CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
W hat the soldiers of both nations saw was the body of a woman flung up into the sky. It seemed as if she was held around the waist, her arms, legs, and head left dangling. From her side, soft light glowed and acted as a beacon for the giant mannish figure approaching. Both armies would have sworn a wordless song emanated from her, made of only the vibration of scores of voices. The giant answered the melody with the howl of a monstrous wolf.
His steps shook the ground. Innumerable screaming arrows flew at him and were absorbed into his shape. From the back of Bessarabiah’s flanks, the catapult launched boulders. Their aim was true but only made the figure snarl.
There would be men who swore on their mother’s graves that they saw fangs. Others would say red light pulsed from the middle of his chest.
There were many Bessarabites who ended their lives out of terror. Others fled the battlefield. Those who remained were thrust aside by the giant’s arm, like so much refuse. Swords thrust at him deflected. Nothing deterred him from reaching the woman in the air.
When he stood beneath her, it seemed as if the invisible rope suspending her snapped. She plummeted into his hands, cupped to receive her body. Thunder shook the sky clear and freed the wind. It blew the light from both the woman and her colossus.
Bellowing, the man brought her to his chest.
At this moment, no account from survivors would be the same. Witnesses told of the giant unhinging his jaw and consuming the woman. Others said he pressed her to his chest and absorbed her. There would be those who told their children of the day when a man, larger than life, breathed a maiden into his lungs—for her body was made of paper and disintegrated at the warmth of his breath.
The instant the woman was gone, the man shrunk. Yet, rage filled him. A sword appeared in his hand. He fought like a naked demon who had pledged revenge. He was unhinged. Heads flew. Limbs ricocheted off bodies. With the leg of one fallen fool, he beat another to death. His hands broke through armor and pulled out spinal cords. His sword impaled multiple men at once.
Arrows touched him now. But he ripped them out. Swords sliced his flesh but did not wound him as they should have. He bled although he fought like his body was impenetrable. With his bare hands he snapped bones. With his might, worth ten, the soldiers of Mynydd began to gain the upper hand.
“Yates said he had never been so grateful or so frightened in all his life,” Rand finished.
A bump in the rough road made Petra lean onto her other arm and wish for carriages to have twelve wheels instead of four.
She had woken in the carriage, finding herself looking up at her husband who was beside her.
It had been nine days since Mynydd stood victorious.
Bessarabiah’s king had been trampled to death under his own horse, after falling from a well-aimed Vale blade. With their leader gone, they pulled back and in three days a messenger arrived at the fort. He tore his country’s flag in two and laid it on the ground in surrender.
Yates had commanded Petra and Rand be taken back to the royal city where they could recover in peace with better medical care.
“I collapsed during the retreat,” Rand stated. “You appeared next to me. We’ve both been unconscious. I woke yesterday. That’s when Yates told me everything.”
“What do you remember?”
“Very little. The last thing I can recall is pulling one of the chains free from the wall.”
“I remember...sitting on Loom and shouting to the army. Is Loom safe?”
He smiled. “Yes. He has some scratches but he’s safe. Riding in his own cart, as a matter of fact, pulled by two Bessarabite horses that were captured.”
“Good. Are we safe? I mean, I feel like I have been asleep for years. I do remember how afraid I was for you.”
Rand kissed her forehead. “We are safe. There was a gruesome wound encircling your mark, Yates informed me. Like something had escaped your body. But it has nearly healed. I am not quite so unaffected, but I am whole.”
“What do you mean?”
He pushed himself up into a seated position and then unbuttoned the long shirt he wore. Petra gasped and reached forward but Rand stayed her hand.
“I’m alright.”
“But—”
“I’m not in pain.”
“Is it only on your chest?”
He shook his head and pushed the sleeves away from his wrists. “It continues down my legs, too.”
Black marks coated him. It looked like he had been tattooed from the inside out. Instead of an artist designing the pattern, however, his body’s natural mapping had branded him. The path and pattern of his veins covered his body. Hundreds of black lines, leading to and from his heart. Petra half-feared she would see blood rushing through them. Or worse, weeping from their confines.
“I did that to you.”
Rand wiped away her tears. “Hush.” He traced her lips with his thumb as if to wipe the words from her mouth. “I’m not in pain.”
“What does it mean?”
“I don’t think it means anything. I am your Sacrifice. I take on the cost.”
“It should be me!”
With his thumb and forefinger, he took hold of her chin. “I would suffer this everyday to keep you from it.”
The burgundy eyes were rich as chocolate from the West and deep as high tide at midnight. Tender and intense. Ineffably fond and firm.
My punishment is to see you thus. My voice carried above the Heavens and my cries were heard, but I must accept a cost, too. Everyday I will see my husband’s naked body burned by my actions. When I touch him at night, I will feel how his skin is roughened for my sake. Never will there be reproach or resentment in his eyes and that will sting in my heart, also.
“I love you, Rand.”
“Hush.” He kissed her. “Rest with me.” He pulled her into his lap. “Your body soothes me.”
“I thought you said it didn’t hurt.”
Nestled in his embrace, vibration from his laugh rumbled into her back. “Shameless woman.”
He nuzzled in her neck and for a long time they did not speak further. Her hands were on his chest, down his abdomen, and then into his hair while he kissed and tasted every inch of her skin.
When their mouths parted, he still held her. Petra tipped her head back onto him and sighed.
“I wondered if it might be taken from us.”
“What?”
“The marks. Sacred and Sacrifice.”
“Try to move from my arms and see.”
Petra pulled his hands up to her lips. “Never.”
He chuckled. “But you will, though. We will come home, and your mother will be there. You will spend your days helping her. And when Lindy is done with her lessons and the friends she makes, you will play with her. Women of the court will seek your company. Some wanted, some unwanted. And duty as a captain’s wife will take you from me.”
“And you?” she teased back. “Duty will take you from me. My mother will dote on you. Lindy will grow to adore you. And Bartholomew will never be far from your side.”
“How devasting that I shall wish you by me every moment.”
She looked up at him. “Am I simple for wishing the same?”
“Hardly,” he answered with a dangerous grin.
“And what of the trip to the sea you promised me,” she asked, glowing in his rakish expression.
“I have not forgotten. Cyprian can hardly do anything else than grant whatever request I might make. Whatever his plans had been, the people of the city now know Mynydd was saved. We cannot be punished for spoiling his triumph. Let us settle into our new life and then we shall travel with all the luxury I can afford you. We shall visit my parents, and I will hold you tight when the waves pull at your legs.”
“Hold me tight now.”
He did more than hold her and it was good the shades on the windows in the carriage were drawn. Lost to one another, they did not feel the rumbling rhythm of the wheels on the road back to The Cloistered City.
Home again.
Home for the first time.
The city had robbed it from her once. She returned now, flaunting a new family. A little girl who rode in a small carriage just behind theirs, longing for love. Her mother plucked from rural life, eager to hug her daughter again. And a man.
A husband to make this life with. He was her shield and protector. She was forever his in body and soul. They were more to one another than the lover and the beloved. She and him were a place of rest for the other, a place of adoration. A sanctuary.
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The End.