Awaken (Tales of Dormiraa Book 2)

  Awaken

  Tales of Dormiraa Book 2

  by

  Cassandra Dean

  Awaken

  Copyright © by Cassandra Dean

  Cover Design: Cassandra Dean

  Interior Book Design: Cassandra Dean

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form by any means, including photocopy, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Gone

  Ambush

  Voyage

  Home

  Fight

  Always

  Acknowledgments

  About Cassandra Dean

  Other books by Cassandra Dean

  Connect with Cassandra Dean

  Gone

  Bharia woke slowly. Mind sluggish, thoughts unclear, she struggled to open her eyes. Always she jumped to full consciousness, her mind instantly alert and aware. It annoyed Thalia to no end, the princess more likely to laze about abed than to rush to meet the day. Even Stahg, Bharia’s fellow guardian and he of the dispassionate demeanour, seemed on occasion annoyed by her cheery alertness. The nature of their vocation made it so they rose early more often than not and she’d often seen Stahg struggle to wake, his features boyish and unsure before he found true consciousness.

  Now, slowly, impressions came to her. The bed at her back was soft and the pillow beneath her cheek was smooth against her skin. The familiar aroma of oatmeal and beef wound about her, but underneath lay a strange scent, sharp with chemicals. Dye. Why was there dye?

  Memory teased, distant and blurred. Red-stained cobblestones. Blue and yellow splattered across the stone of buildings. Hands tinted with purple. They were in Dyerston. They were travelling. Why were they travelling?

  She frowned.

  Pain exploded through her skull, intense and bright. With a gasp, she burrowed deeper into the pillow, but pain brought with it memory. Thalia. They were to return her home to Queenstor. To the throne. But… they had been attacked.

  Memory whirled. Thalia screaming as she desperately fought those seeking her harm. The foppish tailor shedding effeminacy to reveal a vicious ruthlessness.

  Stahg taking a dagger.

  Bharia shot upright. Her head shrieked a protest, her stomach revolted, but she ignored both.

  Across the room, Stahg looked up from oiling his sword, his expression calm. Something flickered in his eyes, but quickly he lowered his lashes, veiling whatever she thought she saw.

  Relief flooded her, intense and consuming. A mark rode high on his left cheekbone while the edge of a bandage rode his upper left bicep, covered mostly by his gilet. The sleeveless jacket was rumpled, as if he’d spent the night in the too-small chair in which he sat, but he was alive and regarding her with his usual calm.

  Assured of his safety, she assessed the room. Bright sunshine lit the hired room of an inn, a room of finer quality than those in which they’d stayed on this journey. The chair Stahg occupied was well-upholstered, the wooden arms intricately carved. The washstand was porcelain rather than wood, and real glass filled the window. A clearly expensive Thymician carpet covered the floor while a magnificently embroidered quilt lay in a heap at the foot of the bed.

  The room, for all its finery, lacked one vital element. “Where is Thalia?”

  Stahg started oiling his sword once more, calm, measured strokes. Too calm. Too measured. “You should rest.”

  That calm could, on occasion, become infuriating. He should know. He should know her. She would not rest until she knew of her charge. “Where is Thalia?”

  The strokes ceased. Hand tightening on the pommel, he kept his gaze locked upon his sword.

  Fear made her voice sharp. “Where is the princess, Stahg?”

  He exhaled. “She is gone.”

  Gone. Throat tight, Bharia stared at him. Eight years they’d guarded and only once before had they failed, when they had been young and untested. They’d allowed the princess her arrogance and had paid the price, the young royal taken and held. Stahg had found her and Bharia had fought her free. Since then, all three of them had been wary.

  But not wary enough. Thalia was gone. “How long?”

  “Two days.”

  Two days. She’d been insensible in this place for two days? The throb in her head worsened, shards of pain darting through her skull. Fighting the disorientation, she forced herself to think. “Did the Cormare take her?” The villains that had attacked them hadn’t claimed any allegiance to the crime horde, but what criminals native to Dyerston were not affiliated with the Cormare?

  “No. ” Stahg stood, rising and then rising still, his head almost brushing the ceiling. He was tall, taller than her by a head or more and she was herself not small, standing above most men. Placing his sword by the dresser, he wiped his hands on a cloth methodically. “She has boarded a ship to Queenstor with the tailor.”

  Relief filled her again. She sagged against the pillow but a moment before tension returned, brought this time by anger. Stahg would not think to tell her immediately Thalia was safe. His damn dispassion, giving the facts and nothing more. “So she is safe.”

  “As safe as she can be.”

  “You could have told me that first.”

  He shrugged. “What would it have changed?”

  Fury bit her, bright and sharp. “It would have changed the worry I felt.”

  Light blue eyes regarded her steadily. “Bharia, if Thalia was in danger, I would have said immediately. You know this.”

  Crossing her arms, she glanced aside. He had no call to sound disappointed. He should have told her.

  He exhaled. “The tailor will protect her.”

  Swallowing her ire, Bharia nodded. It was how Stahg was made and no collection of words would change him.

  The tailor would protect Thalia. Second in power only to the king, this newly appointed tailor possessed a thinly veiled savagery, a ruthless willingness to protect what he considered his. And, by what Bharia had seen, the tailor was well on his way to considering his fate tied to Thalia's, and on the ship there would be little— “Why did you not book passage on the next ship?”

  A flicker passed over his face. “You were hurt, Bharia.”

  “I am of no concern.”

  “No concern?” In his jaw, a muscle ticked. “So I should have abandoned y—I should have abandoned my fellow Guardian to follow a charge contained on a ship?”

  It did sound imbecilic when he phrased it so. “Yes,” she said, knowing it foolish.

  “I chose differently.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, a sure sign she was vexing him. “Thalia is safe with the tailor, contained on a ship, and I would not reach her any quicker should I have not waited for you to wake. The ship for Queens
tor does not leave for another five days. It made more sense to wait for you to wake and then ride for Rivermouth and the ships that depart daily. Are you thirsty?”

  The sudden change of subject hurt her head. Abruptly, she realised her throat was parched. “Yes.”

  Collecting a tumbler from the dresser, he made his way to her. The bed dipped under his weight, causing her to roll toward him. Her thigh brushed his. Familiar breathlessness filled her, but as she had a thousand times before, she brushed it aside.

  He handed her the glass. “You should rest, at least one more day.”

  She took a sip, the cool water a balm. “I am fine.” They should not delay. They were already two days behind. Raising her hand to the lump behind her ear, she winced.

  “One more day, Bharia. It wasn’t the lightest of blows.” Stahg crossed his arms over his broad chest, his fingers digging into his biceps. “You overextended.”

  She had. A stupid error, one for which she now suffered.

  Stahg wore his own errors on his skin. The bandage on his shoulder spoke of the injury she'd seen, a glancing blow of a dagger to avoid a sword to the gut, while the bruise high on his cheek and the split in his lip suggested he'd stopped someone's fist with his face.

  In a conflict, he always knew where she was, how she was, just as she knew the same of him. The sense they had of the other made them ideal to guard the princess, and perhaps that was why they’d been chosen. Privately, Bharia had always thought it their youth. She was but three years Thalia’s elder, and Stahg was even closer in age, having only a year and a half more than the princess. Three people of similar age would garner less attention than two noticeably older guardians.

  But then, they should never have been so long away from Queenstor and the throne. Thalia’s royal Tour should have lasted a year, maybe two, not the seven it had taken for the tailor to find and retrieve her. Bharia had no notion why it had lasted so long, but it was not her place to question. She was but to serve and protect, and she had done so. That she liked Thalia, respected her, was due to knowing the princess and counting her a friend.

  She couldn’t leave her friend unprotected. “We can’t let her get too far,” she said, raising her hand to her throbbing head. Her fingers shook. Perhaps she was more affected than she thought.

  “I know.” Stahg’s hand twitched. She wondered at that. He often looked at her with the same expression and his hand would twitch or clench. Before she could wonder further, he continued, “Now you have woken, I will secure us passage to Queenstor, but you will need one more day.”

  She threw back the covers and ignored how her head swam. “I am ready.”

  Stahg said nothing, his light blue eyes watching her.

  She met his gaze. “I know myself, Stahg.”

  A long, thoughtful silence. Finally, he nodded. “Then we shall leave.”

  Swinging her legs around, she stood. A wave of nausea overtook her, and her knees buckled. Strong hands circled her waist. Gripping Stahg’s shoulders, she swallowed the ill feeling rising within her.

  As the nausea faded, awareness grew. Gentle fingers brushed her hair, traced the shell of her ear. A shiver reverberated through her skin, along her neck, down her arm, and she wanted to sink into him, to let him take her burdens. She wanted his lips against her temple, and then against her mouth. She wanted his tongue and his taste. She wanted these things, and she wanted him.

  Closing her eyes, she allowed this one moment, this brief vulnerability. She knew he meant comfort only, but this one time she would pretend….

  But pretence was for fools, and those who didn’t guard. Thalia needed them.

  Pushing herself from him, she thumped his shoulder. He winced, but he said naught. “Come, Stahg, let us away. We have a princess to find.”

  Ambush

  The horse beneath her pranced, full of too much energy and clearly overly impressed with his own dignity. Pulling sharply on the reins had no effect. The horse merely shook his head, gave a protesting snort, and continued to prance.

  Exhaling, Bharia turned her attention to the road. The pounded earth stretched into the distance, flanked on either side by empty grassland before being swallowed by the looming pines of Lomenpic Forest. Few travellers passed this way, and those that did were skittish and unfriendly, more than willing to travel a wide berth around Bharia and Stahg while casting furtive looks at the broadsword Stahg carried and the daggers that adorned Bharia’s hips. She couldn’t fault them, she supposed. Many had been ambushed on this road, for all it held the protection of the king. Protection, however, required protectors, and the last road guard Bharia had seen was half a day and three towns back.

  Before her, Stahg picked the way, his horse uncommonly well behaved. Back halved by his broadsword, he held himself straight, straighter than he had when they'd departed Dyerston, a sign the wounds he bore were healing. Her own ills plagued her little, though her head still reminded her at times she had suffered a blow.

  Stahg leaned forward over the horse, the long muscles of his back stretching beneath his gilet. Mouth abruptly dry, she ran her gaze over his form, the strength in his shoulders, the curve of his flank. Powerful thighs gripped the horse, subtle movements urging the mount forward.

  Cursing herself, she averted her eyes. Warrior’s blood, why were these thoughts in her head? For an age she’d kept them at bay, allowing herself no more than the occasional dispassionate admiration of his form. He was what his profession made him, and sometimes she allowed herself to acknowledge the wide shoulders, the narrow waist, the strong hands. However, something had changed these last few days since Thalia had been taken and she’d woken with an aching head. Perhaps the blow had dislodged her sense, making it so these inconvenient musings were no longer willing to be silent.

  Stahg pulled to a halt before her, the shoulders she couldn’t tear her eyes from stiffening. She stopped beside him. “On the tree line,” he said quietly.

  She followed his gaze. They were being shadowed, five by the look of it, and none too good at stealth. “Do you think they’ll approach? They’ve been following us this last hour.”

  “I’m not certain. They seem content simply to watch.”

  “Maybe we should engage them.” She glanced at him. “We don’t want them following us all the way to Rivermouth.”

  A slight smile took his lips. “Don’t we?”

  “Stahg, you’re getting senile in your old age.”

  The smile widened, becoming close to full-fledged. “You’ll always be my elder.”

  “Finally, a truth is spoken.” She grinned, but sobered when her gaze wandered to their shadowers once more. “So we’ll let them follow?”

  Stahg gave a nod.

  In thought, she rubbed her lip with her finger. It made sense. They didn’t need to expend energy they didn’t possess. She was still recovering, and Stahg moved stiffly. If it took their company another day or two to gather the courage to attack, it would only be to their benefit.

  In the distance, their pursuers started, clearly realising they'd been spotted. Abandoning any attempt at covertness, they urged their mounts to a gallop, drawing their swords as they bore down on them.

  Bharia sighed. “It was too much to hope they would be in agreement with our plan.” Dismounting, she tucked her braid into the back of her vest.

  Stahg had already dismounted and set his horse to the side. Drawing his broadsword, he shifted his grip on the hilt, the enormous sword looking wicked-sharp in his grip. “Be ready.”

  Bharia drew her daggers. “Always.”

  They attacked from the front, abandoning any element of surprise. A man rushed Bharia, leaping from his racing horse and brandishing a sword almost like he knew how to use it. It was easy to disarm him, and even easier to knock him unconscious.

  The woman who attacked her next had some experience. A slice, and her sword angled towards Bharia’s neck. Raising her daggers, she blocked, forcing the woman back into an unsteady stance. Heart pounding
, blood a rush in her ears, Bharia advanced, slashing at the woman’s throat. The woman flinched and Bharia took advantage, kicking her knee to disrupt her balance. The woman dropped to the ground, raising her sword quickly but not quick enough. She hit the dirt beside her colleague, knocked cold.

  Bharia turned. Stahg had dispatched two in the same short order she had, and looked seconds away from dispatching the third. His sword sliced into the man’s shoulder and the man screamed, dropping his sword to fall to the ground. Face wreathed in pain, he cradled his shoulder, blood pouring over his hand as he tried to scramble away.

  Grimly, Stahg stalked him, his broadsword held loosely in his grip. The man, exhausted, gave up his retreat, staring at Stahg in defiance.

  Bharia looked over the felled. It hadn’t been a fight. They had been woefully unprepared for two trained Guardians, even wounded Guardians, and the speed of their defeat bore witness. None were dead, though all would wake with sore heads.

  Except the man before them now. Stahg grabbed him by the chin. “Who sent you?”

  The man moaned.

  Stahg shook him. “Who sent you?”

  “You may have defeated us,” the man gasped, his face twisted in pain. “But we are many. You cannot defeat us all.”

  “You’re probably right, friend.” Bharia crossed her arms, already tired of such dramatics. “And who is this many?”

  “We are the needle, and the eye. We are many. You will never defeat us all.”

  Realisation came to her. “You are of the Spindles,” she said softy. The Spindles objected to the king, pushing for an end to the monarchy and a move to a society where all were equal and all shared wealth. A lovely ideal, and one many shared. Unfortunately, they had yet to outline how such a society would be reached, and their attention seeking had become more violent with each passing year.

  The man’s eyes flashed with fanaticism. “The king will pay for his crimes, and the guardians with him. You will never survive the uprising. You—” His eyes rolled to the back of his head.