Chapter 23
There was quite a crowd jostling for good viewing spots near the window—Dae noted that even Lyric had abandoned her customary solitude to join the others—but as soon as she entered the monastery, their hushed conversations fell silent and they wordlessly made room for her. Dae looked down over the estate, focusing on the road leading into the main gardens. At first she saw nothing. Her father’s troops were lined up in battle formation—a triple row of riflemen, then two of infantry, behind which he’d arranged his heavy cavalry. Both men and horses alike were clad in glittering plate mail armor.
The minutes ticked by slowly…then finally a figure emerged on the road. Dae’s heart almost stopped in her chest; even from a distance she could tell this wasn’t one of her father’s men. The figure was mounted on a horse far smaller than the great destrier chargers favored by cavalry in the Heartland. It was unmistakably a desert-bred steed, though not the white one Dae was hoping for. It stood there for a long moment, then turned and faded back into the forests beyond.
A scout, she thought. All eyes turned again to Dae, asking silent questions, but she didn’t look away from that spot. She didn’t have long to wait before the rider returned…and this time, it was not alone.
One by one they emerged from the forests and along the road, first a few, then many, mounted figures forming a front line that rode forward as more followed in their path. Scattered among their ranks she saw the familiar sight of tribal banners being held aloft, their bright colors fluttering in the wind. They came to a halt on the far side of the stream which separated the estate grounds from the forests beyond. Dae stared, searching, and finally she spotted the figure moving to the fore of the army—a tall rider clad in flowing desert robes, face covered by a haik despite the lack of blowing sands, mounted on the distinctive white war-horse she recognized instantly could only be Simhana.
Dae felt her knees weaken, her palms grow moist, and for a long moment she forgot to breath. When she finally exhaled it was with a single, soft whisper, “Finally.”
Closing her eyes, she fought back tears of relief and breathed a silent prayer of thanks…not to Tarsis, who forbade her love of the woman now approaching, but to Inshal, in whose name that love had been consecrated and eternally bound.
When her eyelids parted she took a long moment to watch the distant arrival of her partner, then turned to consider the faces watching her in silent, troubled confusion. She offered only a calm smile that hid the turmoil of emotions welling within her.
Dae turned away from the window, wishing she could watch the army’s approach in private, and headed out of the monastery. She turned back only once, when one of the girls cried, “Wait! You can’t just leave! What’s happening?”
“What’s happening?” Dae tilted her head slightly, unable to contain the smile that curved her lips. “The desert has come,” she replied quietly, “to take back its stolen Consort.”
* * *
She felt not a trace of fear as she surveyed the line of outlander troops arrayed against her forces on the opposite field beyond the flowing stream, only a sense of exultation and the rush of adrenalin that typically preceded a battle. Zafirah recognized the weapons carried by the soldiers even from a distance—similar weapons to those acquired by the renegade tribes she had defeated in the Ah’Raf Pass. She knew the rifles could kill from a great range and with tremendous accuracy, but they didn't concern her. Dae had already explained to her the weaknesses inherent in the weapons, including the devastating effect that water had on the powder which fueled them. Wanting to exploit every advantage she could, Zafirah had deliberately timed her march to ensure her force of over seven-hundred warriorsarrived just as a heavy shower of rain was abating.
They faced an army less than half that number.
The final stage of their journey had taken longer than she would have liked, their course impeded by mountainous terrain and her own caution as they approached their destination. Zafirah ordered Falak to send her scouts ranging far in advance of the main force, well aware the lands they were entering were the fief of Dae’s father, Richard of Everdeen. She wanted to be certain he’d not laid ambushes in anticipation of their arrival. But their march had progressed without hindrance, and this morning Zafirah had ordered her troops to once again don the traditional garb of the desert so as to create a more impressive, intimidating spectacle on their final approach.
They passed unchallenged through a large village which lay only a few miles from the main Everdeen estate. The commoners watched them from inside their houses and shops, peering out of windows with terrified eyes, in all likelihood fearing their lives were forfeit. The passing of Zafirah’s army churned the streets into a muddy quagmire, but they’d left the village otherwise unscathed.
Turning to her right, Zafirah gave a nod to Falak. The scout master shouldered her bow and rode forward to address the line of troops barring their path.
Falak halted her horse halfway across the ornate stone bridge which led over the stream, perhaps a hundred paces from the outlander ranks. She sat tall in the saddle, projecting an air of supreme confidence and authority even when a few of their number shouldered their weapons nervously. Her raised voice, clear and carrying, cut the tense silence like an arrow. “Zafirah Al’Intisar, Scion of El’Kasari and ruler of the Jaharri nation, has come to reclaim her Consort, taken by force by the lord of these lands!” She swept her gaze along the line of men before her. “We have no wish to see blood needlessly spilled! Allow us passage that we may negotiate for the release of the Consort, and no violence shall be dealt against you!”
There was a long moment of silence during which there were some exchanges among the men arrayed on the field, before a hole opened in their ranks. A voice called back, “She may pass! No larger guard than six men! No weapons!”
Falak nodded her acceptance of the terms and turned her horse back to Zafirah. The escort had already been pre-selected, Hazim chief among them, and Zafirah gave her scout master a nod and a smile that was masked by her haik. “Remain with the army in my absence. We should not be long.”
She led the small contingent forward, crossing over the bridge and riding on through the gap created in the outlander lines. A group of soldiers detached itself from their ranks and fell into step around their horses, guiding them as they made their way up to the largest of the buildings on the estate. Zafirah deliberately avoided making eye-contact with any of the outlanders, keeping her gaze fixed straight ahead, although she was studying everything around her with a tactician’s eye in case this meeting took a violent turn. Privately, however, she couldn’t help but admire the lush, artfully structured gardens around them, having heard them described many times by her Consort.
So, this was home before you came to me, she thought, picturing in her mind Dae as a child, playing among the beautiful verdant landscape. When she felt her lips twitching into a helpless smile, Zafirah shook the mental image away and focused on the task at hand.
When they reached the main house the seven of them dismounted and allowed their guard to lead the way up to a giant set of oak doors. Though it could never compare to the lavish majesty of her palace in El’Kasari, Zafirah found the estate impressive, nonetheless. Quality timber was a scarce and valued commodity in the desert, and since most of their supply was reserved for use by the ship-writes and captains who sailed from the port city, she had never seen a building quite like this before. The doors themselves, standing easily twelve feet high and carved with an elaborate sigil of a great tree crossed with twin axes, represented more wealth to Zafirah than all the gold and gems she’d brought from the palace treasury.
Just before they entered the building, one of the men—their apparent commander, judging by his elaborate helm and air of authority—halted them with a raised hand. His eyes fixed on the blade at Zafirah’s hip.
“I’m afraid I can’t permit you to carry a weapon into my lord’s presence,” he said…and to his credit his voice barely stammered.
Zafirah’s eyes, the only feature of her face visible under the headscarf, pinned him instantly; one dark brow lifted in dangerous amusement. “‘Permit?’”
“Um…what I mean is—”
Hazim slid forward and interjected smoothly. “You will forgive us, Effendi, but the Scion is daughter to an ancient bloodline stretching back to the birth of our nation; where she walks, the desert follows. She does not require permission from an outlander to do anything,” he said, and though his tone was perfectly—even insipidly—pleasant, there was a razor’s edge flowing beneath the surface of his words. “I assure you we intend no harm to anyone here. As you can see, none of us came armed…but our Scion goes nowhere without steel at her side.”
The commander looked from Hazim back to the Scion, considering, then gave a curt nod and stepped aside to allow them passage.
Zafirah followed her escort down the corridor and into a spacious, well-lit room clearly designated as a divan—an audience chamber. At the far end stood three figures, two men and a woman, and Zafirah had no trouble identifying two of them as her Consort’s parents. The short, slender blonde woman bore a strong resemblance to Dae, though perhaps she lacked a measure of her daughter’s remarkable beauty. The taller of the two men was strong, well built, and the look in his eyes as they fell upon her spoke of murderous intent—that was enough for Zafirah to identify him as Lord Everdeen. The second and more rotund man had an intelligent, calculating look about him…one she was quite familiar with. He wore clothes of fine silk and cotton, and a thick gold chain hung around his neck. Large, gaudy rings sparkled on each of his fingers; the man wore his lord’s generosity openly. Zafirah recognized an adviser when she saw one.
As Hazim stepped forward to announce her, Zafirah slowly unwrapped the haik from about her head and shook her long hair back over her shoulders. She lifted her chin slightly, watching Dae’s parents and allowing her considerable presence and force of character to fill the room. Lord Everdeen was slightly red about the face, his eyes narrowed to cold slits, and she could see his hands tremble slightly with suppressed fury. Dae’s mother seemed calmer in her appraisal, perhaps even a little surprised. Zafirah figured they must have heard a great deal about her already, and didn’t doubt they’d formed a wholeheartedly negative impression.
She wondered if she appeared as they imagined she would—the devil who had corrupted their daughter’s virtue.
When Hazim finished his formal introduction, she took a step forward. “I have come to take back my Consort,” she said, addressing Lord Richard directly in a firm tone. “The Consort you sent your men trespassing on Jaharri lands to steal from me by force!”
“Trespass?” Richard's voice quivered with rage. “These are MY lands you’ve invaded, savage, and that is MY daughter you’ve come to claim! And she wants nothing to do with you!”
“Lies.” Zafirah was unimpressed by his anger or his claim. “Dae has bound herself to me freely and eternally, and I have more regard for her than to believe she would so lightly break her oath of commitment.”
“You will remove your people from these lands at once!” Richard ordered, ignoring her. “Dae has seen through your perverted manipulations and understands the truth! You’ve already twisted her mind and destroyed her virtue! Do you honestly think I’d hand her back to you for further violations? Go back to your desert and leave us in peace!”
Zafirah remained impassive, but the arrogance of his order brought a small, humorless smile to her lips. “You do not command me, outlander; my station far exceeds your own. And I can read falsehoods in your expression as easily as you read words scratched onto parchment. I laid no hand upon Dae without her consent. Return her to me now!”
“Never! I am her father! It is my right—”
“Your right?” Zafirah interrupted. “Your right to keep her from the woman she loves? To steal her from our yurt like some cut-throat thief in the night? From her lips I have heard you described as a man of honor; your actions thus far call her assessment into question.”
“Please,” Dae’s mother stepped forward, placing a calming hand on her husband’s arm and looking at Zafirah with desperate eyes. “You can’t take her from us again. We are her family…we love her. If you truly care for Dae as much as you claim then please, leave. Do what’s best for her. Let her go.”
Zafirah considered the woman and her plea, her stern expression softening. “Is that what you did?” she asked quietly. “When the one you loved was taken from you, did you simply let her go? Or did you do all in your power to see her returned to your embrace? I am not unsympathetic, Lady Everdeen; I know how much you care for Dae. But my soul is bound to your daughter’s, and I have marched an army through this kingdom to see us reunited. I will not be denied.”
“Then you will be dead!” Richard cut in savagely.
Zafirah shifted her gaze back to him coldly. “Your forces are heavily outnumbered, and you know as well as I do that they will receive no reinforcements. King Gerald himself has conceded my right to take back my legal Consort.”
An ugly smirk twisted Richard’s face as he regarded her contemptuously. “You think that rabble out there are a match for my men? You primitives can’t imagine the fate awaiting you if you dare try to take my daughter by force.”
“That ‘rabble,’ as you call them, are the finest warriors in all the Jaharri—men and women well versed in the arts of battle and death. And if you believe they will be intimidated by your guns, think again.” She saw the confident look slip from Richard’s face at her words, and a predatory smile flashed across her lips at his obvious surprise. “Oh yes…we are quite familiar with such weapons. Your daughter has already told us a great deal about them, and my people have faced them in battle before. You do not wish to share the fate of the last enemy to use such accursed creations against us.”
Richard seemed speechless with rage at this revelation; just as Zafirah suspected, it was obvious he’d hoped his use of the advanced weapons would tip the balance of power in his favor.
“Bring Dae to me, and my people and I shall leave peacefully.”
“Never!” Richard took a step toward her, his face scarlet and his eyes raking over her with utter loathing and disgust. “You will NEVER see my daughter again, you…you perverted heathen savage! I would sooner see her dead than returned to the shame and dishonor of your bed!”
Zafirah’s calm snapped at this insult, her hand falling to the jeweled hilt of her scimitar. There was a sudden flurry of movement from the outlander guards as they shouldered their rifles and leveled their sights on her…but Hazim, standing impassively beside Zafirah, seemed to have been watching and waiting for this precise moment. He slid smoothly in front of her and gripped her arm, firmly setting his free hand over hers, preventing her from drawing the blade. He looked up into her furious eyes when they turned on him, his expression composed and very steady.
“Calm, my Scion,” he said quietly. “This is not the way to achieve your goal.”
“This pompous fool needs to learn his place!” Zafirah snarled.
“No. You will allow me to perform the task I was brought here to perform. Do not forget, Scion…this is Dae’s father.”
Some of the tension melted from Zafirah at his gentle reminder, and her hand relaxed. Hazim gave an approving nod.
“Excellent. Now…” Turning, he stepped away from her and addressed Richard, who was also being held back from violent action by his wife and adviser. “…your lordship, if we are quite done exchanging pointless insults, perhaps you would permit me a moment to discuss this matter with your own counselor?” Hazim adopted his most disarming smile, though the expression didn’t touch his eyes. “Cooler heads are more likely to achieve a peaceable conclusion to this dilemma…and I do not doubt a civilized man such as yourself would be pained by unnecessary bloodshed.”
Richard seemed to relax slightly at Hazim’s words, though he still appeared ready to kill. He waved a hand and snarled, “Very well. Talk. But Dae isn't going anywhere with this filth!”
Hazim joined Richard’s advisor, stepping away off to one side, the two men clasping hands and exchanging wary but civil greetings. Zafirah turned slightly away from them, concentrating on her breathing and trying to bring her emotions under control. When she glanced back, she noted the familiar smile Hazim now wore—all pearl-white teeth and guileless charm—and recalled something her father had once told her.
“Beware the smiling asp; he only smiles to show you his fangs.”
It was an adage he used specifically in reference to Hazim, one she’d thought at the time to be meant as an insult. When Zafirah repeated the remark to Hazim years later, during their first official meeting as Scion and wazir just after her father had passed, he had laughed in tearful delight and told her he accepted it as the highest compliment he could hope to receive from a man he loved and respected above all others. New to the wider world of politics at the time, Zafirah had little regard for the role of diplomats; better to face allies and adversaries alike face to face, she’d thought. It had taken many years of watching Hazim at work before she understood the strength it sometimes took to greet their often ignorant or arrogant outlander emissaries with warmth, turn a blind eye to their subtle condescension and disdain…and turn their assumptions against them with cool cunning.
Some men slew their adversaries with a blade, others a bow or spear; that cold, pleasant smile had always been Hazim’s deadliest weapon.
* * *
Considering his counterpart shrewdly as they exchanged introductions, Hazim noted his wary yet somehow desperate expression, the sheen of sweat on his forehead that seemed out of place in this chilly temperature. They were good signs; better to deal with a nervous man than one who was calm and confident in the strength of his position.
It was Hazim's experience that the most effective advisers and diplomats were generally possessed of a gift for pragmatism—albeit to a greater or lesser degree—and were thus more likely to seek common ground rather than focus on pointless, petty self-interests. Cultural prejudices and personal hatreds were, in Hazim’s opinion, little more than obstacles to rational thought; he was able to dismiss them whenever he encountered them in his dealings with outlanders. Since most Jaharri tended to revel in bitter blood-feuds so ancient their origins had been lost to antiquity, this made Hazim a unique and extremely useful member of the Scion’s staff.
Guiding his shorter, rotund counterpart off to the side, he hoped Edmund shared his attitude.
“So…” Folding his hands over his chest, he gave Edmund a testing look. “…may we begin by acknowledging that my Scion is within her legal rights to demand her Consort be returned to her?”
It was a blunt and direct opening, and Hazim was rather surprised when Edmund immediately nodded his ready accord. “We can.”
“Excellent. And can we then agree that, one way or another, there can be only one possible outcome to all this; Dae will be returned to Zafirah?”
“Yes…I agree. But you must understand…I’ve already tried to make Lord Everdeen see the futility of his stubbornness, but he has rejected my council. I don’t know what else I can do!”
“Hmm. So, you have already made attempt to sway him to a peaceful settlement?”
“I have. When he first informed me the Scion was on her way, I suggested at once that he send Dae with an escort to be returned to her. It’s what she wants, after all, but Lord Everdeen refuses to accept her desire. He insists that Dae must have been manipulated and coerced into accepting the touch of another woman, despite her protestations.” Edmund threw the Scion a cautious, somewhat fearful look. “I’m afraid he won’t be easily swayed from this belief.”
Hazim considered this, pleased to see that he was indeed dealing with a rational man. Indeed, Edmund appeared quite desperate to do anything he could to aid their negotiations. His eagerness might have seemed suspicious to some, but Hazim knew the Heartlander people—and their God—very well. Followers of Tarsis valued structure and order, so naturally enough they respected and were bound by their extensive laws…and in this case, the legal basis for the Scion’s demand was indisputable. Everdeen’s own King had refused to take to the field, so Edmund was well aware his master should also yield.
“And where is Dae now?” Hazim saw Edmund’s expression grow suddenly guarded, and silently applauded the response; it would be foolish for the man to reveal all the cards in his hand. “I only wish to confirm she is safe…unharmed.”
“She’s well enough, to be sure,” Edmund allowed cautiously, “though I cannot bring her to you.”
“As you wish.” Hazim stroked his chin, considering carefully. “But at least we are agreed on the outcome these negotiations must inevitably reach. All that remains is for us to plot a course that will achieve that outcome without the need for bloodshed.”
“I told you, I’ve tried!” Edmund said helplessly. “Lord Everdeen won’t surrender his only child to the Scion, no matter—”
Hazim raised a hand to cut off his words and stated calmly, “That thinking is not helpful to us. At its most basic level we can treat this as a simple business transaction—the release of the Scion’s legal Consort in exchange for a payment we have yet to agree upon. It may seem crass to present it in those terms, but plain and honest words will be more useful to us than obfuscation and deceit…would you not agree?”
Edmund sighed. “I suppose so, but…it will take time.”
“Perhaps your lord has simply not been given an opportunity to fully consider the benefits he might gain from his daughter’s union with the Scion,” Hazim suggested in a silken tone.
“B-benefits?”
“Indeed. Such a close bond of alliance with El’Kasari and the Jaharri is a rich prize many noble lords of this kingdom would eagerly claim if they could. The Scion controls the fastest route of trade with the Tasurik Empire and the Houses of Ach’Shir, after all…not to mention the riches of the entire desert nation.”
As hoped, this blatant reminder of the wealth of the Jaharri made Edmund pause. “I…I hadn’t considered this,” he said slowly. “You believe the Scion would grant him concessions to speed the process of negotiation?”
“For the family of her beloved Consort? Of course.” Hazim ran a finger over his sleekly groomed mustache, knowing the wheels were turning in Edmund’s mind. “Free use of the trade routes across the desert and access to the port of El’Kasari could be a tremendous boon to your lord’s estate…could allow him to cut the costs of trafficking materials and explore new trading paths, thus increasing his profits. It may also be possible to secure payment of a dowry, since Dae is now the Scion’s wife…but only if he can be convinced to give his approval to their union.”
Edmund looked to Richard, who was watching their discussion closely. “It would…take time to make Lord Everdeen see the value of such an alliance,” he said hesitantly, sparing another nervous glance to Zafirah, who was pacing back and forth with her hand still resting prominently on the hilt of her scimitar. “Your Scion does not strike me as a woman given to patient pursuits.”
“Indeed, she is not,” Hazim agreed readily. “But if you believe you can sway your lord to agreeable terms, I am confident I can guarantee the Scion will allow you the time to do so.” With mild eyes he studied Edmund’s face, but his voice took on a harder quality. “Find a price, adviser…and we can resolve this dispute peacefully.”
Edmund swallowed hard, clearly realizing that Hazim’s unassuming, servile demeanor concealed a shrewd and ruthless intellect which far outmatched his own. He nodded and said again, “It will take time.”
“And Zafirah will wait. Her army can establish camp while you convince your lord to do what he must…for the continued safety of his people.”
The two men parted, Edmund returning to Richard’s side and whispering in his ear at length while Hazim resumed his place beside Zafirah. She cast him a curious glance, which he returned with a slight shrug. “I warned you the negotiations would not be swift,” he told her quietly. “Dae is safe for now, and the greatest impediment to her return will be your impatience and quick temper. Keep the reins tight on your emotions, my Scion, and let me do my job.”
They watched while Edmund continued whispering in Lord Everdeen's ear, and from the stormy look on the man’s face it was clear he didn’t like what he was hearing. When the conversation was done, his hands were balled into fists and his lips drawn into a severe frown…but eventually he gave a single, curt nod.
Hazim smiled to himself, pleased to see his counterpart had at least succeeded in securing more time.
Edmund stepped forward and addressed Zafirah. “Lord Richard of Everdeen has graciously agreed to a truce between his army and your own. He will allow your forces to remain encamped upon his lands, provided your troops make no hostile or aggressive action. Your adviser and I will continue our negotiations regarding the return of your, um…Consort.”
Zafirah stared at Richard a long moment, her beautiful face imperious and impossible to read, then she wordlessly turned and led her escort out of the chamber.
Hazim matched his stride to hers, looking up at her severe expression with wry amusement. “Oh, come now, Scion, do not look so upset. A truce gives us time, and Lord Everdeen will not be easily parted from his cherished daughter.”
“Is she here?” Zafirah demanded, and Hazim was hardly surprised to see her displeasure at learning that more time would pass before she could see her beloved again.
Gods, how her father would weep if he could see his wild daughter so fixed by love’s devotion!, he thought.
“The man would not say…though I would guess she is close. And you will make no foolish attempts to see her released by sneakery or subterfuge. I can and I shall negotiate a settlement, and any such action on your part will only make my task more difficult.”
Zafirah snorted and waved a hand at him. “Fine, wazir…do as you must. I shall behave.” Marching out of the building and back into the watery sunlight, her severe expression slipped a moment and became slightly playful. “You are right, however; the negotiations may prove difficult. That man does not like me much.”
Hazim maintained a sardonically straight face, though he was pleased to hear that wry humor in his volatile ruler’s voice. “No, my Scion…” he agreed with sincere gravity. “I do not believe he does.”
* * *
Sitting on her bed, legs drawn up under her and fingers tapping nervously on her knees, Dae waited anxiously for word from outside the reformatory. Would her father finally be forced to see reason? Would he order an attack? In the silence of the room her own breathing sounded loud, her ears straining to detect the sound of gunfire, the screams of battle. She would have preferred to remain in the monastery and watch the events unfold below, but the thought of doing so with an audience was unbearable. So she waited, fingers tapping, praying for this whole ordeal to be over.
The door finally opened, and she looked up to see Kaylee enter the room, her hazel eyes bright with their usual excitement. “Well?” she asked urgently. “What’s happening? Are they fighting?”
Kaylee shook her head. “Uh-uh. They’re all a bit tense still, but there’s been no attack. A small group of soldiers left the main army, and I’m pretty sure the Scion was leading them but they’re too far away to get a good look. Does she ride a white horse? Anyway, they went inside with a bunch of guards and I guess they’ve spoken with your father, but they came back out and headed back to the army and now it looks like they’re moving over to the north-east fields to set up a camp. They’re unloading all these tents and stuff, and it’s a bit hard to make out exactly what they’re up to, but I’d say they’re settling in for a while. Everyone’s real excited about it, you should hear them talking, but I think—”
Dae held up a hand and Kaylee’s rambling broke off abruptly. “So, this isn’t going to be over so quickly,” she said with a sigh, closing her eyes in mild despair.
“Sorry.” Kaylee hesitated a moment, then sat gingerly next to her on the bed and gave her a timid pat on the shoulder. “But at least everyone’s being peaceful so far, so it’s not all bad…right?”
Dae smiled wearily, wishing she could find comfort in that simple fact but finding it impossible now that Zafirah was so close. All this time waiting, aching to feel her beloved’s arms around her again…and still there was no relief for her heartache in sight.
Predictably enough Dae was summoned to the monastery shortly after to meet with her father. It was clear to Dae the moment she stepped into the monastery that her father hadn't warmed up to Zafirah in the slightest after meeting her face to face.
What followed was everything she knew would follow—once again her father insisted that she tell Zafirah to leave, and she again refused to do any such thing. Dae had always viewed her father as a calm, level-headed person, a man who expressed himself with words and maintained strict control over his emotions, as he had taught her was expected from someone in his position. Seeing him now, so utterly distraught, alternating wildly between calm, reasonable debate and furious ranting and pleading for her to bow to his will…Dae had never seen him so overcome, so out of control. He looked half-insane with grief and confusion.
But she refused to let pangs of guilt soften her resolve. If he would only listen to her—actually listen—then perhaps he could let go of his idiotic prejudices and find happiness in the fact that she’d found a life that fulfilled her so completely.
In the face of her calm and resolute insistence that she be returned to the Scion, her father’s self-discipline crumbled completely. For only the second time in her life Dae saw tears roll freely down the lines in his face, disappearing into the tangle of his beard…but those tears could not change the desires of her heart. His body seemed to crumple and he fell to his knees, clutching at her waist and pleading again for her to see reason…to send her partner away.
Dae laid a single hand upon his shoulder, and gently refused.
“Find a way, Father,” she whispered in a choked voice. “Find a way to accept this…to see that this is what I want, what I need, to be happy. That this is who I am, who I always really was. If you can’t do that for me, then when I leave this time…I will truly be lost to you.”
After he left her, Dae lingered alone in the monastery until near dusk, shedding a few tears herself in privacy and struggling to bring her raw emotions in check. From the window she watched the activity down below, hoping to catch another glimpse of her mate, needing her strength and support now more than ever. But there were too many figures moving about, setting up a small city of tents along the edge of the forest line, for her to accurately distinguish one person from another.
The meeting with her father had made one thing abundantly clear; he intended to make this as difficult as he possibly could.