Chapter Eight
“No one will touch my bride.I will slaughter anyone who does.”
Abauna flinched as Rolan’s chest rumbled beneath her cheek. He was terrifying, but she wasn’t nearly as afraid of him as she was of the Empress.
What she planned to do to Abauna was horrific. But worse, it would prove exactly what the evil woman hoped to. No confirmation occurred. Which meant they’d failed to complete the vows.
Which meant they’d failed in the eyes of their people.
And failure was not tolerated.
For both of their sakes, this couldn’t happen.
The hum of the Ancients was virtually imperceptible under normal circumstances—their power felt more than heard—but now it filled the room like another heartbeat.
A warning.
“Enough!” the priestess snapped, and Abauna got the feeling she was speaking for them. “The bride and groom have made their choice. There will be no examination.”
Relief rolled over Abauna and she tried to free herself from her groom’s grasp. But he shook with anger, his grip on her tight enough to bruise. Like the volcanoes of old before they spewed their angry lava.
Pushing hard at his chest, she was finally able to separate from him. Her eyes landed on the seething Empress. Blackness seeped from her gaze like a fog poisoning the air. Pure hatred.
Dear gods, why was this woman full of it?
“Then they are hereby banished to the Barren. Let the record show,” she spat, tossing a mocking smirk to the priestess, who calmly nodded.
“Let the record show…” the priestess murmured. Calm now, hands folded properly at her waist, she glanced upward. “... Rolan of Vegoth and Abauna of Trice are hereby banished to the Barren.” The downward turn at the end of her proclamation echoed the despair in Abauna’s heart.
This wasn’t right.
Yet, the Ancients would do nothing. It was the Empress’s responsibility to decide who was a benefit to their people… and who didn’t deserve to remain. Even if they were angered by her decision—which was impossible to determine—they would not intervene.
Those with great power mustn’t wield it upon those with less.
The phrase hung above every temple entrance in the Barbarian Hold, yet… the Empress was great with power, and never hesitated to use it as a weapon.
Abauna narrowed her gaze at the female.
“Your time is coming,” she heard herself say. “One day every pain you’ve caused will return to you a hundredfold. A million.”
The Empress swirled her hand carelessly through the air. “Guards, take them.”
“You will weep for relief and there will be none!” Abauna couldn’t help herself, her voice rising to demand the attention of the entire court.
“You’ll be dead before that happens,” the Empress snapped.
“Yet it will happen.” Guards surrounded Abauna and Rolan. She let her voice shriek from her throat as they urged them out of the temple, spear tips pointed at their chests. “And when it does, you’ll remember this day, here and now, and you will wish you had a heart that wasn’t blackened and deformed by power. You will wish for many things, and they will never come true. Let the record show!”
She heard a collective “Aye,” as the temple doors crashed shut.
Rolan was silent beside her as the guards brought them to the gates of the city. They were to be allowed nothing except the garments they wore. No food or tools. Nothing to make shelter.
Under normal circumstances, they would be assigned a dwelling to call their own. Usually, one within the confines of their specific Barbarian tribe. The Vegoth land was plenty and there were many dwellings to spare.
But since they were banished, they were left with nothing to survive the great Barren.
Despair licked at her chest.
What would they do? Where would they go?
Perhaps if the beast had been given to another, she might have lain with him, and he would’ve been spared this. It was her duty to do this thing, and now they would both pay for her failure.
Already, she was a burden of the worst kind. Not a gift. Not even close.
Tears choked her, and she let them fall silently down her cheeks.
The great wall around the city was made mostly of heavy stone and brick, some of it crumbling in places. Especially farther away from the main gates. But here, at the apex of the Hold, where people seldom came but sometimes went, it was constructed of thick iron bars and barbed wire that twisted to the sky haphazardly.
The sight had always sent a shiver through her. Perhaps because it reminded her of the Empress’s horned helmet.
Atop the columns that supported the gate sat stacks of sun bleached skulls surrounded by roughly carved symbols that represented the different Barbarian tribes. A V with slash through it for Vegoths. A circle with and X inside for Xeniths. And a cross with a box around it for the Triceans.
The gate loomed, large and onerous before them. How long had it been since it was opened? A banishing was never a secret occurrence, and she couldn’t recall the last one. And visitors—if there were any left in the world to come—didn’t dare approach. It was said that the Barbarians had annihilated all others in war, but if that was so, why did the Vegoths continue to train as though threats still existed?
No one but the Ancients knew what was beyond the Hold in the Barren. Just that it was dangerous and many battles had been fought to maintain society within the walls.
The gate creaked as it was lifted, and a small army of guards lined the opening. One spoke to them, his voice thick and solid.
“You are not permitted to linger near the fences. You must leave the area immediately or be executed. You have until the sun is at position two, and will not be given any warning. Do you understand?”
Abauna nodded. She didn’t see or hear Rolan’s response.
“Very well. Be off, and…” The guard hesitated, his voice quieting. “May the luck of Ancients find you.”
Her feet were numb in her bridal slippers as she moved along the gravel path that stretched beyond the city. She couldn’t guess at how far it would go, but she hurried toward the bright green trees that looked thick and dense even though they were too far away to know for sure.
She was aware of the crunch of her groom’s boots beside her but she couldn’t bear to look at him. Couldn’t imagine what she might find in his expression. Perhaps hate now, like the Empress.
They reached the trees quicker than she expected and once behind the cover of the thick foliage, far enough from the gates that they wouldn’t be executed, she stopped to catch her breath.
Rolan stopped beside her, silent still. She didn’t like the idea of him hating her. Didn’t want him to see her like others did.
Were they all right? Was she destined to always fail? To be useless beyond measure? To bring dishonor to all who associate with her?
She stared at the ground, refusing to look at her groom.
“You may leave me,” she said, proud that her voice only shook a bit. “I won’t follow or chase. You are free of me. I release you of our vo—”
Before she could finish, a hand clamped down on her mouth, stopping the words from leaving. Rolan stood close behind, his arm reaching around her shoulder to press his palm over her lips, firm but gentle.
“No,” he said quickly, almost breathless. “Do not finish it, bride. Our vows are until death. You swore it by the Ancients. And I, as well.”
What was that in his voice? Was it… fear?
She was also afraid. To be alone in the Barren, with nothing to protect or sustain her… the mere idea choked her with fear. But she never expected the fierce beast, who’d surely experienced worse under the Empress’s care, to feel the same.
He removed his hand and stepped away.
“You will be better without me,” she managed, wishing it wasn’t true. “You are strong and fearsome. Whatever lies in the Barren, you will overcome it easily.”
“It isn’t myself I worry about.”
His words caught her, gaze flashing to him. His expression was guarded, holding her away from what he truly meant.
“What then?”
He only blinked in response, but she knew.
“Me?”
“It is my duty as your groom to see you safe.” His chest puffed a little—less than it did as they spoke their vows, but enough to see this was important to him. Pride. His sense of duty.
He wasn’t concerned about surviving the Barren himself. Only making sure she did.
A burden. She was a burden.
Never a gift.
Perhaps she didn’t know any other way to be.