Roads of the Righteous and the Rotten (Order of Fire Book 1) (11 page)

Before Stroan’s recent suspicion that the matriarch had her eyes on him, the only thing keeping him and Yuna apart was their duty to the clan, and they accepted this believing that after Anza’s plan was fulfilled they would be free to love and live as they pleased. But how complicated things were now, for Anza had made it clear that she desired him. Making matters all the more grave was Anza’s statement regarding the nature of her intentions. “
If I wa
s after a simple lay
…” Her words reverberated through Stroan’s mind until he was sick to his stomach. What more could she want from him?

The answer came quickly and Stroan cringed at the possibility that his matriarch wanted far more than his body. His body he could give if necessary—if Anza simply needed him to satisfy her carnal desires, he would accommodate. But his heart had long since been claimed.

She must never know.

To tell Anza now of his love for Yuna could possibly put Yuna in danger, for he had no idea how the matriarch would react. Anza clearly favored him. Stroan thought hard, trying to remember if there was anything he had done to make her believe that he also shared the same feelings for her. Was it the massages and rubbing of oil? She had requested those of him, and anyone in the clan would have performed those duties happily. Or was it those nights when they had confided in one another? He was her right hand and they had worked closely together for years. Such camaraderie between them should certainly be expected. Or maybe it was that Anza knew he could never refuse her—if she wanted to take him as a lover she would. If she wanted even more than that—a handsome, smart and honorable man to call her own—she would have that as well.

But she had told him that she would never command him to her bed. She wanted him to
want
to be with her, and Stroan realized that she had some respect for him, and that he meant more to her than a simple bedfellow or plaything. It seemed that this desire of hers was both carnal and emotional, and that’s what made things all the worse. Things had shifted abruptly. Before, he had waited for the right time and place to tell Anza of the love between them, but now he must keep this secret from her as if his life depended on it. So once again, he could say nothing of how he truly felt.

Anza was far from a fool. If he was going to hide this from her, he had to act as if all was well, and that meant not being opposed to anything that she wanted of him. After all, what other reason would he have for not wanting to lie with Anza besides there being another woman in his heart? Anza was exceptionally beautiful and the most powerful person of all the clan. Most men would be on their knees praising the gods for just one chance to be with her, so of course she believed he shared the same feelings. What man wouldn’t? If nothing else, she was offering him a great privilege, or so she most likely believed.

If only she knew the truth of it all.

Stroan hoped her feelings for him would pass quickly on to another, for he could no longer act uninterested if he was to hide the truth about him and Yuna. Anza was the most desirable woman of all the Condor in terms of both status
and
beauty. Only by denying her would she know there was another.

Stroan ceased his thinking of Yuna and beheld the vast green plains ahead. Flint had brought them quickly out of the mountains. He would follow these plains along the hillside, passing Vlysa on the east, and travel west for a few hours longer until he came to Red Valley.

Stroan cupped his hand around the base of Flint’s right horn and whispered softly into the ram’s ear. “Are you tired, Flint? The stream is coming up ahead. We’ll take a rest there.”

Directly to the west, a light wood decorated with bright green ferns bordered the edge of the hills, its greenery nourished by the cool brook that ran throughout the trees. Stroan had taken this way several times to get to the capital and always rested in the same spot among the shaded wood by the brook.

Stroan brought Flint to a stop and hopped off. Between each mossy bank the clear water trickled over the stones. The stream was small, but lively, with water as clean and cold as snow. The two wasted no time hovering over it and drank until refreshed.

Stroan emptied the remnants of his water bag onto the ground and refilled it with the cool water from the stream. Flint was still drinking.

“Had enough, Flint?”

The animal lifted his head and looked at Stroan, showing large yellow orbs that glistened in the light.

“Nice and cold, isn’t it?”

Flint bowed his head back toward the stream and lapped the water a few more times. The evening sun crept through the trees, adding a fine luster to his dark gray coat.

“That’s right, get your fill before we head out,” said Stroan, seating himself on the bank then lying back. The mid- summer sun had been draining, and the damp ground of the bank felt good against his back and neck as he lay against the cool earth. He didn’t want to move.

Flint finally finished drinking and lay down next to his master. Stroan gently stroked the animal, and then turned his attention to the horizon. The sun was declining over the hills, and the edge of the sky held a bright red hue that even Flint noticed before long.

“I know it’s beautiful,” said Stroan, standing up, “but we must be going. Dusk will be on us soon and we still have at least another hour to go.”

Stroan mounted up, whispered, “Go, go,” into the ram’s ear and patted the animal’s neck until it was racing out of the wood. The crimson-hued horizon soon faded as dusk settled in, and Stroan knew Red Valley was close when the hills smoothed out and they were met by the prairie that wound between the mountains. In the distance, Stroan could see the two grand mounts that RedValley lay between, their tall peaks barely visible in the darkening sky.

Nightfall had just come when Stroan took a breath of the valley air and tasted what he thought to be smoke among the usual grassy must. Curious, he breathed in deep to check, and smelled it even stronger this time—first the scent of charred wood, then the acrid odor of stuffy ash following shortly after. Moving forward a while longer, he heard a slight commotion, and not long after when the valley’s path led him around the base of a mountain that had once blocked his view of Red Valley, he saw the great blaze in the distance. The place he had come to see about was on fire.

A group on horseback rode off into the hills, most double-mounted from what he could see.
The capti
ves!
Closer to the blaze were a few slow moving figures crawling about the ground, and though Stroan couldn’t make out their clothing or any other identifiable factors through the dark, he reasoned that they had to be Snowguards.

More interesting than the sight of the burning storehouse, the captives escaping on what looked to be the Snowguards’ horses, or the three wounded men struggling to escape—three out of many more that he was sure lay dead and burning inside the stable—there was a man walking calmly from the fire with a woman in his arms. Stroan knew immediately the scene he saw was this man’s doing, but he didn’t know why or how.

Who is he? Who dares to
interrupt the plans o
f the Condor—and of Tio
mot? Did he do it for
the woman in his arms?
Does he love her? Did he d
o it for love?

12

Yari always seemed both
ered
, standing there as usual with her lips pulled wryly in discontent, eyes squinting with suspicion under wild black bangs that crimped down like ruffled feathers. Tight, tanned leather covered her from her shoulders down to her upper thighs; her limbs were bare and bronze. She stood looking light on her feet, arms and shoulders faintly trembling as if she were shivering from the cold, and her neck shaking as if her head was too heavy a weight to carry. That was Yari’s manner—looking so deceitfully fragile—arms shaky, shoulders twitching on occasion, fingers jittering like she was always waiting to make a move.

She stood tall for a woman, though not as tall as Anza, and she was always armed as if she were going to war. Her bow rested in her hand, and on her back two full quivers of arrows were strapped crossing each other, so she could pull from over either one of her shoulders—which she was proficient at doing.

“But
who
was it?” questioned Yari Thorn.

“I know not who it was,” Stroan answered with a sigh.

“I told you he was a stranger—I’ve never seen him before.”

“Why didn’t you stop him?”

“For what? The place was already burned down!”

“To learn his motives,” said Yari, coarsely. “Men don’t think. Anza, I’ll find out—”

“You said he carried a woman away in his arms?” asked Anza, bidding silence of both Yari and Stroan. The lady was seated calmly on stacked furs in the center of the Great Aerie’s floor. She had summoned Stroan and Yari Thorn there for an early morning meeting, and it was clear that she hadn’t been up for long.

“Aye,” Stroan answered.

“Do you think he came for her alone and freed the rest in the process? Or did he
aim
to free them all?”

“I know not,” said Stroan.

Yari Thorn chuckled with a sort of hiss, and rolled her eyes before fixing them upon Stroan with a glare. “He doesn’t know anything,” she mocked. “Maybe he was hired to free her, Anza, by someone who knew she was captured and where she was being held. Maybe he knew her personally— she could have been a friend or relative of his.”

“Yes, maybe he loved her!” Stroan snapped. Both women eyed him quietly.

“What’s wrong with this man?” said Yari with a crooked, curious grin. The woman began to walk a slow circle around Stroan, eyeing him up and down with every ounce of suspicion she could possibly squeeze into her visage. “I don’t trust him. Look at him, Anza. Why is he upset?”

“You speak nonsense as usual,” said Stroan, as Yari came around to his front and stared into his black eyes.

The woman’s arms moved in a flash as Stroan blinked, and his eyelids opened to see the gleam of the fine- tipped steel arrowhead a few inches from his eyes; her arms held firm the drawn bow.

Anza rose from her furs and waved her hand, and Yari relaxed her bowstring and returned her arrow to its quiver.

“It must have been a powerful sight,” said Anza.

“Very much so,” Stroan answered, “and curious.” But they would never know
how
powerful. Not unless they had loved another the way he loved Yuna—and were reminded by a single momentous act of how much that love meant, but how little they had done to fulfill it. He was foolish for letting it show so openly, for Anza was incredibly astute, and Yari Thorn suspected
everything.
Stroan rebuked himself silently.

The lady walked closer to Stroan until she stood so close he could feel her breath, and Yari snapped again that she didn’t trust him.

“I trust him with my life.” Anza gazed long into his eyes. “There is a thing that needs to be done,” said Anza, walking to her wicker chair and sitting down, “and we will have our war.”

“Name it, my lady,” said Yari Thorn quickly. “It will be done,” Stroan added.

“A false attack,” said Anza. “The killing of a few Cyanan guards at one of their encampments at the border—in the name of Snowstone, of course.”

“My lady is clever,” Yari praised. “Dandil won’t be able to keep the peace after that, especially after the raids.”

“Aye,” Stroan agreed. “And considering he will never receive his letter of peace from Tiomot, the Great Mother herself couldn’t keep them from war. But how do we make them believe it’s Snowstone that’s attacking? And who will do it?”

Anza sat back in her chair with both forearms resting against the seat’s armrests, a queen sitting on a humble, straw-woven throne. “The same group that handles all of our dung.”

“The Apostates,” said Yari with face far more sour than usual. “Which one?”

“The Hunter is a master of the bow and a man of the woods. We will hire him to shoot down a handful of Cyanan guards at the border. He must leave one or two alive, of course, and he will shout praise to Snowstone before he leaves.”

“I see,” said Stroan, grinning. “For the glory of Snowstone!”

Anza smiled in agreement, and then turned to address Yari. “He will know the intent of this task when you tell him, and may demand an expensive fee. Give him whatever he asks for, within reason.” Anza pointed to a bag of gold that rested on the ground beside her fur rug. “He is found in the heart of Blackwood Forest.”

Yari wasted no time and headed out of the aerie immediately.

“I’ve never known a cleverer tactician,” said Stroan after standing quietly a few moments before Anza. “The moment is finally here. I’ve been waiting so long that now— now it feels as a dream.”

“It
was
a dream—a dream
we
brought to life.” Anza rose from her chair and crawled down to her bed of stacked furs. “Join me.”

Stroan walked over slowly, making sure to keep adequate distance between him and the lady lest he fall to her inducements, and knelt on the furs beside her. “Should I tell Yuna she is soon to be home?” Stroan offered the question as nonchalant and apathetic as he possibly could— as a soldier simply awaiting an order. But as the silence remained he began to regret even bringing it up, thinking his actions would lead Anza to discover that he loved Yuna, and that he counted the days until she would be free of her duties to the clan. The silence dragged on for what seemed too long before the lady spoke.

“She is yet needed.”

Stroan’s heart dropped, and he felt the familiar sting of his hopes stifled by reality.

“We must know every move Tiomot makes when the war begins, every strategy. She must stay where she is and continue as she has. Her information is essential.”

“Aye, Anza.”

“Go and tell her,” said the lady with a smile, rubbing her hand across the fur between her and Stroan, “since you’re not going to make yourself comfortable.”

Stroan left the Great Aerie, once again denying his lady’s wishes. He knew she wouldn’t make him stay, but she was his matriarch, and though she spoke honorably of not commanding him to her bed, he feared that after a time these dismissals would not be taken lightly, and it would be him and Yuna that paid for it. For his sake, for Yuna’s, he must not avoid her, or she
woul
d
find out his secret.

Somewhat boldly Stroan climbed back into the aerie, looked purposefully into his lady’s eyes and apologized for his lack of servitude as he crawled down onto the furs beside her. Anza looked astonished and beamed, and Stroan slid his hands up her stomach and over her breasts as the wantonness dissolved her smile. He brought his hands up to her neck and squeezed around it firmly. The lady leaned in and kissed him—his lips, his neck—and Stroan reciprocated.

His hands slid down her body, his fingers crawling over her stomach and tugging at her pants. Anza helped him remove them and pulled off her cotton shirt before working Stroan out of his garments as well. A fleeting thought that he was enjoying this more than he imagined ran through Stroan’s mind, and for a moment he couldn’t decide if he was there because he truly wanted to protect a possible future with him and Yuna, or for other more obvious reasons. He was thinking too much, and there was far too much going on to be thinking so much.

What lust…what lust and guilt and shame and pleasure, what fire stood him up as Anza laid her body o ver his, her warm breasts pressing firm against his skin and the lady and caressed her, running his hands down her spine to the small of her back and over the smooth, swollen mound that followed. The lady lifted up, grabbed hold of him and directed him as she lowered back down, pressing her toned thighs atop his, making Stroan gasp at the feeling. It was bodies like hers that finished men quickly.

But Stroan had his ways. He separated from the event in his mind. It was only an act, he told himself, a series of motions. To allow himself to be caught up in the pleasure—the lady’s ample curves, her busy tongue, her moans—would certainly mean the end of it quickly. Only by disconnecting in thought could he last long enough to sit up from off his back, turn Anza around and pull her body close, his hands holding her lower back and pulling her repeatedly towards him as she followed the same rhythm with her hips. So it was afterwards—a reasonable time afterwards—that both bodies lay entangled and warm, resting in quiet upon the furs as the hours of the morning passed.