Destroyed by Onyx (A Dance with Destiny Book 4) (11 page)

Chapter 12

Jenevier

(ZHEN-ah-veer)

Luag landed on his back with a jarring thud, the dusty ground puffing up in wisps around him.

Jenevier saw his face twist with pain before he rolled onto his side.

“Dammit, Brodder,” he said, strained. “Why didn’t you warn me, you old goat?”

His King chuckled. “Luag, Brother, you bore witness to her might yourself. Upon your arrival, no less. You saw with what ease she dispatched good Gráda, here. And yet you would blame your carelessness on me?”

The surrounding men didn’t try to hide their chuckles as Luag groaned with the effort of returning upright.

“You’ve not earned the right to laugh until you’ve stood where I now do,” Luag hissed, tossing the training sword to Brian. “Your turn, Brother.” He glanced toward the maiden, holding up his hands. “I yield.”

Brian looked first at the dulled blade and then to his King. “I cannot strike her, Milord. I will not raise a blade, even one such as this, to my wee moon. I have told you true, Sire. She owns my heart. How can you ask this of me? And how could I ever strike the woman I love?”

Jenevier stood before the handsome young warrior in but a blink, her hand wrapping over his holding the battered old hilt.

“I’m not your wee moon, Brian. And you do not love me.” She hissed out the words through gritted teeth. “How long will you deny what you know to be truth? Will you always ignore my warnings? Must I be forced to teach you daily, fair brother? Then, so be it.”

Her forehead slammed into the delicate bridge of his perfect nose. Blood exploded, covering both their faces.

Brian’s pain-filled howls automatically triggered Eògan’s internal defenses. Unbidden reflexes responded to his trained mind’s screaming warning. His noble little brother was in danger. The massive, fiery-haired general drew his giant blade and was upon her in but a breath.

She yanked the practice sword, still clenched in the grasp of the bleeding Brian, up to defend against the mighty blow intended to slice her from head to heel.

Jenevier released her hold upon the handsome young warrior, his dull blade clattering to the ground.

Facing the flaming giant, she raised a single silver brow, and then leveled her glare. His enraged eyes and heaving chest amused her. She circled him tauntingly. Her deliberate movements agonizingly slow to all who watched, the wickedness of her intent displayed purposefully upon her angelic face.

When at last she spoke, her cold smile seemed born in the pits of hell, dark and lethal. “I thought you vowed to protect me with your life, Brother. All here were present to witness your promised words,” she said, waving her hand out to encompass the King and his valiant knights. “Have you changed your mind in this?” She half chuckled. “Am I no longer your fair wee sis?”

Her words, coupled with the taunting smirk upon her lips, were meant to produce the very reaction Eògan blessed her with. He attacked without regard to defense, maddened with an almost uncontrollable rage.

Jenevier used this massive warrior’s strength to her advantage. He was too strong to take on full frontal. She decided to let him do all the work by sidestepping his powerful blow, letting the enormous blade find its way deep into the hardened ground. Effortlessly, she scaled his large form and sat lightly upon his broad shoulders. Straddling his neck, she pressed the back of his head firmly against her belly, holding his own dagger to his throat.

There were no jeering laughs this time. The remaining men took an uneasy step back. She no longer held a practice blade. The strange colorless woman was now armed with the razor sharp knife this red warrior kept hidden within the leather of his boot. No one saw her filch it. They knew not what she held until her inhumanly fast movements had ceased. That bit of sharp steel she now claimed had easily sliced through the throat of many a large stag.

Eògan ceased the vain tugging on his trapped sword, carefully raising his shaking hands in the air, praying she would accept his peaceful surrender.

The deathly pale maiden leaned down, whispering icy words into his ringing ears. “This is Iole Máni. It ensures my kill.”

“Gealach,” Brodder yelled.

When her sparkling black eyes met those of her new father, she unceremoniously released the deadly weapon, simply let it fall to the ground, then flipped off the terrified man’s frozen form. Skipping over to stand beside her beloved King, Jenevier casually clasped her hands behind her back, innocently, harmlessly; as if nothing unusual at all had happened.

“That’ll be all for today, dear daughter.” Brodder’s deep words were warm and loving. “Go now, while it’s yet light. Run along and gather the coveted petals you need for your splendid tea. I’m looking forward to sharing a cup with you tonight as we sit by the fire, Lass.”

Her smile beamed. Jenevier hugged him around the waist, squeezing him tightly as he gently kissed the top of her head.

Snatching up her empty basket, she was whistling a sweet tune by the time she skipped around the corner, disappearing from their stunned view.

It was a painfully long moment before anyone released their held breath, or allowed their tense shoulders to relax.

“What the hell was that?” Luag demanded.

“Forgive me, Brothers,” Brodder mumbled. “I didn’t realize the extent of her skills. I viewed her talents merely as an amusing play thing, a rather cute entertainment of sorts.”

“Just how much, exactly, do you know about her
skills
, her
talents
as you call them?” Gráda inquired, concern hardening the scared look in his eye.

“Not much more than you, I fear,” the King admitted. “It happened quite by chance, actually. The first day you arrived at our home, when you first laid eyes upon her, she had disappeared from our bed, same as this morning. I couldn’t find her.” He sighed as he looked to the clouds, remembering that terrifying feeling of raw panic. “I searched. I yelled. I fretted. Nothing. My hunt for the fair maid was in vain. I began to take my anger and frustration out with my sword.” He slowly took in each man’s questioning gaze. “When she returned, that’s how she found me. Swinging away, trying to gut a wooden man.” He shook his head, sighing. “I scolded her for leaving me, even promised her punishment if she ever did thus again. When I went back to attacking the dummy, she drew a blade from the rack and challenged me.” He motioned with his head toward the training gear. “I know now… she was only playing with me, toying with a grumpy old man,” he whispered. “That’s when your approaching hoof beats halted our blades. Everything else about her
talents
, you have borne witness to yourselves, gentlemen.”

“I know not what she is, but she’s no mere colorless maiden.” Brian spoke as he yanked his broken nose back into place, wiping the drying blood with the backs of his hands. “That much is obvious.”

“That much was obvious before this little display here,” Finnean said, snorting out a half laugh. “I’ve met many maidens, Brothers. But as of yet, none have been able to sprout lethal claws from their dainty wee fingertips.”

“Or speak the wound closed those selfsame claws rent,” Gráda whispered.

“Or bind and unbind with mere words,” Eògan added.

“Do you believe her to be a demon?” All eyes turned to Finnean as he spoke. “Do you think… mayhap she was abandoned here after the bloody war?”

“No, Finnean,” Brodder said softly. “Ease your troubled heart, Brother. I heard her hit when she fell from the heavens. She wasn’t upon Val Hal before I found her lying there, unconscious amongst the stones.”

“Then she is no demon,” Luag said. “I watched as they sprang from the dirt and all the dark places of this world.” His jaw line visibly hardened. “Not one fell from the sky.”

“Perhaps she’s an Angel,” Eògan said, child-like wonder obvious in his gentle voice.

“Minus wings?” Gráda said with a snort.

“I know not,” the large flaming haired man continued. “I’ve never met an Angel before.”

“And you haven’t met one this day, either,” Luag answered.

Finnean rubbed the back of his hand across his creased brow, exasperated. “One thing’s for certain. She isn’t newly created. She was worried about that—that her creator had cast her aside before he was yet done. Worried that the very one who made her couldn’t even bear to look upon her, didn’t love her.” His troubled gaze locked with Brodder’s. “I tell you now. Our wee lass is a woman with a past, an obviously bloody past.”

“And just why are you suddenly turning on her? Hmm?” Brian asked. “Why do you think her past is dark? What do you base your reasoning upon, white brother?”

Finnean looked at his young friend, incredulously. “After what you’ve witnessed, you can still ask that?” He smiled as he snorted, shaking his head. “I do not claim to know the creator. But I’m fairly certain a new creature isn’t formed complete with superior battle skills, built-in weapons, and draped about with rare adornments the likes of which I have never seen before.” He took a step closer to Brian, lowering his voice. “And I would never turn on her, ever. Got that? I care not if she’s dark or light. She is mine, Brother. Now back off.”

Brodder nodded his head, ignoring the two warriors’ heated glares and hissing words. “Finnean speaks true.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve heard her in the wee hours of the night. I would lie awake, listening for her forgotten voice. The maiden whispers of strange things in her sleep. Things lost within her muddled mind. She is tormented by loss. Yet I cannot make out her true misery. Perhaps it’s only nightmares, dreamscapes of a weary soul.”

“I’ve also heard her make reference, absently it seems, about what can only be attributed to past experiences,” Gráda confessed.

“As have I, Brother.” Finnean spoke up again. “She indeed has a past. Something horrible must’ve happened to cause her to lose any memory of it.”

“Or…” Everyone turned to Eògan as he spoke. “She
did
something so horrible her mind locked it away, protecting her, ensuring her innocent heart remained intact.” He looked to each of them. “Does anyone know what Iole Máni means?”

The befuddled men were still shaking their heads when her tinkling voice caused them to jump.

“Where’d you hear that name, Brother?” she said as she rounded the corner and approached the red-haired man, smiling sweetly.

He took a step back, startled. “Name? Is it a name?” he asked.

“I believe so.” She cocked her head to the side, a look of profound confusion furrowing her brow. “Something deep inside me… it whispers about it, calls out that name. Where did you come by it, Brother?”

Eògan lightly touched her forehead, using his fingertip to press out the wrinkles her bewilderment had put there. “Remember you not, wee moon?” He smiled softly and she visibly relaxed. “You whispered it within my ear as you held a dagger to my throat.”

Without thought, still staring at her giant red-haired friend, her left hand automatically went to her hip, grabbing only air. She turned in a circle, trying to look behind her.

Brodder laughed, placing a large hand upon her shoulder, ceasing her twirling. “Here now, Lass. What’re you trying to do? Spin about like a top?”

“My blade,” she murmured absently, reaching then to her shoulder.

Finding nothing there as well, she began turning the other way, looking behind her.

“You carry a blade, Princess?” Gráda narrowed his eyes as he closely watched her bewildered movements. “Perhaps two?” He paused. “Mayhap you carry one at your hip and the other across your back?”

Jenevier stopped, a completely different look now living within her strange snowflakes. She stared at Gráda, desperately searching his eyes for the answers she could not find within herself. Then… as suddenly as she had begun searching for the blades, she forgot them.

“I know not.” She smiled at the man she had once set out to kill. “Why would you ask me such a thing, Lord Gráda? Why would you presume anything so absurd?” She giggled playfully. “Me? Armed as a warrior and carrying a basket of rose petals?” She crinkled up her nose at him.

“There’s much you do not
believe
you know, wee Gealach.” Brodder gently patted her back. “Come. Make me some of your delicious tea while we discuss all the things we do not
believe
we know.”

As always, his kind laughter caused her warm smile. Placing his hand at the small of her back, the King gently guided his new daughter back into their home.

*****

“Things we know.” Gráda said the words aloud as he wrote them down.

1)
   
Fell from the sky.

2)
   
Absent memory and voice.

3)
   
Talon-like claws, deadly. He underlined the word
deadly
twice.

4)
   
Obsessed with rose tea.

“What’s tea got to do with anything?” Brian asked.

“You never know what might turn out to be an important piece of the puzzle,” Gráda said, rolling his eyes at the younger man’s naivety.