Page 56 of Daughter of the Dark Sun
“Not long. I told you I would find you again. You have been impossible to ignore despite all my best efforts.”
Mireithren grabbed Therat’s hand and pulled him through the shifting surface of her portal. A rush of hot air blew past. He opened his eyes to see a city ahead of them in an oasis of tall leafy trees crawling with vines. Hundreds of birds filled the air, their songs like nothing he had heard before. They sounded almost like the voices of women, but higher and more ethereal. Despite the song’s beauty, deep sorrow lingered in the air.
“Welcome to Cídhen’s Rest,” Mireithren said with a gesture toward the oasis in the distance.
Therat heard of this place before. All of the Madhiri had, though few ever traveled there by choice. The burial site of Cídhen, one of the Eldest, the Eábh Elessí, and the lover of the Goddess Myrniar. Cídhen’s Rest stood as holy place among the worshipers of the Sunmaiden, and was one of the last places Therat wanted to be.
“I thought you said we are going to a place with others like us. This is not what I seek! I need to leave the desert, not go back into it.”
“Do you not trust me? Our path is long and winding. We seek the western shores, where my weavecraft cannot take us. So we will need supplies”—Mireithren picked at the torn and stained black pants rippling around his legs in the breeze—“and good clothes to warm our backs when the wind blows cold.”
Therat huffed. He saw the logic, but he felt trapped nonetheless. “How am I supposed to trust a woman who held a dagger to my throat and threatened to kill me? A woman I hate, yet, inexplicably find myself following.”
“You promised me a day.” Mireithren flashed a smile.
“I never agreed to your terms.”
“Yet, still, you follow me. Leave, if you’d like, but you won’t get far. I’ll make sure of that.”
Why am I following you? What is wrong with me?
“Do not tempt me, Little Siren.”
“A pet name already? You flatter me, Therat.” He winced at her words and realized that yes, he had kept calling herlittle sirenwithout even thinking about it.
Could it be so crazy to love someone?
Gods, the woman was vexing. She would never know how every word and smirk sent his blood boiling and mind into a tailspin. He wanted to be rid of the siren but didn’t know if he could live without her. If hewantedto live without her. So much changed in an instant. Therat wondered if he ever had control over his life or if it all led to this one moment, this one woman.
Mireithren walked toward Cídhen’s Rest, her long legs striding across the cracked brown ground. She was stunning in the sunlight. Her ocher skin glowed, a deep red-brown. Therat jogged to keep up, settling into Mireithren’s pace. Though it felt wrong, his gaze kept drifting to the line of criss-crossing scars down her cheek. Inky black and hollow-looking, they somehow only made her more beautiful in his eyes.
“I can feel you staring at me.” Therat averted his gaze, heat rushing to his cheeks. “You can ask about my scars, I do not mind.”
Therat stopped walking for a moment and reached out to tuck a clump of black curls behind Mireithren’s ear. His fingers grazed the uppermost scars. She flinched but did not command him to stop. With a gentle touch, he stroked them again. Ice greeted his fingers, thin lines cut with a razor-sharp blade, the same length each time. Therat counted sixteen of them.
“Who did this to you?” he demanded, rage flaring just like the first night he saw her running from the vile creature that harmed her.
Mireithren’s lips trembled as she spoke. “M-my father,” she muttered. “And theMakhaeren. It was her order. To purge me. How lucky for me, to be born anevranenithto a Named House.” A dry laugh filled the air.
“I should kill him right now!”
Her father? The father of the woman Adon loves? What if he finds out about our lineage?
“No!”
Mireithren’s loud denial confused Therat. He thought anyone would wish to see their torturer dead, no matter who they were.
“No, no! This is not our task, not now. He can wait.”
“But don’t you hate him?”
“With every fiber of my being. Every thought at night twists around his face, what he has done to me in the name of the thing he calls love. I hate him! Hate him and wish him to die a thousand deaths and a hundred more, all by my hand. But I also fear him, dread him, panic at the thought of finding myself bound at his feet again. I am not ready. Not yet.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t know if I ever will be.”
Therat pulled Mireithren in close, wrapping his muscular arms around a body he could break with so little effort. A fire stirred in his loins as she melted into his arms. He held her until she pushed back, her cheeks flushed again.
“I… sorry. You looked like you needed a hug.”
How do I even know what that looks like?
