Phantom of the Heart (14 page)

Cybralle's head jerked up. “I am not a child and I will not let you take that tone with me.” Cybralle felt her insides swell with the helpless rage she had been keeping inside for so long. “Go intimidate your subjects instead.”

She saw the green eyes darken before Mesmeria swung.

The slap jerked Cybralle's face to the side. Cybralle surged out of the chair, her large hands balled in fists. Mesmeria's eyes glittered with anger, as she stood there looking up at Cybralle towering over her.

“If you ever again lift your hand to me you will regret it,” Cybralle hissed, as her hands clenched and unclenched.

“What will you do?” Mesmeria asked calmly. She lifted her hand again, but this time Cybralle grabbed her hand before it touched her cheek. “If beating me will pull you out of this cloud of self-pity you have been dwelling in, then I am willing to allow you to beat me until I lie bleeding on the floor.” This time a single tear slipped from the green eyes and ran down a flustered cheek. “You have deserted me.”

Cybralle felt her heart jerk at the words. She had never deserted Mesmeria. Not once in all these years of marriage. She quickly dropped Mesmeria's hand and took a step back, her anger deflated.

“How can you say that? I…I have been here for you, always,” she choked out. Her eyes roamed over Mesmeria's face which was glistening with more tears now. She hated to see Mesmeria cry. It made her feel so helpless.

Mesmeria's arms locked around her own abdomen, as if she was trying to keep herself from falling apart. Cybralle swallowed at the sight, for this was the first time she had ever seen her wife like this.

“Our daughter is on her way back to hear the most devastating news ever and…and like a coward you are hiding your face behind a wine flask leaving me to do this alone.” Mesmeria lowered her head slowly. “I have already lost you to grief; I cannot watch the same happen to our daughter, Cybralle. I need you.” The blonde head lifted. Watery, green eyes met hers. “I am barely strong enough to hold you and Lima together. I need to be stronger if I have to save Sterling from spiraling into the dark abyss of bereavement. Without you, I am so weak.”

Cybralle stood ramrod stiff, as she witnessed her wife's anguish. Since Orla's death Mesmeria had been so strong. Cybralle was aware that Mesmeria, too, mourned the untimely death of Orla. Some nights, when Mesmeria thought she was asleep, Cybralle would feel her wife slip from their bed and come and sit in front of the fire as soft sobs wracked her body. The next morning the green eyes would be bright and lively again, as she again availed herself to Lima. Cybralle felt the tears well up in her own eyes. Mesmeria was right. She had deserted her. In her grief, shame, and guilt, she had not only deserted her wife, but Lima too. They were, after all, grieving for
both
their daughters. She felt tears run down her cheeks. She had failed the most important person in her life.

“I…I…am so…” The words got stuck in her throat, as she a sob tore through her body. “Mesmeria…Mesmeria…Mesmeria…” She chanted the name over and over, as she reached for her wife. With infinite tenderness, she cradled Mesmeria to her chest. More tears slid down her cheeks, as she felt her wife cling to her with desperation. How could she have been so selfish? All this time, all Mesmeria had wanted was to be held too. Instead, Cybralle sapped everything her wife had to offer from her and not once had given back. “Please, forgive me, beloved. Please, forgive me for being so weak and selfish.”

Soft lips pressed against her neck. “Just promise me that you will never push me away like this again.” Mesmeria leaned her head back so their eyes could meet. “I was so lonely and so very scared.”

With a groan, Cybralle cradled Mesmeria's head against her chest. “It will never, ever happen again. I promise you.” She brushed her lips over the fragrant hair. “I pray that one day I can redeem myself in your eyes.” Mesmeria gently pushed out of the embrace and Cybralle fearfully met her eyes. She searched the green eyes, as she waited in anticipation for Mesmeria's next words. “Please, do not tell me that I will never be able to, beloved.”

Mesmeria smiled weakly. “You will always be my protector and the most important person in my life, Cybralle. There is no need to redeem yourself in my eyes. We all felt the loss, some more than the others, but we all felt it.” Mesmeria placed her palm against Cybralle's cheek and the warrior leaned into the caress. “I would, however, like to know what happened. Will you tell me? No one claims to know what happened exactly, but I think you do.”

Cybralle felt her stomach churn at the mere thought that she would have to relive the scene. She looked down into the moist, green eyes, pleading with her. Cybralle took a shaky breath. “I want Lima to hear this too.”

She saw the relief in her wife's eyes. “That would be very helpful for Lima.”

Chapter 14

Sterling threw her head back and laughed, her silver eyes twinkling, as she looked at the blushing soldier. After a long day in the saddle she had looked forward to stretching her legs and so, after supper, she had wandered off into the woods for a brisk walk. Upon her return to the camp, she found the men around a fire, talking. She was about to skirt around them, not wanting to intrude and dampen their exuberant conversation, when they started talking about their loved ones. Standing in the shadows she, too, began to reminisce. After eight months away from Orla, she was looking forward to some vigorous bed sports too. One of her archers began to relay a story of his wife and her fiery temper, causing Sterling to smile.

“Why would an overgrown oaf like you be scared of your wife's lectures?” She chuckled when the large man's eyes widened, as she stepped out of the shadows.

“I did not see you there, milady. Please, forgive my careless words.”

Sterling waved the apology away. “No need for that, Irgham. Now, tell me why Lavia's tongue would scare such a brave soldier as yourself?”

The men laughed at the discomfort of the blushing soldier.

“I…I find her to be too quick-witted for me, milady,” Irgham stammered, causing the men to laugh even harder.

“Ah, do we not all fall victim to the quick minds of our other halves?” Sterling accepted a goblet of wine from one of the men. “But still, we feel at home when they cradle us against their soft bosoms.” A soft murmur of agreement united them, and Sterling watched as foolish grins formed on the faces of the men. She could not see it herself, but she was sure her face mirrored those of her men. She could not wait to be back in her blacksmith's arms. A tremor coursed through her body, as she relived the last moment she was held in those strong arms. Those pale eyes were devouring her at a much faster pace than those large hands could. She took a deep draught of the wine. As soon as the sky lightened, they would be underway and long before the sun set for the day, she would be basking in the loving arms of her wife. There was only one way of ushering in the new day and she quickly drained her cup.

“By the looks of you all, I can assume that you are just as eager to be with your loved ones as I am. Thank you for the wine, but I think I would rather sleep through the next few hours than sit here wishing I was somewhere else.”

Some of the men agreed, while others simply shrugged and reached for the wineskins. Sterling waved at them, as she made her way to her tent. She disrobed quickly and sponged down her body, before she fell onto the bed.

Two hours later, she found herself with the bedding coiled around her, and her mind obliterated by memories of a tall, dark woman with the most exquisite blue eyes.

“Oh my love…” she murmured softly, as her hand dipped lower. She gasped at the first touch; her thighs jerked inward, holding her hand captive. Just as quickly, she withdrew her hand. She was too close to the real thing to spoil her hunger now. Pummeling her pillow, she rolled onto her stomach and groaned as her hips pressed into the soft bedding. With a soft curse, she sat up. She had to find something to keep her mind busy. Her eyes fell on the leather bound tome. Yes, maybe she could keep herself busy by updating her chronicles. It had been a few days since she had noted anything new.

Her body was still throbbing with passion, as she went to sit at the small table. Tomorrow, she promised her angry body, tomorrow I will appease you. Picking up the quill, she quickly organized her thoughts and began to write. Soon, she was caught up in pouring out her thoughts and memories, the scratching of the quill on the scroll the only sound in the tent.

***

The chapel was empty except for the one occupant in the front pew. Cybralle swallowed hard when she heard a soft sniff. She threw back her shoulders and slowly made her way to where the woman sat. She knew her presence had been detected when the woman's shoulders stiffened.

“Lima?”

The graying, blonde head lifted slowly, but still no eye contact was made. “Milady?”

“Do you mind if I just sit here with you?”

“Not at all, milady,” came the soft reply.

Cybralle's heart hurt, as she watched the woman. Since her disclosure last night of what had really happened during the attack, Lima had been withdrawn. Even this morning at breakfast, the woman had listlessly picked at her food. More than half of her plate was left untouched when she excused herself from the table. Cybralle had wanted to follow her, but Mesmeria's soft hand held her back. For a moment, she had considered returning to the royal chamber and to the chair before the fireplace. Instead she had leaned into Mesmeria, bathing in her strength and love. When Lima did not show for lunch, Cybralle had personally requested the kitchen to keep a plate warm for the woman.

She looked at Lima’s bowed head. Even without Orla, Lima would always be part of the royal family.
I do not desert family.
That was what Orla had said to her. Cybralle felt tears well up in her eyes.

“I have cried a lot since my return,” Cybralle began. She saw the blonde head lift a little bit more. “I cried for your loss and for that of my daughter. Never have I cried for the loss to myself.” Tears trickled down her cheeks now. “We argued earlier that night, Orla and me.” The blonde head lifted and wide, red-rimmed eyes met hers. “I wanted her to stay behind, far away from the front line. She refused.” Cybralle looked away. “She said that we were family and she would never desert family.” Cybralle felt her heart shudder, as a large sob tore through her body. “She said that the kingdom would bear her death better than mine, because Mesmeria would die if I was not to return. The kingdom…according to her, would not bear the loss of Mesmeria. ”

She turned back to look at Lima and was stunned to find the woman smiling through her own tears.

“And she was right. When she was a child, I always reminded her that every powerful person casts an even more powerful shadow. The queen needs you like the air that she breathes. Orla understood and respected that.” Lima rubbed at her tears. “I mourned my daughter for the fact that she was my heart and soul, my pride, and the last piece I had of the only man I have ever loved. Your words made me realize that I diminished her memory. I forgot to mourn the hero she was to our kingdom…” A soft sob broke from the grieving mother. “…my own hero.”

They shifted closer to each other, and Cybralle pulled the slender woman into her arms as they cried together. When they had calmed down a little, Cybralle rested her cheek on the smaller woman's head.

“I am so sorry for not bringing back your daughter, Lima, and I am so sorry for costing this great kingdom the greatest consort ever in all its history.”

Lima stirred and looked up. “It is not your fault, Cybralle. Remember, you warned me before you left for Arnat.”

“But still. I promised you that I would look after her, protect her, and bring her back safely.”

Lima gently pushed out of Cybralle's embrace. “Orla's father was a brave and noble man. He sacrificed his life for this kingdom, and my daughter grew up honoring the legacy her father left behind.” Lima smiled. “She always wanted to emulate her father even though she had never met the man. By dying the way she did, she ensured her memory will always live on.” She touched Cybralle's cheek. “What is left now, is to make Sterling understand that too. We need to be strong for her.”

Cybralle swallowed back fresh tears. She prayed that one day she would be as forgiving as Lima when it came to her daughter. Before her was a woman who had lost everything and, still, she looked beyond her own loss to that of another.

“You are a great woman, Lima,” Cybralle murmured. “For as long as I live, I will never regret making you part of my family. I fail to find words worthy enough to describe your selflessness.”

A lone tear trickle down Lima's cheek and Cybralle gently wiped it away. “Your acceptance of my daughter, a mere blacksmith, gladdened my heart and brought Orla so much happiness. She lived a short life, but it was a very happy one, thanks to you all.”

Cybralle once again pulled the woman into her arms and held her tightly. Even if she tried, she could find nothing more to say to this wonderful woman. If a mother could forgive like this, she prayed a daughter could also return such a favor. She would be strong when she faced Sterling.

***

Ridat shook with anger, as he looked down at the bloody mass at his feet. Before his rage exploded, it had resembled his most trusted general. He kicked at the body and walked to the entrance of the cave. A lone guard stood outside. He must have heard what had transpired inside, because he was pale and shaking as he looked fearfully at him.

“Get this rubbish out of here.”

Ridat stepped past, as the guard rushed into the cave to do his bidding. On any other day, he would have found the clear skies beautiful. He might even have tracked down a female and lured her into the forest where he would couple with her until she collapsed from sheer exhaustion. But today was not such a day. A fortnight ago, he was dealt another setback.

Why was it so difficult for people to follow his orders, so easy for them to disappoint him? Since coming to this godforsaken place, only misfortunes paved his way. No, he was wrong. It had all started with his birth and with one man in particular.

Peron.

The man had it all. Status and riches as well as the uncanny skill to always stay one step ahead of him. Ridat's face contorted in a mask of cold hatred. He closed his eyes to block out everything else, but the bitter loathing he felt for his nemesis still lingered. Oh, how he fantasized of standing over the man's dying body one day. Ridat would make him beg as he tore out his heart.

“Milord.”

Ridat jerked his head in the direction of the voice. He grinned when the man took a hasty step back. With his rage still simmering, Ridat knew that his eyes were a solid, eerie black—Devil's eyes. It was called that before he and his mother were cast out from their home. The memory spiked his anger and he had to keep himself from pouncing on the man and tearing him to shreds.

“Is it done?”

“Yes, milord. Is there anything else you require?”

Ridat nodded. “I need a replacement for Brodin. Find one amongst yourselves who can fill the position. Be warned though, that I do not take kindly to failure, lest the new general wants to follow down Brodin's path.”

The man swallowed, his Adam’s apple bouncing nervously. “Yes, milord.”

“When the new general reports to me, I want to know how many of the recruits have arrived.”

Without a backward glance, he entered the cave, his gaze moving to where the body had lain. Not a sign remained that a man had been brutally killed in that very spot less than ten minutes ago. Ridat looked around his abode. Bitterness rose within him again. Here he was living like an animal in a cave, while royal blood pumped through his veins. He was tired of playing the role of the downtrodden mongrel.

Ridat reached for the wineskin and drank deeply. For his plans to be realized, he needed to find Peron's spy within his army. Then, and only then, would he be able to best his nemesis. He threw himself into a chair. His sharp sense of smell could still pick up traces of blood in the air. In hindsight, it was probably not such a good idea to have killed Brodin. The man was an imbecile, but he had lasted longer than the ones before him. He quickly discarded the sentiment. Brodin disappointed him. He had lost a good number of men when they attacked the Arnati camp.

Peron was waiting for them and had slaughtered his pack mercilessly. Realizing his mistake, Brodin decided to undo his poor judgment by attacking the Karasi troops. If he had hoped for a pat on the back from Ridat for his uncharacteristic ingenuity, he was sorely mistaken. Not only had he returned to camp with few survivors trailing behind him, but Peron had taken some of his men captive. Captives, Ridat had no doubt, who would squeal at the first prick of pain.

Even with all these odds against him, Ridat would not give up. His destiny had been laid out for him at birth. The celestial presence that night of his birth convinced his mother and all those present that his father's seed had passed the Greatness onto him. His mother had done right by him. Just as the blind sorceress predicted that night, life would first push him to the outer edges of the social order, before it embraced him again. As the bastard whelp of a very powerful prince, it was just a matter of time before he inherited the power and status his father withheld from him. History has been kind to bastard rulers as far back as he could remember. Jurias, the bastard son of King Herop of Omega, had overthrown his own father's rule a few years back and was now a celebrated monarch. History indeed favored the bastards. Jurias's example had made the subjects more sympathetic to the plight of the abandoned seedlings of royal houses.

Everything was going according to plan, except for Peron.

“Your time will come very soon, cousin,” he sneered before lifting the wineskin to his lips.

***

Mesmeria gave Cybralle's hand a firm squeeze as they sat in silence, waiting. Loud, thumping footsteps echoed in the hall, and then there was a soft knock. A servant girl quickly opened the door.

“Your Highness,” Mesmeria heard the girl's soft greeting and Cybralle stiffened next to her. Mesmeria rose to her feet, as she turned to greet her daughter. Her heart swelled with pride at the sight of her daughter. Sterling looked like the ultimate soldier. A fine film of dust covered her tall, slender frame. Her silver eyes shone with pleasure, as she looked at her and then at Cybralle who had risen to her feet too.