen as King Duncan. Her stomach clenched at the thought of King Duncan. She still couldn’t comprehend why he chose Carina. At least Carina would never be his queen.
Instead of following the path, she turned right and paralleled a fence to one of the hunting pastures. Carina’s Criton had just killed an ovine and was enthusiastically ripping it apart. She turned her head away in disgust. Although she pretended to like Critons for Father’s sake, they were dirty creatures, hard and wild, and she wanted nothing to do with them.
Despite herself, she glimpsed over her shoulder to reaffirm her poor opinion of the foul beasts. The mangled, bloody remains were trapped within the animal’s small front claws, but the scrawny Criton had stopped eating to stare at her. Blood dripped off its chin. A ripple of fear shot up her spine. For a second, she almost believed an intelligent creature lived within those evil eyes.
She quickened her pace. Just ahead, the trail would veer away from the pasture and take her through a grove of birch trees before looping back toward home. As she reached the bend, she tortured herself with a final glance behind her. The monster still watched her with those eerie, pale green eyes.
“What are you looking at?”
The beast pinned its small ears back and curled its lips to expose bloody fangs. She shivered at the ferocious display before slipping into the trees, grateful to be out of view from the animal’s vigilant gaze. What an unappreciative creature. Father should’ve put that thing out of its misery years ago. But he’d never kill it now so close to transition.
She ambled through the trees. A breeze whispered through the top branches of the multi-trunked champion birches, showering her path in a soft rain of autumn color. She stomped on the fallen leaves and wondered why Carina loved Critons so much. She attributed Carina’s common heritage as the reason for her half sister’s affinity toward the animals, but couldn’t figure out why the disgusting creatures returned Carina’s affection.
An unexpected thought wormed inside her mind. It festered and grew as she mulled over the consequences. Tiwans took their responsibility of protecting the world from Dark Callers very seriously. Her plan crystallized and she smiled.
Although King Duncan had a head start, he would be traveling at a slower pace because of his foot soldiers. If she dispatched a lone rider on a fast, strong Criton, with a little luck the rider might reach the Bridal Lands before King Duncan and his men. She could be doing the world a favor by sending a messenger. After all, since Carina couldn’t be the Caller of Light, maybe her mixed blood destined her to become a Dark Caller capable of using the negativity within a soul to bind Critons and riders with a dark bond.
She rested a gloved hand on the white-mottled trunk of a sturdy birch, letting her mind run through the possibilities. The Tiwans would probably consider her warning them an obligation. And since she’d only be delivering the message, her conscience would be clear.
The breeze did not filter down from the treetops, so her hair clung to her neck like a wool scarf in the stagnant air. She brushed it off her shoulders, thinking she should’ve pinned it up as she strolled toward the servant’s quarters in search of a messenger.
14 – BRIDAL LANDS
Carina grew accustomed to the patterns of traveling with Marek and his men. But the days were long. Even on Critonback, the days stretched on and on. So by the time they found a place to camp for the night, she was exhausted.
Although tired, she wanted to shoulder some of the work and began caring for the Critons. When Marek first saw her in the middle of the large creatures feeding them juma melons, he had pushed his way through the milling animals—who voiced their displeasure at his encroachment—and hauled her out of the throng.
Marek’s actions had caused a brief standoff as she held her ground with her arms crossed in front of her, arguing that she just wanted to help. He reluctantly acquiesced only after she reminded him that the Critons were her responsibility back home. And once she began taking care of them, the men relaxed around her.
But even the joy of handling the Critons didn’t ease her pain over losing Mira. Looking back, she wished she’d asked Marek to purchase her. But if he had, Mira would’ve had a difficult time keeping up with the adults and Marek’s pace. She could only hope Father would allow Mira to grow and transition into the amazing animal she knew Mira would become.
Aside from the time she spent with the Critons, Carina enjoyed the nights the most. Now, she welcomed, and even anticipated, sleeping beside Marek. She savored the heavy weight of his arm draped over her as he held her pressed against his chest. Totally improper, but the wicked pleasure was hers to enjoy. She loved his attention and their closeness as they whispered the night away. Often she woke up more tired than rested because of the late hours they spent awake.
By the tenth day, lack of sleep found her leaning against Marek with her head against his shoulder and her arms wrapped around him—sleeping. She awoke with a start as an angry thunderhead rolled across the sky spattering fat raindrops on her.
“Ah, she wakes.” Marek joked.
“Maybe
you
shouldn’t talk so much at night.” She yawned, still tired and grumpy about getting wet.
“Well, we could do other things, but then the men might have a hard time sleeping.”
She giggled and punched his shoulder in mock offence.
Marek’s laughter spurred FireStrike’s roar, which spiraled to the other Critons who voiced their response. Nearby Criton riders glanced at them with curious expressions making her blush and Marek laugh harder.
They landed to don rain slickers then took to the air again. Although most of the storm stayed ahead of them, the heavy rain saturated the ground and slowed the progress of the foot soldiers and coursers. By the early evening hours, they were only halfway across the Bridal Lands.
Sampson flew up beside them. “Do you want to push through?”
Even with her light touch on his waist, she felt his body tense. She knew he wanted to travel through the Bridal Lands in one day, but the rain had made the terrain too treacherous to cross at night.
“No,” he grumbled. “Find a clearing, but make sure it’s defensible.”
Sampson nodded and flew off. She watched Sampson and another rider skim low over the ground until they topped a small rise and disappeared on the other side. Marek followed Sampson’s path, but at a slower speed so the foot soldiers stayed within sight.
They were traveling parallel to the breathtaking Karelides, the largest mountain range she’d ever seen. The Karelides were actually two distinct ranges almost butting against each other, except for a valley between them. The valley, also known as the Realm of Light, housed the gateway between her world and Crios where Critons were born.
The stark, intimidating mountains consisted of craggy snowcapped peaks that disappeared into low lying clouds. Ominous and impressive, the Karelides erupted out of a vast expanse of flat lands as if the Gods had deposited them in the middle of nowhere to shield the gateway. She peered over Marek’s shoulder to get a better view of the valley, but it disappeared into the depths of the mountains as they passed.
“Have you been through the valley?”
Marek chuckled. “The Valley of Karelides? No, the Tiwan Tribe would never permit it. As far as I know, aside from the Caller, only a few select Tiwans are allowed into Crios.”
“Why?” She had heard this too and tried to suppress her disappointment.
Marek shrugged. “To prevent a Dark Caller from entering Crios.”
“To avoid another Dark War.”
Marek nodded. “No matter how good, all living creatures have some darkness inside them that Dark Callers can bind, dooming to their souls to the black shadows.”
Carina shuddered at the thought of Dark Callers. “I hear Tiwans are savages.”