Lynda

Lynda is a Tyme setting story dealing with GLBT characters. This follows on from Ben, last week's post.

Artwork by Samuel Pray, created using Daz3D, Photoshop and Filterforge. 

This is where it went wrong.

Lynda turned to look back at the docking ramp. The Lair had been a home, her home, for a time, but that was over and done with. She’d tried, failed and now it was time to move on. But in leaving the ship, she’d returned to the very port where she’d joined the crew in the first place.

Havers Station.

“You can change your mind, they’d welcome you back among them and nothing would be said about it,” a warm voice, female, and very familiar.

“You know it won’t work for me… I just…” She sighed, pushed back her shoulders and turned to face the woman. Pressure built behind her eyes and, for a moment, her vision shifted, the color draining until she blinked and it returned to normal.

Mara Dacre stood on the ramp, her multi-colored hair caught back in a severe braid softened only by a handful of wisps that caressed the skin. Full lips twitched into a smile, light dancing in her eyes as she settled one hand on her hip. “You’re running but I understand why. I don’t agree with your choice, but I accept it.”

She doesn’t understand. Lynda rubbed the back of her neck unable to take her gaze away from the woman. “There’s a lot going on that I can’t explain. If I stayed this would be… I’d cause problems, even though I don’t want to.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Mara walked down the ramp, a soft, sensual sway to her hips. It wasn’t something she forced, but a natural part of the way the woman moved. “I understand. I can see the problem. Like Fenris with Ben, I can’t offer you any hope of something because I love Fenris, and he isn’t a man who shares. So, I’ll respect who he is, all of who he is. That’s part of what you do when you find one you love.”

Fenris didn’t share, but Mara would? Was that what was being said here? “I… you’re poly minded?” She had to know, even if it wasn’t something she would be able to act upon. Why not, I could persuade him, couldn’t I? She shuddered at the thought. No. She wasn’t into men and even if she had been he was strong willed, not the type who might bend to the persuasion of another.

“Yes, such things aren’t uncommon in System One. Mars, especially, has a history of poly marriages and relationships.” Mara gave a one shoulder shrug.

“Oh…” did this change things? Was there… no, Mara had admitted that there wasn’t a chance because she wouldn’t betray Fenris nor would she force him to accept a third into their bed. “I didn’t know.”

“Why would you?” She stopped in front of Lynda. “You didn’t ask, and you’re not from System One, so unless you’d… well, next time ask.” She offered a warm smile and stepped off the end of the ramp, gesturing for Lynda to follow.

Gods, how she wanted to stay, to see if there was a chance to kiss those lips just once, to taste the woman in front of her, but that wasn’t going to happen. Mara was loyal - one of her traits that right now Lynda didn’t like. “Thank you, for telling me I mean.” The information didn’t do her any good though, but it eased some of her self doubts. “I thought I was imagining things, when I looked at you I mean. That there was nothing there but my own desire to…” she looked away, struggling to put the words into some form of order. “This is pointless. I need to leave, find a place to settle, or a ship to sign on with. Somewhere that I can start over again.” For what now, the tenth time? Maybe eleventh if she counted leaving her family home fifteen years ago. Still, that wasn’t such a bad number when you thought about it.

Mara slipped a piece of card from a hip pocket and offered it to her. “Captain Alys Diam has an opening that might work for you. Her ship, Black Wing, will dock tomorrow. She’s a good captain, experienced, she looks after her crew and I’ve sent her a recommendation.”

Lynda took the card before Mara had finished speaking. Shock rolled through her and she took a step back, still holding the card. “Why - why would you do this for me? I mean… a recommendation? That’s…” Such things were valuable, more so than credits as they carried you further in the long term.

“You’re skilled, and Alys needs reliable people. Just give me your word. If you take a berth there, you stay. For a year. Don’t jump ship at the first sign of trouble. Alys won’t thank you for it if you skip out on her and you’ll do yourself harm by running out on that ship.”

The ship or the captain - or were they one in the same?

“Don’t try and make sense of it now, not when you’d be better off focusing on Black Wing and your new berth.” Mara nodded toward the hustle and bustle of the landing zone. “Find yourself a room for the night, keep your head down and stay safe.”

Stay safe. Head down. Sure, she could do that. For a moment her throat tightened, tears blurring her vision before she blinked them away. “Thank you.” The temptation to reach out and touch Mara grew but she forced it back down and turned away. She didn’t have the right, wouldn’t push just because there would never be another chance, she’d leave with her dignity intact.

Keep walking, don’t look back. She won’t be there and even if she is, it won’t change things.

Her control threatened to slip but she kept her focus on the landing zone, on moving through the busy area with her head held high. A new berth, service with another captain, one she’d have to look up. Neither the ship nor the captain felt familiar to her. Not that she was an expert when it came to other ships. She remembered the ones she’d served on, and the ones they’d had conflicts with, but beyond that there were only a handful of other ships who’s names stood out.

Swan Song.

That was a name she would never forget, especially after the brief meeting several months ago. Not that she’d had a chance to meet anyone from that crew. Only the Captain, Mara and a handful of others had mingled with the crew of Swan Song. It hadn’t mattered at the time, now she couldn’t help but wonder if meeting that crew, or just the captain, would have changed things for her? Perhaps she’d have attempted to transfer over at that point, perhaps not, either way the chance had been and gone.

Voices, music, the clang of metal against metal, all combined with the hum of nearby ships. She flinched and looked around, after so long on board various ships, the noise of a port was, at first, a little overwhelming. This wasn’t a safe place to build any shields in order to cut down the background noise, but once she found a room to rent and locked the door, it was something she’d take care of. She didn’t lower her gaze, quicken her steps or slump her shoulders. If anything she added an arrogant strut to her walk, meeting the gaze of anyone who looked her way. One of the many things she’d learned during her last visit to Haver’s Station, she’d witnessed more than one person make the mistake of acting like a victim. You gave off those vibes, the hint of weakness, the inability to look people in the eye, or scurry around like a rabbit, and you placed a neon sign over your head screaming victim here.

Not a mistake she was willing to make.

The pressure that she’d felt around Mara, eased. The further she moved away from The Lair the easier it became. For a moment she was tempted to turn around, return to the ship and ask to come back, to become a part of the crew again, but it wouldn’t work. The need for Mara would return and with it the itch, the pressure, the push to say something, to act upon it and she’d lose control.

Sooner or later she always lost control.

Food and lodging were both easy to find, but locating both that felt safe enough to use, to enjoy, was another matter entirely. She dismissed the first ten or twelve places she found, noting small things that added to the unease she experienced when she investigated them. It took two hours before she finally walked in and paid for a room some distance away from the docking area. The hotel, and she used that term in the loosest possible way, was clean enough. Little more than a basic boarding house run by a husband and wife team. The vibe she picked up from the couple spoke of a partnership that had been together for years, and had experience that took them beyond the planet.

Former crew members?

No, there was something else about them. Hunters perhaps? Well, even bounty hunters had to retire at some point. You either retired when you had enough money, a nest egg to fall back on, or you died on the job.

Would she have enough sense to retire when the time came? After all, the same rule of thumb applied to spacers, crew members who moved from ship to ship without any real connection to a captain. The thought sat ill with her. Hadn’t her original plan, when she’d fled her home, been to find a crew, a ship, a captain she could serve under and with until the end of her days?

Romantic notions, best laid to rest before she made one mistake too many.

Except she knew of people who had done just that, or at least had friends who had told her stories about such people. Hadn’t there been something about some of the crew of the Swan Song? Not that it mattered, that ship wasn’t an independent, she knew that now, and when the crew wanted to retire they would find a place on one of the five worlds of System One.

Perhaps that was what she needed to do? Find a ship that was a part of a larger fleet, one tied to a world, or a system?

She shook off that idea and flopped onto the bed, folding her arms behind her head as she looked up at the stained and worn ceiling. The place wasn’t dirty but it was rough, the walls flaking in places, chips and marks in the walls and ceiling, things that - if she had a little more time or money - would have put her off taking the room here. Except the couple who ran the place, the way they spoke to her, watched her, it spoke of people who didn’t allow trouble. She’d be safe here, for a time at least. Long enough to rest before she took her new place, if the captain of the Black Wing offered her a place.

#

Alys Diam wasn’t what Lynda had expected. Despite being confined to a hover chair, the middle-aged woman lacked nothing in the way a commanding presence or the ability to assess those around her. Dark eyes narrowed on Lynda as Alys looked up from the data pad to the woman standing in front of her. With an irritated flick of her fingers she indicated that Lynda should take a seat on the other side of the table even as a server moved over to take their orders.

“Caff,” Alys ordered. “Cream, sugar, the works.”

Lynda hesitated for a moment. “Same, please.” If it was real caff, she’d deal with the cost, if it was the standard fake fare, then the hit on her credits would be less but the drink wouldn’t be as enjoyable. Either way, she’d deal.

“Lynda Jarvis.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Lynda sat on the edge of the chair, refusing to relax. She couldn’t, didn’t know if the captain would see that as a weakness or a form of insolence. Neither were things she could risk.

“Formally of The Lair under the command of Fenris MacTire.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Clean record with him, no problems and let you left the ship. Dacre sent me a file, with MacTire’s permission according to the notes here. You were a good crew member, no issues, did your job and they were sorry to see you go. Which makes me wonder,” Alys leaned back in her hover chair, her gaze fixed on Lynda, “why did you leave?”

“Personal reasons.” She didn’t look away.

“Uh huh. Let’s get something straight from the start. If I ask a question I expect an answer. A full answer. No bullshit. So, you can either accept that or stop wasting my time.”

Lynda swallowed hard and looked away. “I didn’t…”

“You can either explain or leave, those are your two choices. I’m not offering a third.”

Shit. She took a deep breath, rolled her shoulders to work out the tension and ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip before she finally met Alys’ gaze and forced herself to speak. “I fell in love.”

“With a fellow member of the crew?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She paused, hoping that would be enough but a narrowing of eyes made it clear she was to continue. “I’m gay.”

“And this matters why?”

“It’s… who I…” She paused and shook her head, shame burning across her cheeks. “I fell in love with Mara Dacre and she’s involved. The captain isn’t the type of man to share, so I didn’t make a move, but the longer I was there, the more I was around her, the more it hurt. Maybe running, leaving, was the wrong thing to do, but it was the only thing that made sense at the time.” She took a breath, struggling to put her thoughts into order as she continued, pausing again only long enough for the server to set down the two mugs of caff. “I know myself well enough to understand that, if I’d stayed and continued to see that, to feel the love between them, knowing that it was something I would never be a part of, I’d have said something that would have damaged my position on the ship.”

Alys looked down at her mug and pulled it to her, taking the time to inhale and then taste the caff. A full smile graced her face, adding a light to her otherwise dark eyes. She gestured to the mug in front of Lynda, giving them both a break from the conversation.

Uncertain at first Lynda took hold of her mug and sipped. She blinked and stared down at the mug. “This is…”

“Yes, and that’s why I chose this place to meet you.”

Real caff, fresh cream, and was that actual sugar in the mix? Lynda closed her eyes and sank into the rare bliss that was authentic caff. “Damn.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Alys set her mug down, the soft sound enough to draw Lynda’s attention. “You’re a passionate woman, that much is obvious, but you’re still young. Emotionally young and there’d be some who would say that I’d be a fool to sign you up.”

Lynda’s throat tightened.

“Yet you also knew enough to leave before the situation got out of hand. I don’t believe that running was the right thing to do do. Running seldom is, but I might have done the same thing in your position.”

That caught her off guard. “I thought you said I was young?”

“And you are, as was I at one point.” Alys’ smile turned into a warped, quirky thing that softened her features. “I don’t let people run from my ship. That’s the first thing you need to understand. Those who sign on with me, stay with me, for at least six months - unless I boot them off.”

“A year,” Lynda murmured and set her mug down. “I promised Mara I’d see a year through with you.”

“Good, that would give you a chance to settle. To get your thoughts and emotions in order and maybe learn a little something about yourself.” Alys took another sip from her mug, her eyes half closing as she watched Lynda. “It won’t be easy to keep your temper at first, or to remain calm as you learn to work with the rest of the crew. That’s to be expected and you’ll have help.”

Why is she willing to help me? Lynda kept the words to herself as she curled her hands around the mug. Warmth and temptation climbed up from the mug in curls of steam. The caff, like the position with Alys, were both offers she could walk away from, should walk away from as they were both too rich for her, fraught with problems and laden with traps, but where else would she go?

Staying here wasn’t a real option. She’d be faced with a rapidly decreasing source of funds, reduced to taking on work that she wanted nothing to do with, and remained trapped until she finally bit the bullet and took the first possible passage elsewhere that came up. That wasn’t a plan, it was a reaction. She took a deep breath and met Alys’ gaze. “Why are you offering me this chance? Is it Mara? Are you doing this for her?”

“No, she asked me to take a look at your file, but that’s all.”

“Then what?” What was she missing? What piece of the puzzle?

“I see a lot of myself in you, Lynda. The arrogance, uncertainty and fear. The self doubt and the need to push yourself combined with the desire to run rather than face problems head on. I was you, once… someone gave me a chance and I’m offering you the same thing. You’ll sign on with me, follow my rules and listen. You’ll learn, find out who you really are - because that’s your biggest problem. You’ve no idea who you are.”

Her chest tightened. She knew who she was, had always known, what had she done to make Alys think otherwise? She nibbled on the inside of her bottom lip as cold sweat left a line down the length of her spin. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” Alys leaned forward. “Look me in the eyes and tell me that. Tell me you know who you are, what you’re capable of and that you have no doubts.”

She opened her mouth to speak only to close it again. This should be easy. The words were right there, on the tip of her tongue so why couldn’t she give them life? She looked away and then back again at the captain, forcing herself to meet the woman’s gaze.

Dark eyes held hers, locked them in place, a needle of knowledge piercing through to the core of Lynda’s thoughts. Doubt flickered into life, fear merging with it until she felt tears slipping down her cheeks. What was wrong with her? She never cried in public, rarely cried in private - tears were a weakness, a door another could use to dig into your soul and yet - yet she was crying.

Alys broke eye contact by leaning back in her hover chair and bringing the mug to her lips once more. “Denial can be a powerful and yet dangerous thing, Lynda.”

“I don’t understand,” her voice was weak, uncertain as she shook her head, trying to clear the fog of emotions away.

“Nor will you until you face who you are and learn to control yourself. There’s a power within you, a gift that’s been locked away, something that Mara felt and so did another member of your crew. One by the name of Ben.”

Ben?

“What do you mean by power?”

The smile that claimed Alys lit up the older woman’s face. “You’re a psi - level two or three if I’m any judge, but it’s locked away. That’s why you have so many problems with your emotions. The power in you - it’s wild, untapped and struggling to get out. I can show you how to release it, how to use it and above all how to control it so it doesn’t push you into making more mistakes, ones there will be no coming back from.”

A psi?

That wasn’t true, it couldn’t be true. No one in her family had the gift, any of the gifts and there was nothing of System One in her family background, so why would she have any of the abilities? Except she knew that psi gifts weren’t limited to System One, they were just more likely from those bloodlines. “Are you certain?”

“I can feel it, almost taste it around you. It flicker in and out, touching the edges of my own abilities but it’s there. I’d stake my life on it.”

A psi, gifted, the power locked away. Could that really be the reason why she had been so unsettled of late, why she had felt the connection to Ben and to Mara? No, not Mara. That had been something else. Love, lust, it didn’t matter right now, she’d felt something for Mara, something she hadn’t wanted to ignore. Mara had cared too, that was why she’d reached out, offering a connection, help in the form of Alys Diam.

Walk away or accept the help…

“Where do I sign?”

Broken

Broken is an Erien Setting story, following on from Moments and Cluiun. 

Artwork by Samuel Pray, created using Daz3D, Photoshop and Filter Forge.

Laughter and blood thirsty cries mixed with the crackling of wood. Figures danced through the smoke, swords waved in the air, burning brands added to the mix as the victors celebrated and split up the spoils. Order had no place here. Spoiled children, one and all. He shook his head, but said nothing. They’d worked hard, followed the rules and now they deserved a moment where he wasn’t screaming orders at them. One night - he could grant them that much, then they would return to work.

They’d report their failure to find and capture the heir.

Darren shook his head and turned away from the burning wreck.

The princess, this had all been about the unwed, unclaimed heir to the Isle. Their employer had been clear. The girl was to be found, taken and brought back to him unharmed. Still untouched. She’d been too young to enter the circle at Beltane. Her virginity would be, according to tradition, be intact. For some reason though it wasn’t important to the Isle, it was to their employer.

Had she been on the ship?

He frowned, letting his gaze move over the dancing flames. Yes, she would have been. She’d been seen at the last port of call, there had been reports of their interactions with the Dragon Throne. Rumors of an alliance, though he found that hard to believe. Neither heir would be willing to leave their lands once they were of age to rule, which made a marriage alliance out of the question. One built on friendship or trade, that would be feasible, but not a bond through wedlock.

It doesn’t matter, we failed. I failed. Now I have to explain to him how we lost the girl.

How had that happened? One of his men had mentioned three figures that had run for the trees, but only one had been found. A young man with blond hair. His blood spilled across the sand, weapon in hand, but no sign of footprints leading away from him. Only his and those belonging to the dead man nearby.

Had there been something more?

He turned, peering out into the gathering dark. Had he overlooked something? The magic users had been killed and their abilities had been weak at best, save for the queen, but she had failed to use the full abilities she - according to stories - had to hand. Instead she had died with blade in hand and a curse on her lips.

Who’d have thought it? A queen cursing like a sailor. Well, stranger things had happened, but that opened the possibility that the woman hadn’t been the queen at all.

He scowled at the thought. He’d check come the morning. The woman’s body would reveal secrets and if she’d been a bodyguard pretending to be the queen, then so be it. That he could use as an excuse for why the princess had been lost. He wouldn’t return, immediately, to their employer - no, he’d have a reason to continue the hunt. The girl would be with her mother, that made sense…

Even as he mulled the idea over he dismissed it. He knew the dead woman, with the intricate silver torc about her throat, had been the queen. The fire red hair, flashing eyes, skill with blades and fire magic that she’d used at the last, all confirmed she could be non other than the infamous red haired witch who ruled over the Isle.

“Never thought it would be this easy!” Wide eyed and half drunk, the sandy haired man waved a jug of rum from his left hand. His weapons - which should have been to hand - were no where to be seen. “So much for the great witch! I killed her myself, you know. She couldn’t even block a single blow.” The man took a swig from the jug and stumbled off, half falling into a small group, who laughed and pushed at him until he sat down, sharing the rum between them.

How many have claimed to have killed her now? Five? Six?

It didn’t matter. He knew the truth. He’d been there when the final blow had ended her fight.

He blinked, the image clear, seared into his mind. A long braid, the torc, blood marked blades, wild eyes and a dozen cuts marking her flesh. Yet she’d still fought, despite the dead laying around her, including her husband. She’d cursed, struck, blocked strikes and fought past the point when many a man would have attempted surrender. No, that word had never spilled from her lips.

Odd. This was a wife and mother, yet she hadn’t offered terms to protect her daughter, her son, or members of her crew. That went against everything he had been taught about mothers.

Warrior.

Her life hadn’t been important. The fight, it had been nothing more than a distraction in order to buy her daughter time to escape.

And it had worked.

Bloody woman.

A sane mother or wife would have pleaded for the lives of her family. He shook off the thought and rested one hand on the hilt of his cutlass. Come the dawn he would begin the search. One last look around for clues before setting off to report their failure. Their own boats, small, swift skiffs, had been hauled up onto the beach, well away from the wreck, and would then see them back to his ship. Even then it would take a week before they pulled into port and he had to report.

Enough time to put a believable story together?

Maybe.

So where was the daughter?

“Captain Malec?”

He turned toward the sound. “What is it, run out of grog already?”

Petion, a middle aged man who had served with him for several years, looked back over his shoulder at the sea before turning his attention back to his captain. “No, sir… it’s just. I’ve got this itch, right on the back of my neck. Like we’re being watched from out there.” He nodded back toward the water. “Makes no sense, mind. There’s not a light out there, nor sound - not that we could hear anything with the racket that lot’s making - but…”

Instincts. He’d learned, the hard way, not to over look such things. If there was something out there, then they needed to be aware. If not, it did the men no harm to cut their partying off now.

“Cork the bottles!” He snapped out the order, taking care to make sure it would carry over the noise of their celebrations. “Rouse yourselves, damned fools, better not have drunk yourselves into oblivion or I’ll be stripping the skin from your backs!” Protests arose from the small, scattered groups but they moved. Slowly at first, stepping away from the fire as slouched, stumbling forms, but they obeyed him as they always would.

“I don’t know if I’m right about this, Captain - but you can blame me if the men look for a scapegoat.”

He glanced at Petion and then away. He’d never toss the man to the others, he was far too valuable. “The decision was and is mine, there’s no discussing of scapegoats here. If you’re wrong, you’ve still given me a kick up the backside to get those grog soaked sods off their lazy backsides and up onto their feet.”

Petion laughed and shook his head, but the sound faded as the man took a step toward the rippling waves.

Malec scowled but followed the movement, his gaze narrowing. Something, he didn’t know what, moved on out there. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his cutlass, the steel half raised from its sheath before he realized what he was doing. There was something out there, he could see it, feel it, but the doubts remained.

One man stumbled back from a fire, a bottle falling from his hand to the sand. A low cry, followed by a second and a third.

Arrows? Who the hell shot arrows from the water?

He growled and reigned in his instincts to stalk toward the danger. He didn’t know the numbers, the source, if the attackers were coming in from multiple angles or…

Petion stumbled, an arrow in his shoulder but still alive. “Get back from the fire, Captain!”

Figures rushed forward from the water, splashing in from skiffs now half beached at the waterline. Men who scattered through the fires, striking out with cutlasses, daggers, cudgels and belaying pins. His own men, slowed by drink, didn’t have a chance. Men he’d known for weeks, months and in some cases, years, fell under the attack. Bodies dropped, men screamed, blood spilled as black ink on the sand as he made his way to Petion’s side and hauled the man up.

“We die on our feet,” he growled at the man, turning to block a blow from a cutlass.

“Aye, Captain!” Petion struck under the outstretched arm, sinking a dagger into the attackers side, finding a spot close to the armpit. “One less bastard to deal with.”

“Now let’s deal with the rest of them.” They were outnumbered and he knew it, but he was sober, knew the ground and he wasn’t about to let a group of strangers take everything he’d worked for.

“Give the word, Captain.”

“Kill them. Kill them all.”

They fought. Sand moved beneath his feet, blood marking both sand and steel alike. Men fell, some dead, others dying but the dead were mostly men he knew, only a handful of the strangers appeared injured - and only two of the dead that he’d seen so far.

Need to get out of here, before it’s too late.

He backed away from the fires and the fight. Petion moved with him, stumbling a little more from blood loss. The arrow had broken off during the fight but the blood continued to flow. He wouldn’t survive, Malec knew it, he’d seen men fall before and he wasn’t going to be one of them. If that meant letting Petion die on his own, so be it.

He turned, growling, gaze scanning the distant trees.

“Going somewhere?” A younger voice, male, arrogant and strong. “Not a good sign when a captain abandons his crew.”

He swore under his breath and forced himself to turn and look at the newcomer. “Sounds like you don’t know the duties of a captain, lad.”

A cocky, feral smile flashed through the near darkness. “Oh, I wouldn’t be saying that.”

Who in the name of the seven hells was this man? “A pup like you isn’t old enough to know what’s required to captain a skiff, let alone a crew like mine.”

“A crew that’s now dying back there.” Hazel eyes narrowed. “Looks like you’re being a coward in running from them, but what would I know if I’m such a pup?”

The man shifted his weight, a cutlass in both hands, something Malec had seen but once in his life. Either the lad was skilled or over confident. “Run, pup. Unless you want to die.”

#

Screams echoed through the night. Odd, the sounds had died down some time ago when the last of her people had fallen beneath the blades. They’d even thought her dead when she’d fallen from the ship, a blade buried deep within her body. She swallowed hard. By rights she should be dead, but there was something she had to do, something she needed to do before she went into the arms of her goddess.

Tired, she was so tired.

Not dying yet. One last duty, then I can go.

He’d be waiting for her. Not her husband, but the guardian who had died so many years ago, the one who had trained her and prepared her for everything she had faced. Her husband, he’d died as well, shouldn’t she feel something for his loss?

Poor man, he married me knowing it was for the bloodline.

No love there, but respect. He’d have a better time in the next life. A woman who loved him instead of an arranged marriage that he had suffered through. Still, they had brought a daughter into this world.

She dug her fingers into the sand and hauled herself away from the water. Her vision wavered, cold claiming her limbs as she crawled. The bleeding wouldn’t stop, not until her heart stopped, she was woman enough to admit that. There was no surviving this, even if she was found by someone who wanted to help her, the cuts were too deep, the blade in her side had caused too much damage…

“Captain! Over here!” A voice, male… one of the attackers?

No, they wouldn’t find her, she wouldn’t die surrounded by enemies.

“What is it?” A younger voice, not the one who had laughed as her family had died around her.

“A woman, Captain.”

No, that couldn’t be the captain who had led the attack. He’d been older, a bitter man, wrapped in darkness, his laughter cold and cruel as he’d watched her people die. She frowned, turning her head toward the sound. Men, several of them, some with torches that were little more than burning brands grabbed from the fires, all approached her.

Weapon, she needed a weapon.

Her hands refused to move, her body no longer willing to obey her no matter how hard she tried.

“She’s injured, Captain.” The one who had discovered her announced.

“So it seems,” a cooler tone now, but still the same one who had been named captain. “Get her out of the water, but be careful about it. No need to add to the lady’s pain.”

He cared about her pain? Was he one who served the Dragon Throne? Even as she thought it, she knew it to be wrong. This wasn’t a man who served, but a man who commanded. I know him. Somehow I know him. Except she didn’t recognize his voice.

A pain filled cry rang out but it wasn’t until they set her on the sand did she realize that the cry had come from her. Shame colored her cheeks. She wasn’t a weak willed maid who had never stepped foot outside of the castle. She was a warrior and queen, her pain was hers alone, not to be inflicted on those around her.

“Fo-forgive me… for making su-such a fuss.” She forced the words into life, though speech cost her dearly.

“Lady, there is nothing to forgive.” The man named captain moved to his knees at her side. “We need water and something to clean these wounds.”

She tried to shake her head but she lacked the strength. No, better to focus on words. “Do not waste your time. I- I am dying and we both ken it.” For a moment the brogue of the Isle slipped through. She frowned. Normally she was so careful not to let that slip into her words, unlike her daughter. It was a provincial thing and looked down upon by those beyond the Isle and those few other places who had such a thing in their background.

A hand touched her cheek, his voice lower now. “I know that accent, lady though few here would recognize it. What brings a woman of…” he paused his hand moving to her throat and the torc. “A woman of the noble lines…”

A smile fluttered across her lips only to turn into a grimace of pain. “You are not of the Isles.”

“Nae… but my people were of the clans many generations ago.”

There it was, a soft touch of brogue - different to her own but still linked across the bloodlines as long as you traveled far enough back into the past of the tribes. Tribes, clans, the people, they had so many names depending on where you found them, yet the origins were the same, according to the triple faced goddess.

“Wh-who do ye serve?” Her mother would have clipped her ear for letting her brogue claim her, just as she’d tried to correct her own daughter.

“No one, I’m sworn to protect my crew, m’lady - nae other.” He touched the torc, his frown deepening. “This ship, the one that now burns, it was carrying you and yours, aye?”

She nodded weakly, coughing.

“You weren’t alone?”

“D-daughter… she lives… escaped.” She knew that, the slender link that bound them remained, a link her daughter wouldn’t know of until death severed it.

The captain nodded and waved the other men back. “They weren’t close enough to hear but this… I know who ye are, lady.” He tapped the torc again. “This, there’s only one other like it, aye? The one worn by the heir.”

She smiled, few knew the truth. “Nae… there is only one. Both are one,” a new wave of coughs stole her breath. A metallic taste filled her mouth and she turned her head enough to spit, except she lacked the strength and it oozed from her lips. “Magic… ye ken?”

He frowned and pulled his finger back from the metal around her neck. “One. So when…it will vanish?”

Odd, he didn’t want to say that she was dying. Her eyes half closed but she could see him still. A man, young and bold, older than her daughter by eight, maybe ten years. Yes, closer to ten. Something glimmered behind him, a figure, a hunter and the shape of a wolf. “Wolves… I didnae understand…” She forced her eyes open but the wolf was still there, laid over the features of the man, bright gold as it sank into his flesh, merging, becoming one with the man.

“I’m known as The Cluiun.”

The Wolf. Yet that still didn’t answer all of her questions. A name alone wouldn’t be enough for what she had seen. Not the beast, not the hunter behind it. Great Goddess, she was running out of time. Cold claimed her limbs and she could no longer feel her fingers or toes. It wouldn’t be long before she lost feeling in her legs as well. She wouldn’t see the sunrise, she was honest enough to admit that.

“Lady, we - I don’t have a full healer with me. If I did…”

She smiled, too weak to shake her head. “That wouldnae be enough, lad. We both know that.” She swallowed, trying to clear her throat but it didn’t work. He was a stranger marked by a power she didn’t know yet recognized in some form. “My pouch, there is something… a ring… take it.”

“Lady?”

“Please… while I have… strength left.”

Hazel eyes narrowed but he nodded, reaching down to the small leather pouch. He fumbled for a moment before opening it, tipping the ring out.

She didn’t need to look at it in order to know what it looked like. The same ring that her husband had placed upon her finger on the day of their wedding. Just as it had been placed on her mother’s finger, and her mother’s before that. It should have been given to Hawk, to hold in trust, but there hadn’t been time.

Lie.

She’d wanted to, but something had held her back, now she knew what.

“Take it to her, when you can.”

He turned the ring in his fingers. “I don’t understand.”

“Ye will… when ye see her. Until then, keep it safe. Show no one save her… she will understand.” Would she understand? Her daughter was a stubborn young woman, yet to have the edges smoothed out.

“I’m to give this… to your daughter?” He looked down at the ring again, turning it in his fingers before meeting her gaze. “Nothing more.”

She coughed and for once was grateful for the disruption. She could see it, the haze around him, the hunter and the wolf. He’d find her, maybe not now, maybe not for years, but he’d find her. Hawk would keep her safe until then - if the Goddess was with him. With them. Shadows pressed around the edges of her vision and she blinked, trying to clear it.

“Lady?”

“Nae… a thing… more… will I ask o’ ye…” A weight sat on her chest, pressing down, stealing her breath. “Swear… ye…” She didn’t have the strength to continue.

Fingers touched the side of her cheek. Rough pads that marked a man who worked hard and didn’t flinch from a challenge. “I give ye my word, lady. None will know save your daughter.”

A daughter whose name he didn’t know and she lacked the strength to give him.

Had she closed her eyes? She frowned, unable to see for the darkness that had stolen her vision. No, her eyes were still open, she could feel them blinking, moving, but it made no difference.

“Lady? Hold a little longer, please.”

It was too late, she knew that, even if he didn’t. He’d have thought her daft, addled by the loss of blood and shock. A promise made to a dying woman, one he doubted he would ever have to keep, but she knew the power of such words. Understood the word given and the bond that had been made.

Cold claimed her body, leaving no pain, no fear. Only the knowledge that it was time - and she was going home.