Queens (The Wielders of Arantha Book 2) by Patrick Hodges

Author:Patrick Hodges [Hodges, Patrick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Creativia
Published: 2017-09-21T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Kelia had let the celebration the night before go on for several hours, earning several sour looks when she'd ordered the last few revelers to retire for the night. Despite the joy of the ceremony and all it represented, there were many things to do the next day, and it wouldn't do for her people to be drowsy and listless should an attack come.

Breathing in the cool air blowing through her bedroom window, she sat up in her bed. The grim reality of her own situation had settled over her mattress of lyrax pelts like a dark cloud as she'd tried in vain to sleep, both terrified of the recurring nightmare of her tribe's obliteration and the realization that she would have to use her Wielding to kill. That, plus the gentle whap-whap of the window shade against the wall made it impossible to relax.

For eight centuries, they'd hidden from the world. No Ixtrayu had been forced to take an Elystran life since Soraya freed herself and the rest of her ancestors from the slavers. From the day she took over as Protectress, she'd wondered if such an event would transpire. No matter how many times she dismissed the notion, it had always remained in some dark corner of her mind.

She was Protectress. The leader. Arantha's vessel. She had to set an example. She could not show weakness, not now. Not when so many questioned her leadership, her decision to uphold her mother's dying request. Not when death approached like a dark, destructive storm.

Try as she might, though, she couldn't stop her thoughts from returning to Maeve. This extraordinary woman from the Above, who would risk her life to help the Ixtrayu. If, by Arantha's will, they emerged victorious, they would have Maeve to thank for it.

Ever since her first vision of Maeve, Kelia had fantasized about her sister Wielder. Stirrings she'd not felt since her beloved Ilora's death had reemerged with the power of a sandstorm. For twelve years, she'd denied herself the pleasures of intimacy. Out of respect for her fallen lover, she'd refused to choose another companion from within the tribe.

For twelve long years, she'd mourned Ilora, convinced herself she could never, would never pledge her heart to anyone else. But now, she'd fallen for another. A woman from the Above. A woman possessed of a warrior's spirit and a mother's heart. A woman guided to Kelia's side by Arantha herself.

A woman so overwhelmed by discordant anger, she refused to embrace her destiny.

Kelia buried her head in her hands.

I am no better. If it is Arantha's will that the Ixtrayu die, then why do I fight against it? Our lives belong to her. They have always belonged to her. She will welcome us into her arms when we journey to the Great Veil, just as she has welcomed every Ixtrayu. So why can I not accept it? Why am I so desperate to live that I'm prepared to kill in our defense?

Kelia shrugged her blanket off her body and rose, striding to her bedroom window.

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