Future Dreams (3 page)

“Even the most horrific events in one’s life can be turned into something positive,” Paldon said. “Concentrate on what you learned from these different cultures. You have an insight into, not only the peoples of the Northern Territories, but into many of the different cultures of the Southern Territories. You can use this knowledge to help increase the holdings of the House of Tigis. No one will care that you were Tigh the Terrible. All that matters is you were the supreme commander of the campaigns that ended the war. People will value the knowledge you hold and will respond to your natural leadership ability.”

Tigh stared at her mother and knew that she truly believed what she said. The words could even be true if she had paid attention to the different cultures and cities her armies ripped through and destroyed. But her ruthlessness had blinded her to everything but her own power and vanity.

Paldon most likely envisioned the House of Tigis engaged in the ironic business of rebuilding the war ravaged Northern Territories. If Tigh were her mother’s daughter, she’d find the idea appealing, but she had never been attracted to the idea of being a merchant.

Paldon sighed. “I know it all seems hopeless now. But Healer Sihlor said the rehabilitation is a series of small steps. The first step is to sign that document. Your cleansing cannot be listed as complete until you do.”

Tigh looked at the parchment. A simple statement confirming that she had been successfully cleansed of the mental enhancements she had received as a member of the Elite Guard. If she signed it, the healers would start the next step in healing the gaping wounds in her psyche—a process that frightened her. But what were her alternatives? Living in this narrow cell or in equally stark quarters for the rest of her life?

She looked at the open door. Opened or closed, locked or unlocked, it didn’t matter to her. She wouldn’t leave because she didn’t think she deserved to leave. But she couldn’t stay where she was forever.

Tigh stood and helped Paldon up from her kneeling position. She stepped past Paldon and laid the parchment on the small table. She picked up her quill and stared at the jar of ink. It hadn’t been touched in over two years and was long dry.

“Here.” Joul handed her his metal quill with a built-in reservoir of ink.

Tigh took the implement and scrawled her name at the bottom of the document.

“I HONESTLY DIDN’T know they were going to do that, Jame.” Queen Jyac looked uncharacteristically nonplussed.

Jame, still in her sleep shirt, paced around her chamber as she waited for the tailor to arrive to fit her with a new set of leathers. “They had no right to challenge Argis. She has no formal claim on me.”

“You’ve been too young for a formal claim. But you’re both nineteen now. Argis is a full warrior and is ready for a commitment. The others are taking advantage of the fact that you’ve been away for two years and a proper courtship hasn’t taken place,” Jyac said. “Argis has been a little too sure of her place in your heart and I think many of the warriors resent it.”

“I don’t know what her place in my heart is.” Jame stopped pacing and faced her aunt. “All I know is my heart is on what I’m doing in Ynit. Argis may be ready for a commitment but I’m not. Now she’s going to get her head bashed in because she’s been bragging too much.”

“Argis is willing to learn the consequences of a rash tongue,” Jyac said. “But it’s not an unreasonable assumption on her part to think that you’re a couple. You were very much together the last time you visited.”

“But that was two years ago,” Jame said. “I’ve seen and done so much since then. I’ve changed much more than I had ever thought possible.”

“I understand that you enjoy your work,” Jyac said. “All I ask is for you to take the time to reacquaint yourself with Emoria and your old friends. And give Argis a chance. Your destiny is here as queen. Sometimes we have to make our decisions based on the greater good of the people.”

Jame sucked in a breath. The conflict between wanting to pursue her own life and her duty to her people was forever in her mind. Sometimes she felt selfish for needing to break free of Emoria’s restraining society. But the greater good extended far beyond her own people and she found tremendous satisfaction in helping the former Guards who had been treated as castoffs from the society they had saved.

She turned around at a light tap on the open door. A plumpish woman, clutching a basket of leather scraps, ambled in.

“Good morning, Trione,” Jyac said.

“Good morning, my queen,” Trione said. “It’s so good to see you again, my princess. Added some muscle, I see. You were much too thin on your last visit.”

“I now have a job where I can afford to feed myself and it’s exercise just getting around the fortress at Ynit,” Jame said.

“It certainly looks good on you.” Trione pulled out patches of leather and rough-stitched them together. “Here, put this on and then we can get down to work.”

Jame took the patchwork of leather and sighed. How many times had she been fitted for leathers? In the past, she had always looked forward to it. New leathers were a symbolic show of physical growth and new status within their society. Why did this fitting feel like the first step on a journey she wasn’t ready to take?

“I DON’T ENVY you at all right now,” Mularke said as she and Tas followed Argis to the sparring grounds in the meadows on top of the western bluff of the city. The cacophony of colors from the spring wild flowers made the usually plain grasslands look like a giant patchwork quilt stitched together by warriors using swords as needles—artless but breathtaking in its own way.

“I thought you enjoyed fights with impossible odds.” Argis flicked an amused glance at the tall, blonde archer.

Mularke straightened. “Only when I’m too drunk to think about it.”

“I can’t believe you’re not nervous about this.” Tas doubled her steps to keep up with her taller companions. “You’re going against Dinaf and Tamrin, not to mention Barbis, Beckla, Lindle, and Catelin. They’re all tough fighters.”

“And I’m not?” Argis spun around and pinned Tas with a menacing glare.

Tas crossed her arms. “You practice that by watching your reflection in the Temple mirror pools.”

Argis glared for a few more heartbeats, then roughed up Tas’s shaggy hair. “I’ll win. I have a greater reason to win than they do.”

“Would that be love or pride?” Mularke nimbly sidestepped Argis’s lunge.

Tas stepped between them. “Save it for the sparring pit.”

“Jame and I have had each other’s hearts since we were children,” Argis said. “It seems her absence has made everyone forget that. It’s time to remind them.” She turned and strode across the grass.

“I’m wondering if someone needs to remind Jame,” Tas said as she and Mularke trotted after Argis.

Argis gave Tas an unamused look and then rounded the row of rough wooden barracks. She stopped, surprised to see a small crowd of warriors and scouts gathered around the neatly raked sparring pit. Younger warriors’ boasts and brags resulted in regular challenges that rarely interested the citizens of Emor enough to disrupt their daily routine. Argis realized that a challenge made over her claim as Jame’s suitor was anything but usual. The more witnesses the better to put away any question of her right to be at Jame’s side once and for all.

She watched the six challengers who lounged near the rack of wooden practice swords used by the novices. She knew that none of them really had romantic designs on Jame. They were just in the mood to put her in her place. This was their way of getting back at her a bit for rising too quickly through the warrior ranks. She was more than willing to remind them of her skill with a sword.

Argis frowned. She couldn’t spot Jame in the gathering crowd. Jame had promised she would be there after she got fitted for new leathers.

Tas let out a low appraising whistle. Argis spun around. Jame and Jyac strode across the meadow toward them.

“Nice leathers,” Tas squeaked then cleared her throat. “If she had worn those last night, you’d be facing three times as many challengers.”

Argis stared at the Jame she thought she knew and wondered where that confident stride had come from. She was dying to get to know Jame all over again, so intriguing was this new sparkle in her eyes and huskier timbre in her voice. Her challengers didn’t have a chance against what she perceived to be her destiny.

“Good morning, Argis,” Jyac said. Argis tore her eyes away from Jame, who smiled at her. “Ready to meet your challengers?”

“I’m always ready to meet those who dare challenge my heart and soul,” Argis said, feeling a soaring nobility from Jame’s smile.

“Well spoken words, don’t you think, Jame?” Jyac said.

“Very well spoken.” Jame squeezed Argis’s arm. “Good luck.”

Jyac laughed. “Come, we can’t have people thinking there’s any favoritism going on.”

“I’ll see you when the challenge is over and ask you to the Festival of Flowers.” Argis grinned at Jame’s stunned expression.

THE LENGTH OF the shadows across the courtyard told Tigh that the nervous lad with the evening meal tray would be emerging from the kitchens in another sandmark or so. She sighed and wondered what her life had come to when a tray of food was a daily highlight.

Her parents were returning to Ingor in the morning, having accomplished their mission. She knew they cared for her but after being away from the sheltered world of the merchant for so long, she no longer knew how to think like them.
I was ready to turn my back on that life before I became a Guard.
She shook away her tears.
Now there isn’t anywhere I can fit in.

Her enhanced hearing picked up the footfalls of, she guessed, a travel boot. Not the well made solid-soled boots of her parents. A more utilitarian boot . . .

Tigh spun around and blinked at a tall, thin, young woman with soulful brown eyes and long strands of wispy pale hair standing outside the door. Meah—wrapped in a plain travel cloak. A pack hung from her fragile shoulder. She had last seen Meah at the victory celebration after the campaign on the plains of Hillian ended the Grappian Wars. She’d been known for her wild hair and even wilder battle lust.

“I, uh, heard you’d been brought in. I was released a couple of days ago and thought I’d stop by before I left.” Meah flicked shy, uncertain glances at Tigh.

“So you’ve been through the process?” Tigh asked.

“Yeah.” Meah nodded, not meeting Tigh’s eyes.

“Do you feel cleansed?” Tigh tried not to sound desperate. “Do you feel ready to walk out of here and rejoin society?”

Meah’s sad brown eyes filled with tears and her delicate features betrayed her agony. “No. But they think I am.”

“I heard that they can’t cleanse away the blood lust, the need to fight.” Tigh knew the healers preferred to believe the superficial results of their work rather than delve into what really haunted the dreams of a cleansed Guard.

“They suggested joining a militia or a defense force to satisfy that need.” Meah wiped away her tears. “They tell us we can go back to the way we were before. But that’s impossible if all that’s left of us is the need to fight.”

Tigh’s hope of attending the University of Artocia and immersing herself in scholarly study lay shattered on the wooden floor of her cell. “I thought it was too good to be true.”

Meah took a breath as if she wanted to say something, but shook her head instead. “I’m catching the evening coach, so I’d better be on my way.” Tigh nodded and Meah turned away from the door.

“Meah.” Tigh’s voice cracked under the strain of her world collapsing around her. Meah looked back. “Good luck.”

Meah mustered a sad smile. “You too, Tigh.”

From the window, Tigh watched Meah walk across the plaza and through the city gate. Physically free but still caught in a mental prison.

The shadows across the plaza told Tigh that the nervous lad would be collecting the evening meal tray from the kitchen. She hoped he brought soup. A chill always came with the growing shadows.

Chapter 4

Jame had never seen such inspired fighting as Argis introduced the point of her sword to each her six challengers’ throats. She saw the proprietary rage in Argis’s eyes. Every move Argis made shouted, “Don’t go near her, she’s mine.”

I should be flattered
. Argis’s attentions used to be flattering. Jame studied her as she accepted the congratulatory thumps on the back from the other warriors.

Argis’s attentions used to be important. She examined that thought a little closer. Did the fact that she wasn’t flattered or that Argis’s attentions made her feel closed-in mean her overall feelings for Argis had changed? Or did they simply mean she had matured beyond the simple youthful feelings of love?

“You have to admit, she’s a splendid fighter,” Jyac said. “Especially when she’s inspired.”

Jame turned and caught the mischievous glint in Jyac’s eyes. “I just wish I felt as certain as she seems to feel.”

“You need to take the time to get reacquainted,” Jyac said. “We all feel unsettled in the ways of the heart, especially after a long separation. But the two of you have always been close and have a deep affection for each other. You just need to allow those feelings to flow again.”

Jame nodded and tried not to tense when Argis broke free of her friends and strode toward her. She realized she didn’t reflect Argis’s happy grin. If she couldn’t be happy about the reason the challenges were fought, she could at least show appreciation for Argis’s warrior skills. She mustered a smile. If nothing else, Argis was her friend and friends shared in each other’s victories.

Argis stopped a pace away from Jame, dropped to her knees, and pulled her sword from its sheath on her back. She pressed the flat of the blade to her lips in a salute and lowered the sword until the point touched the ground. “I dedicate the victory over these challengers to my princess. It’d be a great honor if you’d accompany me to the Festival of Flowers.”

Argis’s eyes glowed with such confidence, Jame knew she couldn’t refuse her without both hurting and humiliating her. “It would be my honor to accompany you to the Festival of Flowers.”