Breathe (The Destiny Series: Book 1) (10 page)

Dearra and Darius walked in silence through the hallways of Maj Keep. Dearra paused now and again to let Darius have a better look around, and then resumed her steady progress to the back tower where her own sleeping quarters were. Dearra set one foot on the stairs and Darius reached out a hand and grabbed her arm. Though his grip was gentle, the action still surprised her.

“We’re not going up there, are we?” Darius’s voice was steady as he asked the question, but the apprehension was plain on his face.

“Of course. Unless you prefer to sleep outside.” She meant the words to be light with humor, but as she watched his brow furrow, she regretted teasing about something that so obviously upset him.

“Fine,” he said sharply, putting one determined foot on the stair as he made to follow her.

“Darius, I’m sorry. Something’s obviously bothering you. What is it?”

“Nothing. Let’s just go.”

“Really, you can tell me anything. I’m sure things must be very strange and diff—”

His face lowered to hers and he practically screamed, “I said, nothing!” Her back was pressed to the stone walls. He was so close to her she could feel the fabric of his shirt brush against her own.

“Darius,” she said, quietly, “please.”

The veil lifted from his eyes as he came back to himself and realized just how menacing his stance was. He stepped back from Dearra, an unreadable expression on his face. When he spoke, his words were controlled again, and he was both polite and apologetic. “I’m sorry, Dearra. I shouldn’t have yelled like that. I guess the day has been longer than I realized. I just need some sleep. Lead on.”

His brow was still creased in agitation at the thought of ascending the stairs, but Dearra ignored his discomfort and continued on. The same stone passage that led to her chamber also led to several rooms on the lower levels. These rooms were not as large as her own, but they were still warm and welcoming.

Dearra paused one level before the top, opened a heavy door, and allowed Darius to enter first. His step was stiff and hesitant as he walked into the dark room. Dearra followed him, found the little table to the side of the door, and lit each of the two oil lamps on it. A soft, flickering glow lit the room. Dearra heard the heavy exhale of Darius’s breath once he could more clearly see about himself. There was a bed in the room near the window, a small fireplace to offer warmth, wood stacked neatly along the wall near it, and an old chest at the foot of the bed containing additional blankets. The bed was narrow, but quite long.

Darius shot Dearra a questioning look. His thoughts were easy enough to read, and she answered the silent question, “My uncle used to come from Mirin Tor to visit us. He was very tall, and Mother had this bed made so he would be more comfortable. Since father has charged me with watching over you, I figured this room would be perfect.”

“You sleep near here, then?”

“Yes, my own room is just above this one. I enjoy the view from the windows, and being at the top, I can see quite a ways in all directions. The sound of the sea at night is lovely. I find it quite comforting,” Dearra explained in a rush.

“You put me in the room below your own?” Darius said, surprised by the revelation. “If I am to be locked up at night, anyway, wouldn’t it be just as convenient to house me in more appropriate quarters?”

Dearra’s temper reared up at the presumed insult. “I think these quarters are
quite
appropriate—or do you think yourself above these rooms? Perhaps I should ask Father to vacate
his
chamber for you.” Dearra planted two hands firmly on her hips and her foot tapped impatiently on the stone floor while she awaited the apology she was owed for the insult he had so casually thrown down. Who did this man think he was to insult her in her own home?

Darius chuckled. “Dearra, I meant that these were
too
fine. I am a prisoner here. To sleep in the same tower as the lady of the keep is…unusual; it is an honor reserved for family and close friends, certainly not a stranger, not to mention a hated enemy.”

Dearra was embarrassed she had spoken so rashly. She spoke again, but quickly so, in an effort to head off the blush that would surely creep into her cheeks if she allowed herself to rethink her reaction. “Well, this is convenient for me. I don’t want to have to go traipsing all over the keep in the dead of night to see if you are where you ought to be. Also, I don’t wish to inconvenience any of the men by having them lug that heavy bed all over the place.”

Right, that’s exactly why he’s sleeping one floor beneath you. So the men won’t have to move the bed. How considerate you are of others, girl. So self-sacrificing. And here I would have thought you just wanted to be near him. Whatever was I thinking?

A smile flashed on Darius’s face.

Brin had a way of getting on Dearra’s last nerve. Coupled with the funny smile on the warriors face, it was too much.

“What are you smiling at?” Dearra knew the words were sharp and shrewish, but she couldn’t stop herself in time.

“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. Like I said before, it has been a long day.”

“Yes, it has. I will leave you to your bed, then. Good night.” Dearra turned to leave the room, but paused. She did not turn to face him, but he heard her clearly when she spoke. “Darius?”

“Yes, Dearra?”

“You’re not my enemy.”

Darius heard her take a few light steps, then stop and come back toward his door again. He wondered if she had forgotten something, but when he heard the key turn quietly in the lock sealing him in for the night, he realized she had.

Darius looked around the cozy little room. The terror he had felt, slipped from him now. Stepping on the stairs had brought back some terrible memories. His people lived mostly in desert regions, and it was difficult to build tall towers on shifting sands. Most of the Breken lived in one level complexes that could spread out quite far, or within massive homes that had been carved from the cliffs. Those were the homes of the ruling class and their many slaves. The only place he had seen towers as a child was at the training academy, and even then, to enter one was rare.

At the age of six and a half, Darius had proved to be an apt pupil. The final cuts were made to determine which boys would move on in their training, and which boys would not. One of the academy masters had entered the sleeping tents very late one night and awoken all of the boys. They were instructed not to speak, and to follow the instructor quickly. They wiped away the sleep from their eyes and stumbled along behind him until they came to a huge tower dominating the center of the academy grounds. None of them had ever entered the tower before, and though the thought of sneaking in to catch a peek might have tempted them, the screams erupting from the tower on occasion, had left them cold. Those sounds had been enough to temper any childish enthusiasm to see inside.

Though they were hesitant to enter the feared tower, the thought of gaining a master’s disfavor was enough to keep them moving. They wound their way up the stone stairs, passing door after door until they came to a halt, and were ordered to enter and align themselves along the wall. The room was completely dark, and they could just make out the tiniest whimpering coming from one side of the room. After what seemed like forever, the instructor lit several torches on the walls.

Darius could never have prepared himself for the sight before him. In a cage, butted against another, smaller box of solid wood, a small, frightened boy of six sat cowering. Darius recognized him as one of the recruits who had left their ranks only the week before, after not meeting the master’s expectations. 

The instructor spoke in a bored tone that Darius would never forget, as if he were annoyed to have been taken from his sleep. “This boy is unworthy of the Breken name. We do not tolerate weakness in our warriors. Watch his shame and remember he was not allowed the dignity of dying in battle.”

The partition that separated the wooden box from the cage holding the boy was lifted and a huge, tawny cat sprang into the pen where the terrified child sat curled in a ball. Darius remembered the horrible shrieks erupting from the child, he remembered the jaded expression on the instructor’s face, he remembered the excited light that came to the eyes of his classmates as they started in eager fascination, but mostly, he remembered feeling sick, deep within in his soul. These were his people; this was who he was, trapped forever among these pitiless, evil people with no kindness or compassion in them. He had vowed, then, to be different. He would break away from his heritage and find another way to live.

Now, looking about himself, he felt foolish for the panic that had seized him. He had come to know these people a bit in the days he had been among them, and though they could be just as deadly as any Breken, there was no evil in them, although, the man named Jacob was going to take further study before Darius could be completely sure of his nature. He had only witnessed Jacob’s behavior twice: once at the clearing where the villagers had discovered him, and once outside his cell door. The thought of Jacob putting his hands on Dearra still caused him to glower to himself in anger. Looking at Jacob was like looking at a painting with minor flaws in the canvas. From a distance, the picture looked completely normal, but once examined up close, and discovering the flaws, well, after that, that was all you
could
see. Your mind would take you back to those flaws again and again, and the picture would never look quite right again after that.

There was a woven rug in front of the fireplace and a tall, strong chair that invited one to sit and warm himself. It was only late August, but a cool breeze was blowing off the sea. It wasn’t enough to make Darius close the window—he had been shut up more than enough lately—but he did throw a couple meager sticks into the fireplace and set them alight to ward off the chill.

Darius removed his badly stained clothes, cast them aside, wrapped one of the soft, warm blankets around himself, and sank into the chair before the fire. His clothes really were a mess; he was going to have to do something about that. The people would shy away from him enough without the added incentive of his pungent clothing.

He had made a deal with the Lord of Maj, and he was going to do his best to honor it. The promise of his freedom and a chance to make his own way only served to further motivate him. He wondered if he had known Darius would have helped retrieve the little boy no matter what, would Hugh still have offered Darius his freedom? Darius liked to think he would have. Though he could be fiery, like his daughter, there was no maliciousness in him. He seemed to be a wise and fair leader.

And what of Dearra? The Breken women were so very different. They were ornaments kept as status symbols. Marriages were arranged for the power and strengths such ties would forge. Once they had supplied heirs and warriors to the household and their beauty had faded, they became little more than slaves themselves, serving the wishes of their husbands and making way for younger wives. Darius always wondered that they seemed so content in their roles. The women, however, were equally as power hungry as the husbands they served. It was not unusual for a child to suddenly die of a mysterious illness, thereby positioning a younger son as possible heir. Such treachery was even smiled upon, so long as the perpetrator wasn’t caught. If they were, then justice would be cruel and swift. But if a mother sought better station for herself or her son through assassination and she could be cunning, then so much the better. This was an example of the weaker line being eliminated through “natural causes”.

But Dearra? She was completely different from any woman Darius had ever known. Though he had never seen her fight, the incredible blade she carried gave some indication of her standing, and if that were not enough, he had only to remember their confrontation earlier that day where she had moved with speed and grace. The sword had been at his throat before he’d even had time to react, and that was truly saying something. Then again, she could also be very soft and fragile, and very female, tantalizing his senses and stirring emotions of protectiveness in him. The look in her eyes just a short time ago when she had spoken the word “please” was not one he would care to see repeated. He shook his head in disgust that he had caused the beautiful creature the slightest fear of him. Her spark of anger when she thought he was insulting her and her home had delighted him. It let him know she had recovered, and any fear she had felt had passed as quickly as it had come.

Darius stood abruptly and made his way to the soft bed. It had been a very long time since he had slept in a bed and never in one so fine. A pallet of straw and a scratchy blanket had been a rare luxury for him, and most nights were spent on the hard ground, in a tent reserved for the instructors of the academy. Now, as he lowered himself to the bed, he imagined he would be asleep before his head touched the goose down pillow, but it was several hours before he finally drifted into a dream filled slumber where a soft, pale face and eyes of blue and golden fire danced in and out of his dreams and made him restless.

Dearra was faring little better in her room, where she was frustrated with herself, yet again. Why, she wondered furiously, did her temper always choose the worst times to make itself known?

Brin, as usual, was silent. It seemed he only had something to say now if he knew it would be annoying to her. Darius had a way of making her heart flutter like the wings of a hummingbird, simultaneously bringing out the very devil in her.