The Gypsy Queen (46 page)

  “Damn right!” Draiman said. “That’s the
Yana
I know!” The other men of his tribe joined in, joking and teasing her as she drank. They laughed about old times, and the crazy stuff they did that almost got them killed.
Yana
kept drinking, trying to kill the pain. The talk of old times was a welcome distraction, along with the warmth of her drink.

  “I am leaving this place,”
Yana
said.

  “Where you headed?” Draiman asked.

  “Anywhere. As far as I can go.”

  “Are you going with your caravan?” Draiman said.

  “I can’t. We have some who are too sick to travel. I don’t want to wait.”

  “You should come with us!” Draiman said. “It will be just like old times!” That sounded pretty damn good to
Yana
. She had felt like she would never get back to feeling normal, never shake this pain for her darling boy, the King. A long ride might be just what she needed.

  “When are we leaving?”
Yana
asked.

  “Haha! Soon!” Draiman exulted. “We have some things to take care of and a few friends to arrive, and we are off!”

  They talked and laughed into the night, and
Yana
even did a drunken little dance as the tribe played some gypsy drums.
Eventually, s
he wandered off a little
ways
, trying to clear her head. Draiman came after her.

  “What are you doing away from the fire, gitana?” Draiman asked, every bit as drunk as she.

  “Nothing,”
Yana
said. “I think I need to lie
down for a moment.”

  “Come, come with me,” Draiman said.
Yana
stumbled a bit into his arms. Draiman kissed her, as he had the night before. She kissed him back, numb from drinking and no longer giving a damn about anything at all.

  Draiman escorted her
back to his wagon.
Yana
could see almost nothing. She laid on the bedding, and let out a big sigh. She would hate herself, but she was too damn tired.

  Draiman began to undress her, and kiss her.
Yana
did nothing to stop him. She allowed him to touch her, grateful that he at least had the sense not to speak. He got her naked, and entered her. Draiman’s lust for her had run a long time; he just wished he wasn’t so drunk. He did not mind the cold, dead look in
Yana
’s eyes, as he took her sex. He kn
ew she would be much different as his
slave, after they killed Bastion.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Bastion sat in his chambers, alone. He tried to think, and tried
not
to think. His mind swirled, thinking of the young g
ypsy he had loved since his youth
. Thinking of his father, the King. Why did he have to depart, at the worst possible time? If Bastion was still Captain, and not King, maybe
Yana
would not be so far out of reach. He thought of his Uncle Otta, wondering why everything had changed. He was
once a
good friend to Bastion. He missed his friend, Otta.

  He thought of his nights as a black rider. He loved riding with his men, even though he was the youngest of them for most of that time. They strengthened him, as did their hard nights of riding and training. He thought of everything- the way
Yana
danced for him, played for him, fought for him.

  He played his djembe drum on his balcony, looking out onto the west meadows. He could see the big project that Obadiah had been building at his order. It only broke his heart now, but it was like throwing hot coals on a bed of hot coals. Scorching, burning, no matter how big the pile.

  Servants came to his door several times through the evening, and he turned them all away, except the one bearing wine and bread. He
thought about a potential battle
brewing, after the news his men brought him today. He would welcome a fight, he thought. He wondered if it would have hurt less, just to die in that gulley ambush that
Yana
saved him from, than to be so heartbroken. It could not possibly hurt any worse.

  Bastion laid in his bed finally, hoping to truly rest. He wondered if he would ever sleep well again. It didn’t seem like it. He was tired, just thinking of the life he still had to face alone, as he drifted off.

  His door creaked o
pen, stirring him from his half-
asleep state.

  “
Yana
?” he said. He could see it was a woman, but she did not answer. She put her finger to her lips, but Bastion could not make out her face well in the dark.

  “
Yana
?” He said again. The woman said nothing, but Bastion saw that she was disrobing. In only a moment, she was undressed, naked in the poor light of one last candle across the room that still burned. She climbed into his bed. Bastion was nude already, as he usually slept that way. Bastion took her and tucked her into the curve of his body, pressing her back into his chest. She was young, and lovely.

  “
Yana
?” he said again, more alert.

  “No,” she said. She rolled over to face him, and kissed him timidly, though it was a bold move for her. Bastion looked curiously at the pretty young woman who would dare to present herself this way.

  “Della?” Indeed it was Della, from the galley. The servant girl.

  “Shhh,” she said, kissing him directly, before he could say more. The fact that he knew her name, and recognized her, was enough. Bastion did not know what to think, but she did feel good in his bed. He remembered she had come to drink coffee with him in silence that morning.

  Della rolled Bastion onto his back, and got on top of him. She slid down onto him, taking him inside her. She leaned back, l
etting Bastion see her body, looking down upon
him. She struggled to take him, and it hurt, but it felt good. She had lusted for the King long before he was King, but tonight, she just wanted to comfort him. She could not bear to see so much pain in such a good man.

  She laid down, still straddling him, pressing her breasts into his chest. She moved forward in gentle strokes, enjoying a moment she never thought possible, for herself. For him, she hoped it would give Bastion pleasure, some relief, some assurance. She wanted to see him strong, as King, and not as she saw him this morning, in shambles.

  She moved herself harder, and soon Bastion finished. She climaxed with him, trying to be
as quiet as she could. She lied
next to him, and let him set her against his chest.

  Bastion allowed this bold servant girl into his bed, grateful for her. He knew nothing of her, but it was nice to remember that some in his
Kingdom
still cared for him, an
d had not abandoned him. He lied
there a while, thinking, his mind still on Yana
,
and
the servant girl next to
him.

  “Della, you must leave now,” Bastion said, interrupting the long silence.

  “Yes, my Lord,” she said, getting up immediately. She dressed quickly.

  “You must not speak of this night,” Bastion said.

  “Of course, my Lord,” Della said. She got to her knees next to the bed. “Forgive me, Sire. I only wanted to comfort you.”

  “There is nothing to forgive,” Bastion said, looking at her.

  “But do not enter my chamber again.”

_______________________

The Gypsy Queen- CHAPTER 27- “fight”

  Bastion stood at his father’s grave in the royal
cemetery
of
Jedikai
, near the palace. It was part of a larger cemetery, set aside for his ancestors. Next to the fresh patch of dirt, was the gravestone of his mother. He had not come around this place for a while. It was too grim. Yet today, that was fitting enough. He sat down beside their graves. The King’s stone had not yet been carved, as Obadiah had been working on his other projects. It would be done in its time, Bastion figured.

  Bastion envied the dead, as he looked around. They were at peace, their struggles over. He figured he would be dead soon enough. If he had to go through life with a broken heart, maybe at least his time would be short. He was hurting so bad for his little gypsy lover, he could feel it physically. He wondered if anyone ever died from a broken heart. He wondered if
Yana
was hurting. Wondered if she was all right. He wondered if she even cared at all.

  “Captain!” a voice called out. He turned to look. Two gypsy girls were hailing him. He stayed put, as they were walking straight for him. The noonday sun was in his eyes, making it hard to tell who they were.

  “Captain!” Emilee called, as they approached. Jaelle was with her, and they both had their staffs.

  “Oi,” Bastion said, without much enthusiasm.

  “What ya doin’ out here at the boneyard?” Emilee asked. She realized the answer before she even finished speaking.

  “Oh,” she said, remembering Bastion’s father.

  “Come, sit down,” Bastion said. “I could use the company.” The two gypsy girls sat with the King, in an otherwise lonely cemetery.

  “How are you doing, Sir?” Emilee asked.

  “As well as can be expected,” Bastion said. “Terrible.”

  “King Bastion,” Jaelle said, “I want to thank you for coming to save me from that dungeon at Tatu. You saved my life.”

  “I am glad to see you doing well,” Bastion replied. “How,” Bastion said, pausing to consider whether he should ask. “How is
Yana
?”

  “That’s why we came,” Emilee said. “She is not well.”

  “Is she sick?”

  “No, no, it’s not that,” Jaelle said. “She didn’t come back to camp last night.”

  “She is missing?” Bastion sat up, concerned.

  “Not exactly,” Emilee said.

  “Tell me straight,” Bastion said, authority in his voice.

  “Captain,” Emilee said meekly, “We think she is with Ursari gypsies.”

  “Draiman,” Bastion said, trying to hide the rage he felt at the name.

  “You... you know of him?” Jaelle said.

  “I know.”

  “Aren’t you going to do something about it, Captain?” Emilee said.

  “What’s to do?” Bastion replied. “She chose to leave me, and now seems to want someone else.”

  “She doesn’t want someone else,” Jaelle said. “She wants you.”

  “The facts tell a different story, don’t they?” Bastion said.

  “Do you know nothing of women, Captain?” Emilee asked.

  “I know of the pain it is to love one, now,” Bastion said.

  “Sire, the problem isn’t
Yana
. It is Draiman,” Jaelle said.

  “Why?”

  “I think he is a slave trader,” Jaelle said. “There is something terrible about him.”

  “Terrible,” Bastion said. “Agreed.”

  “Captain... we think
Yana
is in trouble,” Emilee said. “Big trouble.”

  “Sounds like that’s what she wants,” Bastion said.

  “What if he takes her as a slave?” Jaelle said.

  “Then she will spend her days wishing she had chosen the prison of my palace, instead,” Bastion said.

  “Will you not come to help her?” Emilee asked.

  “I think I have done enough,” Bastion said. He was displeased with
Yana
to his deepest fathoms. Jaelle stood up, with anger in her face.

  “The man I would call King, the man who saved my life, the man who loves my friend, would never fail to take action for his people!” she said, exasperated.

  “It is not I
who has failed,” Bastion said, standing up. “You speak to a King this way?”

  “Come on,” Emilee said. “We can fight them ourselves.” She pulled on Jaelle’s sleeve, for them to go.

  Bastion, King of a mighty
kingdom
, watched them turn their back on him. How could it be his duty to save
Yana
, now? How could he be expected to defend her? How could it be a failure, for him to give her the freedom she said she wanted? Must a King defend even the one who would hurt him the worst?

  Bastion thought for a moment. His emotions were boiling like a bitter, salty broth. He did not want to see
Yana
with Draiman. He did not want to see her as an actual slave. He would rather die, on both counts. He looked at all the gravestones around them.

  “Wait,” he said to the departing gypsy girls. “Did you say ‘fight’?”