Lost in the Light Ch. 04

The quiet walk did nothing for her mood. If ever there was a path of no return she was on one of the worst ones. Defying her brother was one act of rebellion, but waging open war on his soldiers and murdering her own people was unspeakably criminal. How could she usurp his rule with her own if hers actions were just as bloody?

Riyarra, the exiled princess, the dishonored brigade captain, the escaped Zecairin slave, no longer felt fit to lead her people. Doubt was a terrible thing. They had done something to her, the Zecairins. She was never this violent and bloodthirsty before. Even as a soldier, she would always disarm, sometimes literally, before she killed. What had changed? Her perspective? Her beliefs? Did having experienced their violent ways and their perverted lusts awaken buried desires? Or was it chemical; some spice in the food or water perhaps that awoke the most carnal desires?

A twig snapped behind her and she didn't seem to notice. Her walk in the woods had been a solitary one since she left the camp. She wore the splotchy green and brown camouflage of the Eltharian Leaf Knights, and was heavily armed with both bow and blades strapped everywhere to her person. Her deliberate stride almost dared anything in these woods to harass her. But there were dangerous creatures other than Eltharian elves that walked these woods. Few of which would do so openly and carelessly, just as she was. She listened and could just barely make out the quiet footsteps behind her. Deliberate, cautious, purposeful -- they were neither threatening nor fearful. Her follower was intent to follow her and nothing else. Her hand tightened around the bow slung across her shoulder.

A few more paces and she sprung on them. In an instant Riyarra had her bow knocked, drawn, and aimed at the girl. Her movements were so quick and quiet the elf lady following her didn't realize she was targeted until Riyarra was almost upon her.

"Wait, please!" She pleaded, suddenly surprised. She threw her hands up and bowed her head. "Please don't shoot, My Queen." It was the pack master that Riyarra had let go free from the camp. The servant girl had gone against her instruction and followed her. Riyarra lowered her aim.

"Speak," She said softly. "But speak quietly. There are things that live here that we would be wise not to wake." The girl nodded and took a calm steadying breath. Her hands went to her chest as if to muffle her pounding heart. "Walk with me." Riyarra said and allowed the girl to step in line as she set the pace.

"I cannot go to the fort. They would wonder why I, of all, survived," The girl said quietly. "I would have to tell them the truth, and I would rather die in your service or by your side than far away unable to keep your secrets." Riyarra gave her a sideways look from under the shadow of her cowl. It was almost a smile despite her foul mood.

"I thank you for that," Riyarra said softly. "But I walk a doubtful path now; such sentiments may just be a foolish dream." The pack girl paused to push her brown braid of hair off her shoulder and to get a better grip on the pack strapped to her shoulders.

"Is something the matter?" she asked her queen.

"What I did was unspeakable." Riyarra breathed almost too quietly to hear. They walked in silence for a long time before it was the girl who spoke first.

"But necessary," the girl said. "I was a bookkeeper once. But one day I came across a secret in the lineage of my lover, it was in his family heralds. I kept it secret, because I never knew evil in the eyes of Eltharians. I didn't think anything would come of it. But my meddling cleared the way for someone to follow in my footsteps. And when he found out, he blackmailed my lover for riches to buy his silence. My lover murdered him, and placed the blame on me out of revenge. I was put before the Inquisitor and my soul bared and read out loud before him. Every impure thought was made public at that hearing. My punishment was an Yvarna that forbade me from keeping secrets."

"I see. It was careless of me then to send you to Henescia." Riyarra replied. "I apologize."

"I have seen more evil in Eltharians since I was given this mark," the girl replied. "Elthair is not as pure as the Elders have made us believe. How many Yvarna did you kill yesterday? That was but one squad of many. Many who have been damned and decided to be unfit to live among the rest unless they prove themselves."

"I never knew." Riyarra said. Her voice clearly carried with it the guilt she felt. "That so many were banished from our home. So many were made to die so that our noble knights wouldn't have to." The guilt suddenly turned to anger and her voice cracked.

"My Queen," the girl said softly, she reached out and put a steadying hand on Riyarra's arm. "I am glad you killed them. For some of them it was justice, for the rest if was a mercy." Riyarra looked at her companion again, this time questioning her motives.

"Is that truly the worst thing you have done?" She eyed her suspiciously now. Part of her wanted to trust this girl, and confide into her all she had been through. But she seemed too... convenient right now.

"No, I have done worse since being marked," She sighed. "Please take care my Queen, I cannot lie to you or this mark will kill me. But I beg you to be gentle in your questions. I'm ashamed of much I have done." Riyarra smiled slightly, she knew how that felt.

"If I embarrass you, I will return the favor, there are worse things I have done. Especially while in the hands of the Zecairins."

"My queen!" the girl gasped. "I thought those just rumors!"

"Rumors?" She asked. Her pointed ears reflexively straightened. "No," Riyarra shook her head angrily. "I was captured, enslaved, and eventually freed. But during that time... I was being escorted to safety when your squad attacked." She decided to change the topic.

"I see." The girl whispered. "Who bought your freedom?" Riyarra grew quiet in thought. Some of the details of the whole ordeal had escaped her; she had just followed Mule's lead.

"I wasn't freed under Zecairin honor law," She finally replied. "I still belong to Mule."

"The... human?"

"Aye, I came to know him as Mule. It was the name they gave him." She said sadly. Suddenly grief gripped her and she clutched her hand over her heart as she went slowly to one knee.

"My queen? Are you all right?" the girl said with uncertainty in her voice. It was a curious and worrisome thing for her to see the strong warrior woman that had just decimated her squad so effortlessly and so brutally, to suddenly fall ill with guilt and grief. She wasn't sure how to react. So she stood by the woman's side and waited.

To Riyarra however, it was a joyous, long awaited feeling. Her emotions had been put aside for so long that she feared they wouldn't return. What ever they had done to her, it wasn't completed.

"I haven't grieved for him yet," Riyarra said sadly. Her eyes turned a puffy red as the tears threaten to come. With a deep, steadying breath she forced a calm over her feelings. "He was killed." The bookkeeper again put a steadying hand on Riyarra and offered the girl her other hand to stand up.

"So have many Eltharians this day. We should grieve them properly tonight, and light their way into the light. I'll attend your grace, if you wish."

"Thank you... My apologies, I never heard your name. What are you called?"

"Lysia." Lysia said. She looked into her queen's eyes and saw the return of that strength she glimpsed during the carnage. Underneath the turbulent aftermath of emotions, there was still that same warrior woman, that same noble spirit that she had pledged her new loyalty to. But there was an uncertain chaos that was assaulting it.

"Thank you for your kindness, Lysia." Riyarra said formally and placed a hand to the girl's cheek in greeting. With a reaffirming breath, she turned away and together they continued in silence. It wasn't until well into mid day that Lysia finally broke the tranquility.

"If this human is dead, why do you still belong to him?" She asked in earnest curiosity.

"If I understand Zecairin law correctly, his property goes first to his killer in combat. If they are dead as well, then his property goes to his family or his heir. I haven't read the law, but this is what I saw happen in my time there." Riyarra concluded. She paused to reflect a moment. "I guess that means I belong to his successor in his house, before we left." Lysia didn't respond, but she fidgeted to expel her discomfort at such a notion.

"Will the Zecairins be after you?" She asked. Riyarra understood now where she was going.

"Only if they knew who I really was." Riyarra whispered under her breath. "Exiled or not."

"Do you intend to wage war against His Grace?" Lysia asked the uncomfortable question to which Riyarra did not respond.

"For now, I will just live." Riyarra finally replied. She paused in her steps and looked to the horizon. It was a fitting moment to make such a statement as they both stood on the crest of a hillside where the ground fell away sharply below and no trees grew. They paused to pay homage to the sunset and the end of the day. Standing side by side the two women stood and looked to the land as the last orange rays turned to purple and then to dark blue over the horizon as dusk fell. Riyarra turned to look at Lysia. Their eyes met in a sorrowful understanding, and the queen to be nodded.

Softly at first, Riyarra's voice started to sing a soft hymn of prayer for the dead. The words came naturally as they had been spoken many times before. Her soft soprano melody carried into the trees, and was soon accompanied by the deeper contralto voice of Lysia. Together they sang as the darkness of night surrounded them. The swallowed grief of today's terrible events finally came out and carried out on their voices into the night air. An hour passed and they finished the hymn and their song concluded.

"There," Riyarra said. Her voice choked with residual sorrow. "We'll camp." The rest of the night they worked in silence setting up a single tent under the branches of a willow. The drooping leaves and branches fell all the way to the ground, and created a natural curtain for them to hide behind.

They ate preserved jerky and dried biscuits quietly. Riyarra was constantly looking up as she listened to the sounds around them. Lysia understood its purpose, and kept quiet. The air suddenly grew very cold, and most of the noises around them stopped.

Riyarra's picked up the cloth wrapping strips that held their meal and handed one to her companion. She tied hers around her face to cover her breath and motioned for Lysia to do the same. When she finished, Riyarra took the bookkeeper's hand and started to draw symbols in her palm with her finger.

"Wraiths." She wrote "Breath stealers." Quietly she packed up the rest of their provisions, and crouched over Lysia. Gentle hands guided the girl down onto the grass, and a firm hand instructed her to stay there as she pulled the girl's cloak over her as a blanket. Riyarra moved in beside her and pulled her own cloak over the both of them. They shared their body heat in the unnatural cold air, and the princess held onto the girl's hand and continued to spell out instructions.

"Safe." She wrote. "Can't see us, only our breath. Don't take off mask. Sleep."

Lysia was nervous and shaking under the cloaks, but she followed her instructions. It wasn't until Riyarra laid her head on the girls shoulder and held her close for warmth that she started to relax. She felt her queen's hand caress her cheek once. It was reassurance. She wasn't used to being out alone like this, but her Queen seemed to be. Lysia couldn't help but start to drift off as the exhaustion finally made itself apparent. Her anxiety and fear wanted to keep her awake, but the rest of her was fastly falling asleep despite it.

Riyarra's soft, soothing caresses of the girl's neck could feel her pulse as it started to slow and calm. The sleep spell she used was quick to act. Lysia would need it tonight. Her hand slid down over the girl's waist and settled in for her own sleep. There was no one here to put her out with magic; she would have to do it the old fashioned way.

It had been a horrible day. And her mind wanted to replay all of the events that had happened. But she did the same thing she had done every night of every horrible day of the past unknown number of months.

She dreamed of him. Her savior.

* * * *

The warm sun woke her as she lay napping on a wicker woven lounge chair. This was one of the springs in Elthair, ringed out in flattened natural stone. It had been outfitted for a private picnic for too. As she groggily sat up she could smell the leftover wine still in the bottom of the glasses on a table for two. The faint spicy smell of the sliced ham and cooked onions soon followed. She had forgotten how long it had been since her last decent meal that wasn't gruel or pack rations.

A thin orange silk summer dress tried to follow the shape of her body as she moved but it did an unseemly job of revealing her bosom so she pulled it back into place. The warmth of the sun was hot on perspiring skin, and the silk threatened to stick to her skin. The water of the spring was too inviting after such a long nap in the sun. But there was someone already in it. With his arms stretched over the rim of the spring and his attention focused on the sun above. It was Him. His wet brown hair was unmistakable as he bathed with his back to her.

Like a prowling cat she stepped closer, trying to sneak up on him. Her savior. The only man she allowed in this inner sanctum of hers. Her bare feet made no sound as they padded across the stone and grass to the water's edge. She knelt behind him and ran her fingers through those short curly locks. He tilted his head back to look at her but she covered his eyes with her hands.

"Am I your Queen?" She asked softly. "Will you serve me and only me? You aren't Eltharian, but will you pledge yourself to me and let me rule you?" she kissed him softly again. "I command you to keep your eyes closed." She whispered into his ear.

The orange silk dress glided off her body and fell to the stone ground. As she entered the steaming water her body glided down his as she straddled his form. Her hands ran over his hardened muscles and hairy body. Eltharians didn't grow hair on their chests and arms, so she allowed herself a novel delight to curl her fingers through it. She had his full attention when she finally settled into his lap and felt the aroused flesh between his legs pressing against her thighs. She breathed him in deeply. His sweaty man smell soaked her senses and brought an excited flush to her cheeks.

A soft lute melody floated through the air, and she looked up from her human companion to the song. She could almost make out the shadow of the player in the trees beyond. It was an intoxicating song that disappeared every so often. She wanted to hear more of it. It had consumed her senses and taken away heat of the moment with her human. A faint voice called out to her.

"Ry!" it called. She left her obedient human and rose from the spring. The water trickled off her skin and as the wind caressed her it cooled her naked skin from the hot waters. The music was louder now, and she could see the player as he leaned against a silveroak trunk.

He was handsome for Eltharian, his high cheekbones and pointed chin almost feminized his face. Straight pale hair cut to the chin, covered half his face. A deep light blue vest covered only his chest, leaving his chiseled arms free to play. A short fwasir draped from his waist to his thighs and hung longer on the left side. It was a pale green color that complimented the blue of the vest and reminded her of the sea. He lifted a leg to rest one foot against the trunk of the tree, and the fwasir fabric parted to drape over the sides. Unlike a woman's skirt the fabric was intentionally heavy so it never blew in the wind or it would expose an Eltharian man's secret.

"Do you play for me, my musician?" She asked as she stood boldly before him.

"I play for all the ladies." He smirked. "But I have something special for you." He smiled softly; his lips barely rose as his eyes closed to focus. His fingers went to work on the strings of the long thin lute. He played her a slow melody at first, its tone soft and sensual with long flowing chords. Riyarra knelt before him and sat demurely with both legs tucked to one side underneath her. The music grew more intense and picked up its rhythm very quickly. Sharp chords built up the excitement more and more, and as they did the musician moved with the music he played. His fingers were a blur striking chord after chord with an almost impatient precision. Each note strummed out perfectly after the one before it.

Riyarra felt her heart race with the music, and her hand went to her bosom to feel the pounding of heart. Her cheeks and ears grew pink with a flush and her fingers stroked the sensual areas. Her breaths grew shorter and heavier to mimic the frantic excitement of the lute. Her gaze stayed focused on his fingers as they worked in a blur of motion. She wanted those fingers to touch her, to caress her, to play her just as proficiently as the lute. The more he played the less she noticed the melody and the more she fixated on that single flap of pale green fabric that hid the instrument she could play for him.

Then the music stopped, suddenly and abruptly.

She stood up on her knees and reached for his thighs, and that fabric that blocked her way. But strong delicate hands grabbed her and denied her the pleasure.

"This isn't you, my lady." The musician said. "This isn't my Queen." She looked up at him with a deep flush and panting lips, her eyes almost begging him to let her in. "There is something inside you that shouldn't be there. You must deny it. You must control it. What ever you do, do not feed it." The aroused flush in her cheeks turned to anger - deep bitter anger.

"Who are you to deny me? I am your Queen!" She said and struck him across the face. The minstrel fell to the ground and made no move to get up. She rolled him over with her foot and gasped.

Pale blue and lifeless, Gayne's eyes saw nothing and said nothing.

* * * *

Riyarra awoke startled and sweating. Buried under two cloaks and sharing the body heat of her follower in the warm pre dawn air had made her uncomfortably hot. She pulled off one of the cloaks and pushed the other down. It gave some relief, and so she curled back up against Lysia. The Eltharian pack master was still sleeping soundly. Riyarra closed her eyes and tried to return to her dream. Deep relaxing breaths and a creative imagination wasn't enough to send her back. She grew anxious as the hot flush in her cheeks was obviously not from being warm. Despite her efforts she couldn't fall back to sleep and her arousal from the intense dream wasn't going away on its own. Her hand strayed to her chest and started to lightly brush a nipple through the fabric. It was slow and delicate at first, barely noticeable, as her thumb rubbed back and forth over that specific spot. It felt very pleasurable, more so than it should.

Her companion breathed deeply next to her, oblivious of everything. With Lysia asleep there was no need for embarrassment, and as long as she was careful, there was no reason she couldn't alleviate her urges without waking her companion. But as she thought of the meek girl she found herself staring at the ample chest that heaved slowly up and down as the sleeping elf breathed.

Fingers explored the waistline of her trousers until they found an easy way past the buckled belt into the hot, stifled condition of her womanhood. Her fingers cupped her slightly furred mound, and rubbed the whole of it slowly and firmly. It caused a deep gasp followed by profound sigh in the princess loud enough to wake most sleepers. Gently she let just a finger play lazily with her erect clitoris. It protruded from her petals, beginning for attention. Her hand sated some of her desire and so Riyarra let it work as she relaxed and enjoyed the sensations. The more it played however the less effect it had on her, and she rubbed faster or more firmly to try and maintain that pleasure. But eventually it all turned to frustration as the desire only seemed to build to the point that it was all she thought about. She needed more.