Hers to Choose (2 page)

Sophi lay prone. The heat from sunbaked rock permeated her thighs and abdomen through her robes. A hot zephyr tickled fine blond hair across her face to stick in the perspiration dotting her upper lip. Her bow and quiver of arrows pressed into her spine. Tiny pieces of grit dug into her elbows as she steadied her spyglass. From her perch on the arid outcropping of stone, hundreds of feet above the wasteland floor, Sophi watched through the magnified lens as a column of riders drew closer.
Four ‘rides’ of horse—a squadron of cavalry totaling thirty-two, with two men riding at the lead.
She had been watching their approach for hours. Now they rode close enough to reveal the three crowns on pendants of a familiar purple and gold fluttering from their lances
—
the purple and gold of Verdantia’s ruling triumvirate, the
Tetriarch
.

They come for me.
Inhaling the smells of heated earth, she released her breath in a smooth flow, calming her agitated heart.
I am no longer Lady Sophillia DeLorion, captive slave of the Haarb. I am a woman of the Oshtesh, a warrior and desert hunter. Memories cannot hurt me. I am strong. I am resilient.

Verdantia’s
empty wasteland drew her, beckoned her to lose herself in its lonely expanse. Where others saw death by thirst and heat, she knew a welcome solitude of severe beauty. The warm, moist breath of Brio, her gelding, wafted around her shoulders as he whuffled companionably between her shoulder blades. “They think to make me return to Sylvan Mintoth, Brio. Fine, they will have to brave the wastelands to find me.”

Stowing her spyglass in her saddle pack, she shrugged her bow and quiver into a better position on her back and vaulted onto her horse. Turning Brio from the edge of the precipice, she urged him down the narrow, rocky trail leading to the
Oshtesh
village of
Sh’r Un Kree
. The wife of the
Oshtesh
leader rose before her as if conjured out of sand zephyrs, her pristine white robes stirring in a slight eddy of air. Brio rocked back onto his haunches as Sophi checked him.

"
Sophi." Mistress Lyre moved aside the fine veil concealing all but her exotically-slanted brown eyes.

"M
other Lyre." Sophi slid off her gelding and with loving respect, bowed her head.

"Do you
escape to the desert, child?"

“Yes
, Mother Lyre.” Sophi stood a moment, eyes respectfully downcast, and then looked up at the woman who had offered her sanctuary and love for the past few years.

Warm eyes
in a patrician face held her in a loving gaze. “Your brother sent you a message.” The woman pressed a rolled and sealed scroll into her hand. “I received his letter some time ago. I was to give you this before Commander DeStroia arrived. I have not seen you in days, so I sought you out before you vanished into the wastelands.” Her eyes sparkled with humor.

The
heavy wax seal of the
Segundo Signore
of the
Second
Tetriarch
broke with the pressure from her thumbs, and she unrolled the missive.

My beloved sister,

Mistress Lyre tells me you left the camp housing single women and now live at ease in the mixed company of daily village life. She reports you sleep undisturbed through the night and you laugh again! For this alone, I must love her.

She holds you
dear. She and the Primus have petitioned me for permission to adopt you as a daughter. I have asked her to wait.

We need you, beloved sister. Our mother
planet needs you. Our bloodline must continue. Verdantia’s sentience is real, Sophi. She has spoken to me. The time has come to take your rightful place. The Haarb war decimated our genetic pool. The future of our planet rests on the children we bear you and I and the handful of others who remain.

I am sending a man to you
—a good man. His name is Eric DeStroia. He commands the Queen’s Guard and I know him well. Please consider him, Sophi. The L’anziano want this joining but I will do nothing without your consent.

If you are willing,
Commander DeStroia and an honor guard will escort you back to Sylvan Mintoth. He is aware the L’anziano want the joining of House DeStroia and House DeLorion. I have given him no specifics about you, only that your time as slave of the Haarb has made you reserved with men.

Please return with him. The trip is a lengthy one. You will have
time to observe him. If you cannot tolerate the thought of him as a husband, you may go back to the Oshtesh and the desert which brings you peace. I only ask you try, Sophi. I will not allow the L’anziano to force you. Come back to us, Sophi. I miss you.

Your loving brother,

Doral

She handed the parchment to Lyre. “My brother asks for my return to our capital.”

The older woman scanned the page.
“Ah, child.” Lyre moved to embrace her and stroked Sophi’s hair away from her face. “My fledgling falcon. Talk with me as we walk back.” Mother Lyre smiled. “Your comfort with men grows as your fighting skills sharpen.”

“Yes, Mother Lyre.
I am no longer helpless.”

A low burst
of laughter escaped the elder. “That you are not! I will not even chastise you for the unseemly pride in your voice.”

“
I beg your indulgence, Mother. When I remember the shrinking, broken creature who first entered your home, I cannot help a sense of accomplishment.” Sophi kicked a stone from her path, sending it skittering off into the air.

“You
are
greatly changed,
Flight Leader
DeLorion.”

“Mother Lyre, my archers look at me and respect who I am. They do not see me as I was.”

The older woman hugged her and humor laced her voice. “Be gentle, my fierce falcon. Your
transformation will astonish your brother.”

Sophi straightened. “You speak as if my return to Sylvan Mintoth is decided.
Will you and the
Primus
send me away?”

“
With great reluctance, yes. You must explore your birthright, child. So few pure bloodlines remain in our House of Lords. House DeLorion is one of only a handful to survive. The value of your genetic line to our way of life is too large to be quantified. Only those with your genetic markers can ‘speak’ with our sentient planet. Only those with your genetic markers can survive the massive energy
She
channels through our bodies during the sacraments of the
Lesser
and
Great Rites
.”

Sophi looked away, stricken. “
House DeLorion’s genetics elevated my brother to the throne
—Segundo Signore
to the
Second Tetriarch
—but I have no desire to rule anyone. I want to stay with the
Oshtesh
, hunt with my women archers and be plain
Flight Leader
.”

Mother Lyre
cast a considering look her way. “Go. See. Learn. If you return, we will welcome you back as a daughter of our people. But first, you must make this journey.”

Sadness
at her sense of inexorable fate overwhelmed Sophi. “There is no escaping this future, is there? I don’t want to leave you. I am whole in this place.”

Mother Lyre reached out and gently
placed her palm over Sophi’s heart. “We will always be here, wherever you go.”

“I know
you and my brother are right. This is my responsibility to our people and our planet. I will return to Sylvan Mintoth with Commander DeStroia.” Her throat choked closed, cutting off any further words. The older woman’s arm tightened around her waist and drew her close for a moment. Sophi laid her head on her surrogate mother’s shoulder and struggled against tears.

“
While I am not the same person I was three years ago, I don’t know if I’m able to make
any
man a fit mate. I don’t know if I can do that.” Straightening, she sighed and walked beside Mother Lyre in silence. As the entrance to the village walls drew near, Mother Lyre stopped and faced Sophi.

“I know the fear you leave unspoken, Sophi. I have confidence in you, even if you do not. Your brave heart will overcome anything that stands in the way of what you truly desire. You merely have to want it enough.” The older woman smiled at her. “When the right man comes into your life, your fear will vanish like mist in the morning sun.”

But what if Commander Eric DeStroia is not the right man?

* * *

By order of Mother Lyre, Sophi bathed and dressed in her finest clothing. Her blond hair hung in soft waves to her waist over a sheer, finely woven white blouse. A short turquoise vest, heavy with embroidery and precious stones, barely covered her breasts. Its color enhanced her glorious blue eyes—made even larger by a dark outline of kohl. Sheer white pantaloons cuffed at her slender ankles softly outlined her long limbs. Finely worked leather sandals replaced her hide-skin boots. A heavy girdle of beaten gold links and tassels wrapped her slender hips and hung low onto her thighs, chiming musically as she moved.

Her appearance created its normal response
. Men stopped in their tracks and rudely gaped.
I loathe their appraising stares.
She considered her face and form a liability. She had not labored to produce her beauty. Her appearance was not a skill she had mastered from days and months of unceasing repetition. It drew unwanted attention of sort she most feared.

Cool respite surrounded her as she entered
the gathering hall. The thick, hollow tile walls tempered the blaze of sun and heat. A tall fountain playing in a central pool sent soft, cool droplets into the air. Columns of light speared into the large room from transparent panels high overhead.

The buzz of conversation halted abruptly
at her presence, then regained volume. Sighing, longing for her sisters-in-arms who treated her with the respect she had
earned
, she crossed the hall to
Primus
G’hed and his wife. They spoke with a tall, well-built man dressed in worn battle leathers. He held himself with an air of quiet competence and command, as if at ease with his ability to meet any challenge. He could only be Commander Eric DeStroia.
Mother Lyre, you did not tell me how handsome the commander is
. With her height, Sophi normally looked men in the eye, but she needed to tilt her head upward to meet his green-eyed gaze. His closely cropped, russet hair was disordered, as if hands had been run through it repeatedly. He was in distinct need of a shave.

His
green eyes flicked over her, appraised her, then returned to
Primus
G’hed. She straightened in surprise at his lack of reaction to her beauty.
How nice.
She moved to stand casually to the right of Mother Lyre.

“Commander
Eric DeStroia.”
Primus
G’hed indicated Sophi. “
Flight Leader
Sophillia DeLorion.”

The commander bowed. “It is a privilege, Lady
DeLorion. The
Segundo
failed to tell me of your status among the
Oshtesh
.
Flight Leader
. It is a military designation?”

What a pleasant surprise. The first words out of his mouth are not about my appearance.

“Yes, Eric. Sophi leads an elite squad of women archers. We call them
flights
. Each
flight
has six archers and a leader.” Mother Lyre spoke proudly. “The
flights
choose their commanders. The title of
Flight Leader
is a singular honor.”

DeStroia
shifted his attention back to her. “I regret I take you away from their comradeship, Lady DeLorion.”

Before
Sophi could respond, Mother Lyre spoke again. “You won’t. Sophi’s
flight
rides with you to Sylvan Mintoth.” A small, knowing smile played across her lips. “It is
my
condition for her return. As only sister to Doral DeLorion,
Segundo Signore
of the
Tetriarch
, Lady Sophillia needs her own guard—those whose loyalty is
only
to her.”

At Sophi’s surprised utterance, Mother Lyre, stroked her cheek tenderly. “We thought it would comfort you to have your sisters around you.
We send you away, but you take a small part of
Sh’r Un Kree
with you.” She laughed softly. “Truly, I don’t think we could have made them stay.”

Sophi
let her eyes speak for her. The
Primus
and his wife smiled at each other in satisfaction.