by Linda Boulanger     (Broken/Desert/Voices)

Her breasts heaved with every breath, straining against the bodice of the silk gown. Silk - supposedly spun by the gods, meant to entice as it fell in revealing layers over the satiny skin of young ladies waiting for their chosen. To Elenya it only impeded her escape through the thick brush.

What a waste. She thought of her trip to the courts as well as the expensive fabric and the excitement that had surrounded picking it out, fashioning it into a body-covering masterpiece that represented her future, her dreams. Her family should have saved their reserves, her destiny decided many years ago by higher authorities anyway. The only thing she’d needed to entice her warrior was her scent. Or was it his scent? She wasn’t sure, knowing only that she’d been marked, ceremonially injected with his blood as a child to belong to him when her season came – though neither of them would know the other until the appointed time.

Elenya, knowing she had been marked and her future assured, was no different from the other girls who dreamed of a lifetime dance with one of the elite warriors of the court. It meant she and her family would return to the luxury of the circle of the chosen once she came of age.

Only the moment Elenya realized the masters had matched her with Tahruk, she knew that would not be the case. Tahruk! Why? Their families had been enemies for generations. There had to be some mistake. She had to find a way, to find someone who could make it right. She had to get away, make her way to the house of the masters.

Ignoring the aching in her legs and lungs, she refused to pay heed to the burning of the cuts and scratches inflicted on her limbs by the cruel sticks and whipping grasses. She would notcry over the sounds of her beautiful black dress ripping as she ran. She glanced down at what now looked like shredded rags. Careful! Taking her eyes off the terrain could have made her lose her footing and then it would all be over. She could hear him not far behind. Only her slight size lent itself to her ability to outmaneuver him through the dense brush.

Elenya longed for the smooth desert sands of home. Life had seemed so promising then as she’d played and worked beside her sisters, making sure they stayed within earshot of the voices of the elders whose sole purpose was to protect the future of their people: her.

There it was! She could see the house of the masters. Elated that her uncanny sense of direction had led her right to it after seeing it only once, she was concerned about the clearing that lay before her. Her pursuer would be unhindered.

A man opened the house door causing hope to surge, hurling Elenya forward. He had to be one of the masters.

“My Lord! My Lord!” she screeched garnering the attention of men she hadn’t realized were there. Panic rose as they converged on her, though she dodged them, stopping only when she had thrown herself at the feet of the one she surmised to be in charge. Only when her arms wrapped around his legs did she dare glance back at her warrior who crossed the clearing at a more casual pace. Anger burned behind his eyes, their amber depths glowing within his sun-bronzed face. Even as she shivered, she was unable to break away from his gaze. She felt the pull of the marking as she watched him run a hand through his sandy hair. She fought against it.

“Tahruk? What is the meaning of this?” asked the voice above Elenya’s head.

“I wish to know that as well, Dahru.” As the warrior spoke, his chin tilted upward and he sniffed the air.

Dahru looked at his brethren before addressing the other man. “She … the woman is yours then?”

Tahruk nodded. He glared down at the dark beauty who attempted to scoot around the strong legs of her refuge. Dahru’s hands locked on her arms and lifted her to stand before him instead. She tried to look over her shoulder. Again, the unmistakable pull warred against her fear.

“Look at me.” The firm voice denoted care. He smiled as he wiped some of the grime from her face. “Why would you do this?” When she didn’t answer, he added, “What is your name, beauty?”

Her voice trembled as did her body. Gone was the brave woman who had fled her warrior. “I am Elenya of the Aleone Drille,” she answered quietly, listening for certain response from behind.

“Aleone!” Tahruk roared. Elenya pressed herself against Dahru. His strong arms encircled her.

“Silence!” the master commanded. No explanation was needed for the outburst. Everyone knew how the Aleone supposedly turned on Tahruk’s people long ago. The ensuing battle nearly caused the extinction of the elite Zanak Drille, a mighty force directly descended from royalty. The Aleone were acquitted, the king himself ruling it a misunderstanding.

“There must be a mistake…”

“No.” Dahru stopped Elenya’s verbalization of the thought that echoed through many heads. “The masters do not make mistakes. The future of your families is up to the two of you.”

“I am afraid…” Elenya whispered before looking over her shoulder at the stiff form of the warrior for whom she was chosen.

“He will not harm you, child. He is honor bound, like you.” Dahru made certain the young warrior heard as well.

Elenya nodded as Tahruk’s grip compressed the bones of her wrist. Head bowed, she followed, not bothering to fight the tears. Her dreams were shattered, the broken pieces washing away with each drop that fell to the hand that held her. Honor would have her pay for the sins of her ancestors. She had been chosen to dance for a lifetime in the arms of her enemy.

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