Book Preview - Elyon's Regret

Chapter One

The Greenmeere season came early in Cibía, and with it came the wealthy nobles from Dreyutha, Kibrun, Olarna, and Pheodra, anxious to attend Emperor Aloric’s annual Festival celebrations. More nobles meant more problems for Elyon’s Blades, an all-female sect of women warriors who protect womenkind from abuse. Unfortunately, abusing women of the lower classes was where the pampered nobility excelled.

Many of the wealthier merchants sent their wives and daughters out of town if they could afford it or hired mercenaries, whose numbers also increased to meet the need for protection during the six sevendays of the celebrations. The ovens in bakeries all over the city were busy day and night, permeating the streets and back alleys with the tantalizing odors of baked pasties, bread, and an entire assortment of specialized cookies and pastries that were only sold during the Festival celebrations.

The gate guards at the Temple had their hands full, explaining to noblemen and women why they couldn’t simply walk or ride up to the gates and demand to meet with Sábria, the Arch Priestess of the Temple. Blades, or trainee shivs, especially the ones who worked the Deadnight or Gloaming shifts, were often rousted out of bed in the middle of the day to provide translations if they were proficient in a language the gate guards were not.

Sábria stood at her office window looking out over the central courtyard. Her Blades looked tired even though she’d brought in an extra one hundred warriors from other Temples to help take up the slack. She watched as Shiv Emlyn accompanied Deena, one of the gate guards, out of the dormitory on their way to the outer gate.

Sábria had spoken to Emlyn just that morning about how trying it was for the young woman to meet nobles she knew from her time as the Senior guard for the Crown Princess of Kibrun. She’d not only been her lead guard, but she’d also been the princess’s companion and lover. Emlyn was finding it difficult to maintain the pretense of impassivity when people inevitably asked what she thought of Crown Princess Tomisa’s new husband.

She’d tried telling people she’d never met the man since he hadn’t deigned to speak with her when he’d come to the trials of the Kibrunian soldiers who’d been involved in the plot to kidnap her. This inevitably led to them wanting to tell her all about how happy Tomisa and her husband were, which served no purpose that Sábria could see other than to tear a hole in Emlyn’s slowly healing heart.

Sighing, Sábria returned to the paperwork on her desk and, after reading a report about one of her shivs who’d had her hand sliced in a knife attack, was surprised to hear a knock on her door. Usually, only Shirin would disturb her during the day, but her second-in-command had taken to patrolling the streets to be available to the Blades should any problems arise. “Come.”

Emlyn stepped into the room, carefully shut the door behind her, and came to attention in front of the desk.

“Yes?”

“My Lady. Count Bexley of Rathcurt from Kibrun and his son, Lord Bexley, are here to lodge a complaint against Shiv Ailith and her handler, Jenx. Well…” she glanced at Sábria, who hid her irritation that Ailith was yet again in trouble. “What he literally said was, ‘Mer ei lidan,’ which roughly translates to ‘the inexperienced one.’”

“Are Ailith and Jenx in the Temple?”

Emlyn shook her head, “No, My Lady. Well, Jenx is here, probably in bed already, but on my way back to the Temple after our shift, I saw Ailith heading toward the Clayborn District.”

Sábria ran her hand up into her hair and growled, “I doubt she’s going to see Master Lowenbrow to buy a book.” Nevim Lowenbrow owned Between the Covers, one of the larger bookstores in Cibía that just happened to be across the street from the villa of one of Sábria’s best friends. That in and of itself wouldn’t be a problem. The problem arose with her friend, Lady Farryn’s daughter, Ryn.

Ailith, a peasant, and Ryn, not only a noblewoman but a full Lady Knight, had begun seeing each other several moons earlier and had continued their friendship even after Sábria had sternly warned against it. Nothing good ever came from a peasant bedding a noble, and when Sábria next saw Ailith, she intended to drive that point home for the seventh or eighth time.

Emlyn hid her amusement by glancing down at the papers on Sábria’s desk. “I would guess not, My Lady.”

Sábria hid a smile of her own. It was good to see Emlyn relaxed enough to be amused at something her incorrigible fellow shiv had done. Emlyn was the model of decorum, rarely, if ever, setting a foot out of place. She’d been born and raised in the Kibrunian royal court, where any type of emotion was strictly frowned upon. Many people in the Temple, including Sábria herself, had been working to help the shiv loosen up and enjoy life and her fellow Blades. Emlyn and Ailith had joined the Temple at the same time, and while they’d never actually become friends, they often sat at one of the outdoor dining tables, talking about this topic or that and comparing training stories or frustrations.

Pulling herself back to the matter at hand, Sábria moved out from behind her desk so she could speak quietly in Emlyn’s ear. “Do you know what the complaint is?”

“Count Bexley is accusing Ailith of being disrespectful to his son during an altercation last night.”

“Was that during that brawl outside of the Broken Tooth? I understand it was a pack of young nobles against everyone else who’d lost their patience with all that’s been happening.”

“Yes, Milady.”

While Sábria had many good friends among the nobility, not to mention that over a third of the six thousand warriors sworn to the Daughters were of the noble classes, the disdain she found among many of the nobility, excluding, of course, those among her Blades, for those in the merchant and peasant classes was a constant irritant she had to deal with, if not on a daily basis, then certainly at least once every sevenday. “Where are the Count and his son now?”

“Prita is standing guard with them in the anteroom, My Lady.”

“See them in, please.” It was strange not to have Shirin there to arrange all the details. Over the last two sevendays, Sábria had found herself seeing to duties not generally found in her regular routine. “And ask Prita to come in, as well.”

Since Emlyn was needed to translate, it went without saying that she’d remain, too. As Emlyn stepped through the door into the anteroom, Sábria tugged on her sleeves, adjusted the sword at her side, and rubbed the top of her boot against the back of her trews to ensure they were shined to perfection.

If Shirin had been there, she would have chastised her for the boot part, claiming the bootblack rubbed off on the back of her trews and made them nearly impossible for the laundress to clean. Nevermind that the polish and her trews were the exact same color, Shirin had listened to her mother, the Queen of Tuviste, and her father, the King, arguing about that exact same point all throughout her childhood and had come down firmly on her mother’s side.

She wished these two were from Tuviste instead of the dour Kibrunian kingdom. At least with Tuvistian nobles, she could usually jolly them out of a sour mood. Kibrunians started out in sour moods and only got worse as time went on. Sighing, she straightened to her full height as Emlyn opened the door and motioned for the Count and his son to enter.

A broad-shouldered man with a dark, neatly trimmed beard strode through the door. His tunic was tailored to highlight his muscular chest and arms, and the tops of his perfectly polished boots rose above his knees, an affectation Sábria thought pretentious and foolish since the boots limited the knee’s full range of motion during a fight. His wavy hair framed a square face, bony cheekbones, and thick-ridged, hoary brows topped his haughty eyes. He stopped in the middle of the room and waited for Emlyn to introduce them.

Since Sábria outranked him, the shiv gave the introductions first in Cibían and then in the Kibrunian dialect. “Sábria, Arch Priestess of the Daughters of Elyon, may I introduce Count Bexley of Rathcurt and his son, Lord Bexley. Both are citizens of Kibrun.”

Sábria sized up both men. The father was easy enough to read. His arrogance showed in the barely perceptible tilt of his head he gave in lieu of a bow. As fortune would have it, the voices of Prime Geller and Senior Guardian Terrowyn could be heard out in the hall. “Prita, would you ask Prime Geller and Senior Guardian Terrowyn to step in, please?”

Prita saluted and hurried from the room. She was back in moments with the two Blades, who came to attention next to the two men and waited. They were aware of Shirin’s absence and had worked for Sábria long enough to know the only reason she’d ask them to come into her office was because she was expecting trouble, and she needed older, more experienced heads than a young Blade and a shiv to prevail.

Sábria dipped her chin once toward her Blade. “That’s all, Prita. Wait at your post.”

The warrior brought her fist to her chest and hurried out. Sábria concealed her amusement at the look of relief that passed over Prita’s features. She was young and not quite sure of herself yet, and it was probable that taking on a Kibrunian Count terrified her. Prita idolized Sábria, had done, according to her parents, from a very young age. The idea of possibly embarrassing herself in front of the Arch Priestess had her enough off balance that Sábria had known she needed to bring in the two senior Blades.

Sábria returned her attention to Count Bexley. “My Lord. You may not be aware of the proper protocol when coming into my presence.” She didn’t usually use such a formal tone, but his blatant disrespect needed to be addressed immediately. “You will bow lower than you bow to your own King as I outrank even him.”

After Emlyn translated, Bexley lifted his chin and then at least bowed from the waist this time instead of simply inclining his head. Unfortunately for him, the bow might have been appropriate for conferring respect to a minor Lord, but definitely not low enough for the co-ruler of the Cibían Empire.

He didn’t see Sábria give a very pointed look to her Prime, Ursuna Geller, a displaced weapons master from the Trenchian Isles. Geller’s anger at his disrespect for her Priestess was already evident by the red suffusing her cheeks, and Sábria wasn’t surprised when her Prime delivered a brachial stun to the side of his neck, dropping him unconscious to the ground.

When Geller turned to eighteen-turn Lord Bexley, the arrogant, haughty look he’d been wearing moments before vanished. He quickly bowed as low as humanly possible and held the position until Sábria gave him permission to straighten up again.

“You may rise, Lord Bexley.”

There was a panicked look in his eyes now as he stared down at his father. “Is he…is he dead?”

Sábria shook her head. “No, but if he pulls such a bone-headed stunt again, he may well end up that way.”

The Count moaned and tried to open his eyes, which didn’t seem to be cooperating. They fluttered a few times, and his hands spasmed open and closed, twitching this way and that as he gradually regained consciousness. Eventually, he managed to roll onto his hands and knees and glare up at the Arch Priestess. Despite his words being in a foreign language, his snarling bellow left nothing to the imagination. “I’ll kill you for that, you—”

Geller kicked his hands out from under him, and he fell flat onto his face. Her knees drove into his back, pinning him to the ground. Her movement was so compact and efficient that it seemed as though the knife she pressed against his throat had appeared out of thin air. She’d grabbed a fistful of the man’s hair in the same movement and pulled his head back, exposing the pulsing artery in his throat.

Sábria again held back a smile. That seemed to be the order of the day for her that afternoon. “Prime Geller. Perhaps you should wait for Emlyn to translate before you slit Count Bexley’s throat.”

Count Bexley froze when Emlyn translated Sábria’s words into Kibrunian before returning to Bexley’s threat and translating that for the rest of the people in the room. His glare immediately turned to a look of contrition as he slowly moved his throat back and away from Geller’s blade. Blinking rapidly, he balanced on one hand while he held up the other in a gesture of surrender, “Please, forgive me, My Lady. I’m a fool not used to having a woman in power over me. I…I don’t know what came over me.”

While she listened to Emlyn simultaneously translating the subdued and contrite words, Sábria turned her back while the man was still speaking, strode around to the other side of the desk, and sat. When her shiv had finished, all it took was a single nod from Sábria for Geller to remove the knife from the man’s throat and stand.

Terro, who’d placed herself between the lordling and his father, glanced over at the boy, whose legs were literally shaking from fright. Her hard features and calloused hands cowed even the most hardened criminals, and one look from her had him backing up several paces to give himself time to run if things went any worse than they already had.

Bexley brought his foot beneath himself as he made ready to stand.

The mood shift in the Arch Priestess was swift and clear in the eyes that flashed a warning no one in the room misunderstood. “I didn’t give you permission to stand, Count Bexley.”

Swallowing hard, Bexley lowered his foot until he was kneeling in front of Sábria’s desk.

Turning those hard eyes on the son, she quietly said, “Lord Bexley. You may join your father.”

The young man practically threw himself forward onto his knees. His movement hadn’t taken him up next to his father, so he awkwardly moved forward on his knees until he was slightly behind and to the right of the much bigger man.

Geller remained behind and to the Count’s left, and Terrowyn moved up to stand just behind and to the right of the son.

Sábria sat back in her chair, still able to look the Count directly in the eyes as she spoke. “Count Bexley, were you unaware of my rank as Co-ruler of the Cibían Empire?”

“I was aware, My Lady.”

“Are you aware that I outrank your King and Queen?”

“I…I…as I said, I’m not used to a woman holding power over me. Our Queen would never…I mean, she would…I mean to say, she could order me to do something, but she would defer to her husband if she needed to address a man of my standing within the Kibrunian nobility.”

Turning her gaze on the young man, Sábria narrowed her eyes and was gratified to see an appropriate amount of respect and fear in his cowed expression. “And Lord Bexley, did this same mindset hamper you in your dealings with my Blades? Did they order you to do something, and you believed the member between your legs gave you the liberty to disobey those orders since they were coming from a woman?”

It appeared that his blush was all the answer she was going to get. She let the implication hang in the air long enough for Count Bexley to blurt out, “She grabbed him…by his member…and held on, even when she had to twist out of the way of another young lord’s swing. His…member twisted, too, and…was still bruised and swollen when I paid the fine to bail him out of your Magistrate’s Court.”

Sábria had known Terrowyn for many turns, and while the only indication that her Senior Guardian was suppressing a smile was a slight lift of her chin, the tiny movement had her hiding her own amusement at her shiv’s methods. While she’d have to talk to Ailith about better ways to handle the nobles, she didn’t intend to punish her for doing what came naturally to someone who’d been in many brawls and battles where quite often the only means to control a man was dangling between his legs.

“And Lord Bexley, had my Blade ordered you away from the brawl in front of the tavern before she grabbed you?”

The boy, who was blushing profusely, nodded.

“Pardon me? I didn’t hear your answer.”

The lordling glanced over his shoulder at Terro, who’d nudged him with her knee. “I thought she was a barmaid or a wench ordering me about.”

The Count finished for him, “There’s no nobleman about that would listen to a woman when his blood is up in a brawl.”

Sábria’s brows rose. “Oh really? Lord Bexley, did the Cibían nobles stop fighting and back up when the Blades began issuing orders for the fighters to back off? Because, as you know, Count Bexley, all of my Blades are women.”

The son glanced guiltily at his father and nodded. “They did, My Lady. My friends and I thought they were cowards ruled over by the women and went after them, intending to continue the fight.”

“And?”

“And the Blade, uh, Ailith was her name, stepped in front of me and shoved me back. I swung at her to get her out of my way, and she…” the chagrined look he turned on his father said it all, “…well, she somehow ducked the blow, grabbed my…member…and then twisted to grab one of my friends in a headlock who was heading back into the fight.”

“So, she managed to control two men and keep you out of the fight while the other Blades finished breaking up that fight. And she did so without breaking any bones, which she would have been perfectly justified in doing. Count Bexley, I’d say your son is lucky to have come away with only a swollen member since, as I understand it, many of the nobles from the other kingdoms who continued to fight did not come away unscathed. Do I have that right, Prime Geller?”

“Aye, Milady. When it were all done, there were three broken arms, one broken kneecap, I don’t know how many broken noses—”

Terrowyn helpfully supplied the answer, “Ten broken noses.”

The Count lowered his head and scratched the back of his neck. “I think a better education as to the role your Blades play in your society might be in order before we bring our young people back into Cibía, My Lady.”

“Judging by the blatant disrespect you showed me when you entered this office, Count Bexley, I think that applies to the adults as well.”

“Yes, My Lady.”

“You may rise, and unless there’s something else, you’re free to leave. Senior Guardian Terrowyn will escort you from the Temple.”

Both men rose and bowed low before making their way from the office with what little dignity remained intact.

When they’d gone, Sábria glanced at Emlyn. “Thank you for the translation, Emlyn, and you’re free to return to bed. You’ll have a long night again tonight, and you’ll need to be alert for it.”

Emlyn brought her fist to her chest but hesitated before starting for the door.

“Something you need to say?”

“My Lady. Count Bexley is one of the most arrogant, impossible nobles in all of Kibrun. The King and Queen cringe when he comes to court, but you handled him with such authority and strength. I…” she blushed, “…well, I’m very proud to be one of your shivs.”

Sábria smiled, “Having a weapons expert take him down as easily as our Prime did and hold a knife to his throat before he even realized he was on the floor helped a little.”

The shiv’s smile was small, but there all the same. “Yes, My Lady.” With an appreciative glance at her Prime, Emlyn left the room.

Geller knew what Sábria wanted to talk to her about, so she dipped her chin once in acknowledgment, “I’ll teach Shiv Ailith some control techniques for th’ nobles what don’t include grabbing their…” She shook her head with an incredulous look, “…what did ya call it? His member? I guarantee ya I won’t be callin’ it that with Ailith, or she’d be rollin’ on th’ floor laughing me out of th’ training yard.”

Sábria laughed out loud and put her fingers up to her eyes. “Thank you, Ursuna. You’re dismissed.”

With a half-grin, Geller saluted Sábria and left her alone to the pile of reports still sitting on her desk.