Sanctuary

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

P etra did not hear the drums stop.

She had only enough wherewithal to spoon the half-cooked dumplings out into a bowl before she burst out of the kitchen. The race of her thoughts extended down her legs as she sped across the square. She took no notice of the guard at the base of the battlement steps who looked at her as if she must be another who had lost their mind.

Nor did she hear him shout.

I must get to Rand! I know how to stop Bessarabiah! The people can be safe. We can go home. I can take this weight from you.

Up the steps, she darted past guards with dumbfounded looks. From the corner of her eye, she saw their adversaries below meld into the same straight line in which they had arrived. She could be twice the danger to herself as well as to the sentries right now, but it could not possibly matter. She had the answer!

One man tried to catch her arm, but she shook him off. Another moved to stand in her way; she ducked around him. There were shouts in her wake. Although she did not see her husband, she knew which way to run to find him. Her body knew. The mark eased whenever he was close.

Around a corner and onto the west wall, she ran. Already, he had felt her approach and strode towards her.

He caught her by the shoulders. “What are you doing up here?”

“I know how we can stop the attacks!”

Confusion furrowed his brows. “I can’t let you be up here. The Bessarabites are moving out and we must be—”

She clutched his forearms. “I tell you I know how to stop them.”

With serious intention, those eyes, the color of earth and blood, stared, as if he could decipher her thoughts. When he failed, he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

“Come away, then. Down the stairs some. Tell me what you know.”

Swept into the length of his steps, Petra was led across the west wall and over the south wall. Backed by the mountains, less men stood guard here. At Rand’s approach, though they were Forwin’s men, they saw the urgency of the Shivalry soldier and moved aside.

Upon the steps, Rand tried to draw her to sit but Petra shook her head. “I’ve not gone crazy.”

Instead, he sat on the step above her, keeping one of her hands in his. “Alright, then. Tell me.”

She took a deep breath. “When the Antediluvian bound us, it bound us as Sacred and Sacrifice. The innocent and the protector. It could not account for us being wed. Yet when we knelt before Heaven, the same eternity to bind us saw us married. Made one. It can’t be rejected if I sacrifice for you. It is my right as your wife.”

He stood. “No!”

“Hear me! When the Bessarabites attack, I will ride out. I will be captured by them. Then I will call out the incantation.”

“You have gone mad! Do you think I won’t come for you before you have left the gates? Do you think any earthly power could restrain me?”

“I know you will come! And the incantation will be forced to protect us both! Then Forwin’s men and your men can have a chance to beat them back. Don’t you see, Rand? Both of us will be larger than life and—”

“No!”

“What is the alternative? You already know. To let Mynydd be beaten down. To let free people suffer and die.”

“I won’t let you—”

“Would you choose me over these innocents?” She took his other hand. “Would you truly put my life before theirs?”

“Yes!”

“I don’t believe you! I don’t believe you would choose me over the lives here!”

“I love you, Petra!” he thundered.

“And I love you! This is the way.”

His mouth open, eyes wide with disbelief, his exhalation had the same force as a gasp, and he sat down. He let go of her and pushed his hands through his hair. At something unseen between his feet, he stared.

Apart from them, the receding drums had no wind to distort their sounds and echoed against a cloudless, slate blue sky. Petra imagined it was the manifestation of her husband’s heartbeat. Hammering to deafen the knowledge that her way was the right way.

Between his legs, she crouched and tried to draw his hands down, but Rand shook his head. Incoherent fragments of speech whispered from between his lips. She did not try to hear him. Instead, she put her hands on his thighs and willed him to understand her.

He could not know it tore at her insides to see him this way. Crumbled. Back hunched, shoulders slouched. It had to be a secret that she might lose her resolve if she saw his hands shake. Against the way his lips trembled, she bit her own.

Under her palms, she felt the sculpt and muscle of his legs. Vigor. Resolution. A man to stand his ground and she was the woman to stand alongside him. Together, they would do this.

“Rand?”

“I want no part of this.”

“Tell me another way.”

“I see none.”

“Then...”

He looked at her, taking her face in his hands. “This might fail. You tempt Eternity. You call on our unity as man and wife in the name of Sacred and Sacrifice, but Heaven has seen where our unity stops.”

“What do you mean?”

For an answer, he pushed his legs together on either side of her. Heat flushed up the back of Petra’s neck. Instinctively, she dug her fingers into his thighs in case the steam coming up from her body lifted her off the ground, like a finished boiled dumping. From her face, his hands caressed down her neck, then her shoulders where he moved to either side of her breasts and remained.

“I thought,” she whispered, trying to swallow air that had evaporated the instant his hands pressed inward on the sides of her modest bosom, “you weren’t ready for that. I thought perhaps you might never be ready.”

She watched his hands slide down to her waist.

“Don’t mistake what I wanted from what I thought was right,” he murmured, his thumbs beginning to work in circular motions. “I want you, Petra. But I wished to hang on to what was left of my vow of celibacy. At some point, though, what I desire would have won. I can’t look at you and not feel...” Distant fire flickered in his eyes. “And not feel a great deal,” he finished. “In my head, and my heart, and loins.”

“What does it feel like,” she asked, her balance starting to swoon from the circles he drew.

“A storm at sea.”

“I should like to drown there with you.”

His back straightened, and his shoulders became rigid. There was no constancy in the way he breathed. At her waist his grip tightened, and it seemed to jolt him to his feet.

“Come, then.” His voice was husky. “Let us have what we both want.”

He picked her up, one arm under her knees, the other around her waist. Over his shoulder, he shouted a command, but Petra did not hear it. Thunder crashed in her ears and lightning dazzled her sight. Inside her chest, her rib bones ached while the soft flesh of her lower stomach burned. Though she was in no danger of falling, she clung to him.

Did this happen for the people of Mynydd or because he lifted the barrier on himself? She didn’t know.

Did it matter? Intertwined, they would hold Eternity to its word. Bound and drowning in one another, she and he would give what neither could take back. What could be given only once. It might hurt. He might weep in joy for what he gained and sorrow for what was lost.

I will cry, too. Even now, he’s doing his duty. As a soldier and a husband.

Down the steps. Across the courtyard. Neither felt the still, bitter air. Their bodies were ablaze.

Into the tower and fast up the stairs, Rand kicked the door shut behind them. He set her down, staring at her, mouth slightly parted. She felt her clothes might dissolve from the fury in his eyes, dazzling with red, hot heat. Petra moved to lift the hem of her dress, but he stopped her.

“Wait. Before I lose myself in you, let me give you the kiss I promised. A kiss not tangled between the ones we will share in a moment.”

With care, he tilted her head back. To her forehead, he pressed his lips. Then the bridge of her nose. And then, parting her lips with his fingers, Rand pressed his mouth onto hers. She clung to his neck. His arms enfolded her body. Her feet lifted off the ground as his kiss deepened, taking her breath away.

She was too weak to remove her clothes, and he undressed her with the care for something holy. Something...sacred. Through the mist of fractured colors, her vision a kaleidoscope, she saw him undress, a fantasy of muscle and virility. The instant he was between her legs, there was nothing between them but her gasping his name and his moan in reply.

A sacred act. A woman’s sacrifice, in the safety and sanctuary of a man.

It was a long time before the rock of their bodies slowed and both fell asleep in the other’s embrace, exhausted.

***

T HE DRUMS WERE GONE .

In their room, Petra lay alone in the bed. Rand had left moments prior, with a soft kiss on her forehead, saying he must return to his men and tell them the plan.

Over the surrounding silence outside, her thoughts and her heart were loud. The mark of Sacred hummed like the beat of a hummingbird’s wing. During their embrace, she had not been aware of it, but she was now, and it did not blend well with her current state.

Joy and fear are not bedfellows.

In the swell of her heart, she felt as if a wide pasture had been opened within her. Rolling hills were high and deep, steeped in plush, green grass. She could see a thousand bright mornings.

She was the queen of this meadow, unkempt and barefoot. Her king was her lover. When he came to adore her, she was surrounded by waves of green grass, her hair enmeshed and her body verdant. When he pulled himself from between her legs, he left her spread wide and as content as a suckled fox cub.

Yet, she knew her place was outside of the idyllic paramour’s meadow land. In reality, her hair was shorn and the palms of her hands rough. Here, her husband was a soldier and though he covered her body with blankets, he still left her side to shoulder his men. This was her reality. Here she must be to truly remain one with him.

Petra sat up and let the blankets fall. The room was warm; Rand had stoked the hearth before he left. It was a comfort she ought not to linger in. She had spoken her determination out loud and must rise to meet her words.

The drums had been a warning. A second storm was moving in, its teeth bared. Residents of the fort would scramble to prepare for the next attack, knowing of its gravity.

Now there was no chatter in the stairwells.

Petra got up. She pulled layers beneath her black dress and wrapped her feet before pulling on shoes. She left her hair unbound but tied a scarf under her chin to keep her ears warm.

Her mark buzzed. She was not sure if the sensation boded ill or not. It was not meant for a Sacred and Sacrifice to lay down together though she found it hard to believe that had never happened before. These were still women and men. Bound so intimately, they did not succumb to their bodies? She refused to believe it.

Was there punishment for this act? Is that why her mark whirred like it might fling itself from her skin?

And then will I perish? Just when I can help him, and our union is fulfilled?

Then she must be willing to die. The same as Rand every time he wielded his blade.

In the square, like mice who know hawks circle above, people moved with irregular haste. Scurrying and stopping, scurrying and stopping. Chins were tucked. There was much glancing around and up into the sky.

At any moment, the hawks might dive.

Petra kept her hands tucked inside her cloak and darted her way to the hall. She and Lindy needed to eat.

The orphaned child had caught her going down the stairs in the tower and begged to accompany her. She did not want to be alone in the strange silence and Clemence’s children were no comfort. The father had slapped their mouths to keep them quiet during the drumming and now they wouldn’t speak.

Practically peeling the child from her side, Petra promised to bring her food and explain what was going on if she promised to stay put inside their room. Although there was no enthusiasm in the child’s nod, she trod up the stairs to Lady Petra’s room dutifully.

Several men and women were inside the hall. A few of the men waited to be served, refusing to be shaken from rituals. Their women were too panicked to dissent. Other men sat hunched in a circle, sharpening axes and tightening bow strings. Women who weren’t in the kitchen also sat together, rolling bandages and darning blankets.

After I get Lindy fed, I’ll come back and join them. I want to keep busy, too.

“Curse Cyprian.”

“Hush, Gunnora!”

Petra met a woman named Brenna’s hazarded glance and moved beside her to help knead dough.

“I have also cursed him.”

“He leaves us here to rot,” Gunnora snapped. “We have been the stronghold of Vale for generations and now,” she snorted, “now we are fodder for Bessarabite scum.”

Brenna struck her friend’s arm and though she kept her eyes lowered, she spoke towards Petra.

“She should not speak so but we are all afraid.”

“So am I.”

Gunnora jerked her head towards Petra and spoke with vinegar on her lips.

“Oh, the wife of the Shivalry captain is afraid? She lost her fine things on the way here and now she must face her mortality like the rest of us.” She spat. “The stories you will have, when you are escorted safely from here, to tell the women of the court.”

Brenna gasped. “Hush, Gunnora!”

“Will you say we smell?”

“Gunnora, remember yourself!”

“I should rather smell of fertilizer than the perfume carried through our gates for you women of the city to wear!”

The color drained from Brenna’s complexion.

The woman was ready for a fight. Her sensibilities were stretched to a single thread of silk, frayed in the middle where the tension was the greatest. Petra neither wanted to fight nor placate her.

Given her status as a captain’s wife, decorum might have demanded she give Gunnora a verbal lashing. And perhaps that was the correct response. Even though Petra had worked to be seen as a soldier’s wife, without the rank of captain, she might be undermining her own worth if she did not set Gunnora down.

Yet, her mark thrummed with aggression, and it felt like her ribs might shake free from their framework. She was hungry. Lindy was hungry. Plus, the nervous child waited on her to at least have knowledge as comfort.

Petra looked at Gunnora. “As I said,” she stated quietly, “I am also afraid. And tired. I think we all are. Now, if you don’t mind, you aren’t the only one rushing to provide food for others.”

The woman opened her mouth, but this time was smacked by a wooden spoon, accompanied by an astringent “hush” from Brenna.

***

T O HER SURPRISE, RAND was in their room when she returned. He stood at the window, looking out. On the bed, Lindy sat cross-legged with her chin resting heavy on her chest. The faintest of snores bubbled from her.

Petra shut the door with care.

“I woke her when I came in,” Rand whispered. “She has only just fallen back asleep.”

Setting the bowl full of dumplings on the table, Petra moved beside her husband. His arm stole around her waist. With his free hand, he untied the scarf before nuzzling his face into her hair and kissing her forehead.

A heavy thrill washed over her limbs, and she turned to put her arms around him. He held her, stooping to rest his forehead atop her crown.

“You’re in pain,” he murmured.

“How did you know?”

“Something inside me says I must rescue you, but you’re here in my arms.”

“The mark hurts.”

“When did that begin?”

“After we...”

“Ah.” He was quiet for a moment. “The price to pay.”

“Is that what it is? I can’t believe we are the first to—”

“I doubt we are. But Sacreds and Sacrifices who consummated their union likely kept it secret. There are no tomes recounting it that I know of.”

“If we make it out of here alive, I will spend hours each day searching for such a record,” she said, with a weak laugh.

“I won’t let you die, Petra.”

“Do you command Fate?”

“Fate is fluid.”

“That’s not what—”

“It is what your husband says.”

He lifted her chin, his smile tender and his kiss soft.

“And I shall obey my husband,” she answered, a breath away from his mouth.

“Spurious woman. If that were true, then you would not ride out to meet the enemy.”

Behind them, the bed creaked. Lindy rubbed her eyes and yawned.

“Is that dumplings?”

Rand let go. Petra moved to get the bowl, but he pulled her into the chair with a lover’s scolding in his expression. And even though her body ached, and her heart yearned that none of this need happen, she could not hold back a smile.

He took the cloth that covered the bowl and placed three dumplings in it before handing it to Lindy, reminding her they were still warm. Then he served Petra, placing two savory rounds in a cup, winking at her with the same reminder.

This interaction was not lost on Lindy. She tried to chew over giggling.

For a little while, the last stretches of a pale late afternoon sun reached in through the window, creating wavering shapes on the floor. A log burned in the hearth, popping ember motes. Beyond the door, there was occasional footfall and voices. For a little while, everything was peaceful.

Hope in Petra stirred. Her days might look like this. Eating with her husband while a child looks on, feeling their affection and seeing how it is to love and be loved. Perhaps one day there would be a child from her womb, and she would have her father’s eyes, or he would carry his mother’s determination.

Days, weeks, years like this. Her own mother paddling in the background, indulging, scolding, and caring for them all. There may be weeks Rand had to lead a calvary and her nights would be cold without him. She would worry about him. Pray for his absence to end. But, oh when he returned! Then she would be reminded how glorious it was to sleep in his embrace, feel his heartbeat next to her body.

I have no shame to wish for this. Pray for this. Do you listen, Heaven? I am bold enough to ask.

“Lady Petra?”

She shook her head to diffuse the reverie and looked at her charge.

“Yes, Lindy.”

“You promised to tell me what’s going on.”

“You’re right. I almost forgot. Well, the Bessarabites—”

“What were the drums for?”

“To warn us. Frighten us.”

“Of what?”

“Of their next attack, I imagine. Maybe they hoped we would be so scared we couldn’t fight back. But the people of this fort are stronger than that.”

The little head bobbed a nod, but uncertainty ruffled her features. “I hope we don’t have to fight back.”

“So do I. But don’t pin your hopes on that. Bessarabiah will come.”

“And when they do,” Rand began, “you must make sure you are with Clemence and her children.”

Instant tears welled in her eyes. “But I want to stay here with Lady Petra!”

“I want to stay with you, too,” she soothed. “But I...can’t.”

“Why?”

Is this a truth she must know? How much do you share with a child? What can their minds understand and what will leave them confused? If I tell her I ride to face the people responsible for her mother’s death, what does her young mind think it knows? Will she think I’ll die, too? When I promised she can come live with me.

Petra cleared her throat, but Rand sat beside the little girl. He put another dough round in the napkin and filled the remaining cup with tea, holding it out for her.

“You saw me when I came to rescue you and Lady Petra, didn’t you, Lindy?”

She looked down at the teacup. “Yes. You were...scary.”

“I have a mark on my body that makes me ferocious when Lady Petra is in danger. She has a similar mark. It won’t make her vicious. It will make her fierce and glorious. And she has decided to use hers to help Mynydd.”

The girl looked up, mouth agape and eyes as round as the one dumpling she had left. She stared at Petra as if seeing a wonderment for the first time.

“I knew it,” she said.

“Knew what?”

“I knew Lady Petra was special. Even before she cut her hair. I just knew!”

“You were right,” Rand replied.