A Lion's Heart (5 page)

He was a savage from the Savannah without even a family name to call his own, and recently part of a pride that was declaring war on Shakra's people. Shakra couldn't have chosen a more unfit companion to be seen with. Kyrill was at least wealthy, learned, and perfectly well mannered. This child of the prides killed live chickens in the dining hall and licked his claws afterward without concern. Common sense told Shakra to turn him over to Armandu and beg his warden's pardon. Common sense told him that he was making a mistake that might make his people see him in an unfavorable light. Common sense told him that Tamarind was dangerous and that he was a fool for getting anywhere near his claws and teeth. A teacher had once told him, though, to follow his emotions, to listen to his heart, and that it would seldom lead him astray. He had rarely found Shang to be wrong.

Shakra cautiously moved even closer to the werelion. Tamarind twitched and rose to a crouch as if he might take a swipe with his sharp claws. Very slowly, Shakra crouched below Tamarind's level, submissive, and took hold of the iron collar. Tamarind tensed and his ears went back. Shakra found the latch, felt the tiny lock that needed a key. He flexed his strong muscles and the latch parted with the sound of stressed metal and pins. Tamarind twisted out of the thing and fell backwards almost into the fire. He was panting and wide eyed.

Shakra held his hands out in a non-threatening gesture, put chain and collar down, and backed away as he said, “I am making a promise, here and now, that I will see you back to your home, alive and well.”

Tamarind exclaimed in consternation,” Why?”

“Because, it's the right thing to do,” Shakra replied, but he thought, as the werelion settled again, looking mystified, that he couldn't bear for anyone to hurt the were. It shook him, that realization, but he knew that it was the plain truth. Somehow, the werelion had become important to him, more important than politics or winning favor with anyone, including Warden Kol.

Chapter Five

Li’Won Shang finally made his appearance just as Tamarind was beginning to calm down. The werelion was instantly on the alert again when the werelizard was let in by Shakra.

Shang was not pleased. His dark brows were drawn down and his mouth was in a straight, tight line. “Warden Kol would not allow me to return to you until I had instructed all of the keep guards in ways to subdue and defend against a werelion. It took longer than I suspected to tell them all to pray to their ancestors, because there was no defense short of a suicidal frontal assault.”

Shakra blinked, stunned. He looked at where Tamarind was crouching by the fire, ears down and his expression sullen. He didn't look like the killing creature that Shang was describing. “Full grown lions-” Shakra began in confusion, but Shang snorted, cutting him off.

“You should know me well enough to realize that I do not indulge in hysterics,” Shang berated him. “The werelion is not a werewolf, fox, or cheetah. His claws are razor sharp and he has four sets of them. His teeth are daggers. His speed is far beyond anything you can imagine. If he were to pounce on your person, my Prince, not even your dagger would be able to save you. He would disembowel you before you could take in breath to scream.”

Tamarind tucked his tail around himself. He looked small, too young, and his eyes were uncertain and almost fearful. The werecheetahs had defeated him with cunning. Brute strength and sharp claws had not won him the day there. Shakra had secured his own safety with a better weapon than edged steel or sharp teeth. He had used truth and honor.

“He isn't a wild lion,” Shakra replied angrily. “He does speak and he does understand the situation he is in.”

Shang scoffed as his one hand tightened on the hilt of his knife unconsciously. “I do doubt that, my Prince. I also doubt that you understand the grave situation that you find yourself in. You are in direct rebellion with Warden Kol. You made him lose face in front of your people. You are keeping a creature he considers an enemy.”

“Will he will move against me?” Shakra wondered sharply.

Shang shook his head and the spines on his crest twitched in agitation. “He's trained you to be a warrior prince, but it was never his intention that you rule. If you show yourself unfit for that position, he is pleased. This, though,” He gestured at Tamarind and Tamarind snarled. “Defying him is quite another thing entirely. He will seek to correct you, to put you back in your place. I don't doubt that he will make that attempt very public. Your humiliation will secure his power.”

Shakra balled his hands into fists, his ruff rising with his anger. “I am no one's tool.”

“Dog,” Tamarind snorted and both werewolf and werelion glared at him. “I've seen the dogs the werecheetahs keep,” he told them. “They come when they are called, eat thrown scraps, and protect when necessary. You are his dog, it seems.”

Shakra's anger sizzled along every hair, every nerve, but it was Shang's next words that snuffed that raging fire out instantly, “Prince Shakra is no one's dog. Warden Kol will discover that soon enough.”

Tamarind huddled and looked away.

Shang didn't let it drop. “You insult your savior. That isn't wise.” He nodded to the collar and chain. “He has freed you against all wisdom. He defies his warden and his people for you. He has endangered his very life for you.”

“It isn't insult,” Tamarind replied quietly. “Simple truth. The savannah isn't so complicated. We are all free, we make our own decisions, and we lead our own lives. We fight. We mate. We hunt. We do not built cities and live where there isn't any fresh meat. We-”

“Perhaps that used to be true,” Shang cut him off. “But it isn't any longer. Your pride leader is gathering the other prides. He is making alliances and killing those who stand in his way. He will bring the prides into the forests to kill us and he will sweep the deserts clean to claim all of it for the werelions.” His dark eyes narrowed at Tamarind. “That is truth. Perhaps you would like to tell us more truths and explain why he let you live, when he has killed so many others? Why would he kill the males from Lake Winago, who were sired by him and opposed him, and let a half-maned lion cub, not related to him, live?”

Shakra was astonished, “How do you know this?”

“We have our spies,” Shang explained, never taking his eyes from Tamarind. “Spies who saw Katze drive this young one out when he decided to voice his unpopular political views to the wrong werelion.”

“Kiva,” Tamarind muttered and his pain and anger were evident. “I...” he choked and then tried again. “I didn't know that was why I was driven away. I did not think saying what I thought was a threat to a werelion like Katze.”

“So,” Shang said unsympathetically. “You see, cub, that things are very similar now, but for one exception, acting and saying the wrong things here will not result in your being chased out of our lands, but rather, it will cause you to be executed. I trust that there will not be any more displays of your anger, poor choice of words, or your hunting prowess before Prince Shakra's warden and his people again.” He turned to Shakra. “My Prince, now that you fully understand what the situation is, I urge you to get rid of this creature as quickly as you can. Warden Kol will not win the day if you do not give him weapons against you.”

Tamarind rose and paced to the door, looking at them both expectantly. “I do want out,” he said, tail twitching. “I can't sleep here. I can't stay here locked in these walls. I need the night air and open spaces. Let me go and I will hunt and care for myself until the desert fox journeys to my land.”

Shakra forgot anger, forgot the promise of danger, and felt trepidation claw at him. Why did he feel so strongly for a werelion? Why did the thought of Tamarind wandering the forest alone fill him with dread? “You won't be safe,” he argued. “Warden Kol may send weres out to find you. There are dangerous creatures in the forest that you don't know anything about.”

Tamarind grinned suddenly, fierce and daring. “I am a shadow when I wish to be. I am silent, I am strong. I-”

“Have been in a cage for too long and you need food and sleep,” Shakra protested. “You are not strong.”

Tamarind put back his ears and his eyes seemed to glow silver. “I could have killed you a dozen times in the forest, dog prince. My nose may not be able to find me home, but my claws and teeth are still sharp.”

“Tomorrow, at least,” Shakra said and couldn't help a tone of pleading. “Go in the morning. Sleep tonight, eat well, and you will be better for it.”

“Child,” Shang growled in warning. “You are in more danger than you know.”

Shakra glared. “I am not a child, Li’Won. You know what I am saying is reasonable.”

“It is your reasons that make me fearful,” Shang admitted.

Shakra laughed, short and sharp. “Not for the first time.”

“Child,” Shang growled again.

Shakra ignored him and turned to Tamarind. “Tonight,” he begged. “Just tonight. I'll get more chickens from the cook.” His stomach went queasy as he added, “live ones.”

Tamarind's ears came up and it was obvious that his hunger was stronger than his resolve to be free. He retreated back to the fire and crouched there. He glared at the too close walls and growled, “Just tonight.”

Shakra let out a breath of relief and couldn't help a smile. “I'll tell the cook.” He turned and came face to face with a scowling Shang. “Trust me,” Shakra begged him. “Stay loyal to me and my orders.”

Shang sighed. “Always, my Prince, whether for good or ill.”

**************

The cook brought four live chickens in a wire cage. He tried to peer past his prince to the werelion, but Shakra blocked his view. “This will do,” Shakra told him, an obvious dismissal.

“Anything my Prince wishes,” the cook said obediently and then, daring, “If I may say so, though, some fresh, uncooked meat might be to the lion's liking, your Highness. A creature his size can't live on chickens.”

“Thank you, cook,” Shakra replied, irritated at the man's mistake of calling Tamarind a lion and grateful for his suggestion about the food. “If you could prepare some meat for breakfast, we will see if it's to his taste.”

“Yes, your Highness.” The cook bowed low and left.

Shakra took his flapping and squawking chickens into an eager Tamarind. Tamarind grabbed hold of the cage, but Shakra dared sharp claws as he refused to let go.

“No, you are not a savage,” Shakra told him sternly. “You are not going to make my rooms into a butcher shop.” He thought for a moment and then went to the tiled bathroom. He put the chickens on the floor and then turned to Tamarind, who's eyes were glowing eagerly.

“Hungry,” Tamarind complained.

“I know,” Shakra replied, “But I expect you to follow rules of behavior. You will eat neatly and clean up the room, and yourself, afterward.”

Tamarind glared. Shakra glared back.

“We don't eat inside,” Tamarind grumbled. “That's bad behavior.”

“Where you're from,” Shakra said. “Not here. I don't expect any blood when you come out of here. There's a container for garbage over there. If you have anything left over from the chickens, put it in there. I'll have a servant take it away.”

Shakra shut the door on the werelion and his meal. The door opened again almost immediately. The werelion looked anxious and embarrassed. “It's too small... leave the door open.”

Claustrophobic. Shakra grimaced and nodded. As he turned his back and he began to hear the cries of the chickens, he decided to go out onto the balcony. It was a simple wooden platform overlooking a training area. Shakra didn't usually venture out because he always became the center of attention. A prince's only private moments were in his rooms.

After a length of time leaning against the wall of the Keep, and trying not to be seen, Shakra decided that the werelion had enough time to finish his meal. He went cautiously back into his rooms and found the werelion sprawled out over cushions on the floor in front of the fire. His entire body was lax, not even an ear twitching as Shakra approached. Tamarind's stomach was round, as if he were pregnant. The mental image made Shakra go hot and he turned to go into the bathroom.

A werelion could not eat chickens without making some mess. Still, the werelion had tried to be neat. Shakra sighed as he picked up errant feathers and one half gnawed chicken leg and tossed them into the garbage. He took it out of the bathroom and deposited it outside the door of his rooms for the servants to take.

Shakra couldn't help approaching Tamarind again. The werelion was definitely deeply asleep; complete exhaustion having over taken him at last. Crouching down, Shakra looked the creature over. Soft fur, smooth skin, supple muscles. Tamarind smelled a bit like chickens, but mostly of wild grasses and sunshine. His breath moved in and out of his throat with a very faint rumble, not a catlike purr, but a thrum of contentment that was unconscious.

Shakra stretched out beside the werelion, weariness taking hold of him too and the warm fire making him drowsy. His pet cats liked to curl up to him for warmth and werewolves liked to sleep in groups, craving the social interaction. If Shakra's family hadn't died, he would now be in a common room and sleeping with them and whatever siblings he might have had. His loneliness had always cut as keenly as any blade. No amount of pillows or warmth could replace the soft fur and pulse beat of companions. Sleeping even this close to someone else, even if Tamarind wasn't from the same species, was giving Shakra an odd feeling. It was easy to pretend that it didn't matter when he hadn't known better. He had kept himself aloof, spurned the company of others, and wrapped himself in Shang's self-contained philosophy to trust no one and nothing but his skill.

Tamarind let out a delicate burp His ears flicked, soft, tawny ovals sticking out of his short cinnamon mane. Shakra cushioned his head on a pillow and inched as close as he dared. He imagined Tamarind killing chickens, imagined Tamarind running through tall Savannah grass in sunlight, and imagined Tamarind laughing and happy with an entire pride of family. Now Tamarind was alone and, even when he returned to the Savanna, he would still be alone. They were kindred spirits now. Shakra almost thought,
brothers
, but something inside of him balked at that.

The candles burned low and the fire sank into coals. The warmth and the low light were too irresistible. Shakra fell asleep, listening to the rumble of Tamarind's breath and his strong heartbeat.

Shakra opened his eyes when morning came and found himself nose to nose with Tamarind. The silver eyes were open and regarding him calmly. That stopped Shakra's instant urge to recoil. He twitched, his tail bristled, and his ears lowered submissively.

“You won't... disembowel me, will you?” Shakra asked softly, a bare whisper.

The werelion twitched an ear and actually smiled. “Not if you feed me, Prince,” he replied, just as softly, as if they were sharing a secret. “Besides,” he added, “You make a good sleeping rug.”

Shakra snorted, but then retorted, “So do you; a soft one.”

Insults out of the way, Shakra was the first to roll away and come to his feet. He stretched, shook himself, and then went to call for breakfast. When he'd sent a servant scurrying, he turned back and saw that the werelion hadn't moved. In fact, he looked as if he'd gone back to sleep. Shakra returned to his warm spot, but not quite nose to nose. The werelion's tail flicked and Shakra had a feeling it was a warning.