Opal's Wish: Book Four of The Crystal Warriors Series Page 2

  Her eyes rounded. “I won’t tell anyone,” she said, her voice squeaky with excitement. “I promise!”

  He leaned forward to impart a bit of the wisdom his mother had once gifted a small, skinny boy who’d suffered what his disappointed father had termed an irrational fear of horses. “Even grown men as big as I are oftentimes afraid.”

  “Really?”

  “My word on it.”

  The tiny frown creased to a scowl that was impressive for one so young. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” she said.

  Damned if he didn’t feel like smiling again when he had no cause to smile—not given the precariousness of his current situation, not after enduring an emptiness so profound it was a miracle he’d not lost his mind. Or perhaps he finally had. Perhaps this “reality” was nothing more than the product of a fractured psyche. Perhaps in truth he was still entombed in darkness. If so, he would embrace this fantasy for however long it lasted.

  “I was fearful of your spectacles,” he said. “And then I recalled where I’d seen such a wondrous invention before.”

  Her jaw sagged. “Huh?”

  “Spectacles.”

  A screwed up nose conveyed her confusion. Perhaps he had mispronounced the word. “This clever contraption that makes things appear larger.” He gently tapped a forefinger on the metal frame bridging her nose.

  She crossed her eyes, the expression made more comical magnified through the thick lenses. “My glasses?”

  Danbur fought the grin that threatened to bloom across his face. Doubtless she would take it the wrong way and be offended. “If that is what you call them, then yes.”

  “You were scared of my glasses?”

  He nodded, keeping his expression grave. “Indeed I was.”

  “Wow.”

  Whatever that strange word might signify, she was no longer breaking his heart with her efforts to suppress her sobs. All in all an excellent outcome—even if she now regarded him as one might regard some alien beast from a traveling menagerie.

  “My name is Danbur,” he said.

  She gave a little burbling giggle that dared him to throw caution to the sands and laugh alongside her. “Danbur? That’s a funny name. I’ve never heard of anyone called that before. Can I call you Dan, instead? Dan’s a proper boys’ name.”

  He cocked his head to one side, gauging her expression, her body language. When he detected neither mean intent nor slyness in her tone he nodded. “Very well.”

  She stuck out her hand, gazing expectantly at him.

  Ah. A greeting was in order. He leaned forward to engulf her small hand in his, and relaxed his arm muscles when she enthusiastically pumped his hand up and down.

  “I’m Seraphine,” she said.

  Interesting. Seraphinite was a crystal so rare his fief’s priests possessed but one example of it and—

  A tremor coursed through him and he was struck by a sense of… of… teetering on the verge of discovering something vital. And then it faded, leaving him pondering the startling coincidence that this girl-child would be so closely named for a seraphinite crystal.

  He didn’t believe in coincidences.

  He mentally shook himself, sloughing off the disquiet still scuttling over his skin. “’Tis a pleasure to meet you, Seraphine.”

  As the last syllable of her name slid from his lips a sharp pain lanced the base of his skull. He grit his teeth, breathing slow and deep, waiting for the next one….

  It never came. Apparently a dull throbbing, akin to the aftermath of a night spent carousing, was to be his only punishment for escaping his crystal prison. For now, at least.

  “You can call me Sera if you want.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s heaps better than Seraphine.”

  “Very well, Sera. Shall I take you back to your room now?” And tuck you up in your pretty pink bed and wait until you fall asleep so I may explore this place more thoroughly.

  She nodded and when he scooped her from the floor she wound her arms about his neck. He inhaled the scent of her hair—sweet and delicately fruity. And something inside him softened still more.

  He entered her very pink room and strode to the bed. Thankfully the music had changed to a slower tune—one he could tolerate, even though he wasn’t at all certain a song about being taken, and wanting to be someone’s victim, was suitable for a young child. Sera didn’t seem perturbed, however. Perhaps the device was this world’s equivalent of a mother singing her child a lullaby? If so ’twas a poor substitute.

  When he lowered her to the mattress she clung to him like a sand-burr to a trouser leg. “Please don’t go,” she said. “I don’t want you to go.”

  Damned if he could ignore the plea in her voice. Or the threat of more tears. He knew it would be prudent to remain aloof until he had the measure of this world, but couldn’t bring himself to choose prudence over this little girl’s tears. He sat on the edge of the mattress, holding her in his lap, and surrendered to the compulsion to discover the root cause of her misery. And end it if he could.

  “Is there something you would like to tell me, Sera? Are you hurt?” He hadn’t noticed any bruises to indicate she’d been hit or abused in any way. But who knew what that soft pink shirt and pants might hide?

  Her sweet little face crumpled, and the lenses of her glasses magnified the fat tears glistening in her eyes. “My special crystal broke,” she whispered, and buried her face against his chest.

  A chill lanced through him, lifting the fine hairs on his nape, but he kept his voice gentle, matter-of-fact. “It must be a very special crystal indeed for you to be so upset about it.”

  “It w-was,” came the muffled reply. “Mr. S-Stone g-gave it to me. He lives next door. He s-said it was a w-wishing crystal.”

  He tipped her chin with careful fingers to better examine her expression. “A wishing crystal?”

  Tears fell in earnest now. “I dropped it—only on the carpet. B-but it broke!”

  “Would you show me this special crystal, Sera?”

  She knuckled tears from her eyes and caught her quivering lower lip between her teeth. When she hesitated, the “Please!” exploded from his throat in a hoarse whisper.

  She scrambled from his lap to extract something from beneath her bed. And then, rising onto her knees, she held out both hands, palms upward like a supplicant bearing a gift.

  Danbur’s world tilted yet again.

  Cradled in each small palm was a chunk of a crystal he recognized instantly and intimately. The breaks were clean—as though the crystal had been deliberately cut. If it had been whole, the bottom half of the crystal would have been a rich amber, graduating to lighter, paler shades, with the top almost translucent.

  It was danburite. Golden danburite to be precise. The stone he’d been named for. The stone he’d been bonded to, mind, body and soul, in a sacred ceremony witnessed only by the priests of the Shifting Sands fief and his warrior brothers.

  Chapter Two

  “Dan? Dan?”

  The childish voice jolted him from the past. Danbur blinked at the small fingers kneading his forearm. Against his dark skin that little hand looked too pale and fragile to be real. It took him a few moments to register that Sera had crawled onto the mattress and was kneeling beside him.

  “You okay?” she asked, all huge worried eyes and quivering lips.

  “A memory,” he said. “’Tis of no import.”

  “Mommy’s memories make her sad, too.” Sera leaned forward, reaching for the crystal pieces she’d abandoned atop the bed.

  “Do not touch them, Seraphine.” His voice lashed out, whip-like, and he bracketed her wrists, preventing her from grasping the evil things. His skull felt as though someone had smacked him with the flat of a sword. It gave one last throb and then, thank all merciful gods, the pain eased.

  Sera whimpered and he released her immediately, his heart twisting as she scrambled backward on her bottom until she encountered the wall. And she huddled there, arms wrappe
d around her middle, the broken halves of the danburite crystal—his prison—lying on the coverlet between them like some malevolent omen.

  The bared skin of Danbur’s forearm prickled as if protesting the loss of the warmth—and yes, the comfort—of Sera’s soft little hands. He regretted his sharpness. The crystal had broken, and gods knew it was not this child’s doing that he, a warrior, had been reduced to a superstitious, fear-filled coward.

  His breath eked out in a sigh. “Forgive me, Sera. I am—” He searched for an appropriate word. “I am confused by what has happened to me.”

  “And scared,” she whispered. “Of that, right?” She pointed to the pieces of danburite.

  “Indeed.”

  “It’s okay.” And then, with the ghost of smile, “I’d be confused and scared, too, if I’d just come out of a crystal. But you shouldn’t be scared of it. Mr. Stone’s my friend. He wouldn’t have given me something scary or nasty or anything.”

  It took a moment for her words to register through the buzzing in his skull. “You know I emerged from that crystal?”

  She bobbed her head. “Uh huh.”

  He guessed that was an affirmative. “Did you see me emerge?”

  “Nope. I was crying ’coz it broke, remember?”

  He nodded, but must have appeared doubtful for she said, “Where else could you’ve come from?”

  Where else, indeed.

  “Mr. Stone said it was a wishing crystal. He said I should give it to Mommy and tell her to make a special wish. But I was sad, so I wished on it instead. And then it… it… b-broke.”

  Danbur gave up trying to make sense of the snarled tangle of thoughts tumbling through his brain. Perhaps it would all fall into place once he had interrogated the personage who had given Sera the crystal—this Mr. Stone. And if the interrogation proved fruitless then so be it. A warrior could ill afford to be distracted on the battlefield, and this new reality was but another battlefield to be conquered. He needed a clear head. He needed to remain focused. But it was impossible to gain the clarity he needed when one thought snagged in his mind and refused to be banished.

  A wishing crystal….

  His gaze sought the child’s. “What did you wish for, Sera?”

  Her eyes shone with a suspicious gleam. Her lower lip did that tiny quiver that made him want to snatch her up and shelter her from life’s harsh lessons, but he did not wish to scare her again. Nor did he want to promise something he couldn’t deliver—not when he could be taken by an old sorcerer’s vengeful magic again at any moment. And so he remained silent and still. Watchful.

  She stared at him, her pretty eyes awash with tears, mouth twisted with an expression he instinctively recognized as a combination of shame and rage—a twin of what might be reflected on his own face right now if he allowed emotion to rule him. Shame, for his weakness. And rage, for knowing himself helpless as this child to fight whatever the guardian of the crystals had planned for him.

  “What did you wish for, Seraphine?” That sharp, biting agony returned, scouring his skull in a heated rush that had ebbed by the time he’d reacted and clenched his jaws against the pain. Now it was merely a dull throbbing behind his eyes, a throbbing that was exacerbated by the caterwauling coming from the musical box, where the singer was now insisting an infant was a “fire work” who should let his or her “colors burst”. Whatever that meant.

  Danbur blinked slowly and forced himself to concentrate on the child. “Tell me. Please, Sera.”

  She cringed and ducked her head. “You sound just like Mommy when she’s caught me doing something bad.”

  He made a deliberate effort to relax his muscles and soften his expression. “You are brave, little one. And from what I have witnessed thus far you have a good heart. I cannot believe you would wish for something ill or self-serving.”

  Her lip quivered again. “It was just a little bit selfish,” she said. “But he was being so mean to me! And Mommy’s tired and sad all the time, a-a-and I just wanted her to be happy.”

  He didn’t like the conclusion he was rapidly reaching. “Sera—”

  “I wanted him to stop being mean!” she wailed. “And I wanted Mommy to be happy! I didn’t wish for anything bad, I promise!”

  Danbur could feel the muscles working in his jaw. His hands had clenched into fists. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the surge of fury.

  “I wished for someone big and strong to help Mommy be happy. I wished for him to be my daddy. And that he’d tell me I was pretty like Mommy, and I’d believe him and I’d be happy, too. And we’d all be happy together!”

  Such a simple wish. And one he didn’t have the remotest chance of fulfilling. He struggled to keep his expression neutral as he opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on hers.

  “It’s his fault, too,” she said. “H-he was real horrible to me.” Her voice wobbled. Her eyes were so shadowed and tragic that Danbur compressed his lips against an all-consuming desire to beat the man who had hurt her to a bloody pulp.

  “H-he called me Four-Eyes Frizz-head. ”

  Trying to make sense of what had obviously been a mortal insult so far as Sera was concerned, distracted him from his seething fury. “Is this scum who torments you a simpleton?” he blurted.

  Sera blinked at him. “Huh?”

  “An idiot,” Danbur clarified. “You have but two eyes—obviously. And they are a rare color.”

  She hiccupped and swiped her nose with the back of her hand. “He calls me that because of my glasses.” A pause, and then, “They are?”

  “Indeed. Your eyes remind me of the cool waters of a stone-lined oasis pool. Or the fragile buds sprouting on desert plant-life after the rains. I have known women who would give their most precious possession for eyes like yours, Sera. And your hair is the color of flame tree blossoms. In my wor—” He swallowed the all-too revealing word. Best to err on the side of caution. “Where I come from, a flame tree in full bloom is an awe-inspiring, wondrous sight, for it occurs but once every ten years.”

  Those green eyes rounded, and a hint of pleasure sparked in their depths… only to be extinguished by doubts. He shook his head, unaccountably saddened that this child couldn’t view herself as he saw her. When she became a woman she would be a beauty—he could see it in the delicacy of her bones beneath the childish roundness. And that hair would be her crowning glory. A pity he would not witness her metamorphosis from child to woman.

  “’Tis the truth, Sera,” he said.

  Her small white teeth caught her lower lip and nibbled. “You’re a real nice man,” she finally said, her tone solemn. A pause, and then, “My friend Mr. Stone told me my eyes were pretty, too.”

  “So it must be true, yes?”

  She crinkled her brows, and had opened her mouth to respond when a loud moan scythed through the lyrics wailing from the music-playing device.

  Another moan followed. And another.

  Sera scooted into his lap and buried her face in his shoulder. Danbur patted her back, offering comfort as he listened carefully, trying to identify the sound.

  It seemed to be coming from the next room.

  Sera’s sigh feathered the fine hairs on the bared skin of his upper arm. “They’re doing it again,” she said. “It’s gross.”

  Another moan—this one full-throated and hair-raisingly loud. Not pain, as he’d first thought. A moan ripe with the pleasure of carnal things.

  Heat slashed his cheeks. What manner of guardian left a little girl gasping to draw breath whilst she indulged her own desires?

  The moans increased in frequency and segued to high-pitched feminine squeals. And then a distinctly male voice shouted a hoarse obscenity that prompted Danbur to cover Sera’s ears. Enough.

  “Stay here, Sera.” He eased her from his lap and stood, flexing tightness from his neck and shoulders. “I will deal with your mother.”

  “But—”

  “Stay here.” Aware he sounded harsh and unforgiving, he said, “Please, li
ttle one. This is a matter best discussed between adults. I will not leave you alone for long—my word on it.”

  She nodded. “Okay, Dan.”

  “Good girl.” He slipped from the room and strode to a room off the narrow corridor he hadn’t yet explored. He examined the shiny globe that was the door’s handle, and palmed it. Ah. Another clever thing. Rotating the handle carefully, he opened the door a crack

  “Yes. Yes. Yes. Oh, baby. That’s it. Yes. Yes!”

  “Like that, huh? Oh yeah. You love it when I pound my dick into your—”

  Danbur burst through the doorway. He had heard enough. “Get out,” he told the scrawny male who was grasping a young woman’s hips, and driving his cock into her so forcefully that she struggled to balance on all fours.

  The young woman shrieked and flopped face-first onto the mattress. She rolled, scrambling to cover herself with a bed sheet. She was younger than Danbur had expected—barely out of girlhood. And yet she had birthed a child Sera’s age? Gods above and below. What kind of debauched society allowed men to lie with little girls?

  The man glanced over his shoulder at Danbur. His eyes rounded. “Who the fuck are you?” He clumsily rolled from the mattress to stand feet apart, chest outthrust, in what he doubtless imagined was a threatening pose.

  His pimple-scattered complexion, and the scraggly tuft of beard sprouting from his chin, suggested a stripling yet to reach his majority. No match for a seasoned warrior. “I am the man who is going to toss you out on your hairy white arse on the count of five,” Danbur said, keeping his tone conversational.

  The stripling blinked and swallowed hard. “You need to fuck off, dude. You got no business here.”

  Danbur took another step into the room. “Four,” he said.

  “I’ll call the cops if you lay a finger on Ryan.” The young woman clutched the sheet more tightly to her chest.

  Danbur spared her an assessing glance. Stick-straight dark hair framed her plump, olive-skinned features. Kohl—applied with a heavy, inexpert hand—made her eyes appear dark holes in her face. He couldn’t see an ounce of Sera in her.