Free Harvest of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy) by Debra Holland Page B

awkward. Two men finished the final cross, held their swords, then released, stepping back and bowing.
    Daria and Indaran exchanged glances. Without a word, they advanced on the fighters.
    When the two men realized who approached, they sprang erect, then bowed to Indaran, and again to Daria. Both stared at her, eyes wide and full of emotion. “Princess,” said one. “Forgive our reaction. My last memory of you…you scampered into the throne room, ignoring all the important people who’d come to see your father and mother and dashed to the king and climbed on his lap.”
    Emotion swelled in Daria. The scene the man described happened many times. They must be Indaran’s original expedition members. She glanced at her brother, seeing the sadness on his face.
    “King Iceros didn’t miss a beat,” the man smiled, obviously remembering. “He conducted the remainder of the session with you on his lap.” His face tightened, and he ducked his head. “My pardon, your highness.”
    Daria touched his arm. “I’ve had longer to absorb the destruction of Seagem and the death of my family. But the grief still hits me. I know all too well the comfort a warm memory can bring, only to be followed by a wave of pain. I believe we all will mourn in such a way for a long time.”
    “Aye, Princess.”
    Daria stepped back and surveyed the fighters. She’d become acquainted with the soldiers from Ocean’s Glory during their time at sea and had spent many hours training them.
    Her men stopped practicing, lowered their weapons, and cast wary looks at Indaran.
    “For those who have not heard the news, I’d like to introduce my brother Indaran, now King of Seagem, whom we thought lost at sea years ago.” She lifted her chin. “If you recall, both nations mourned his passing.”
    Many of the men nodded. One bowed, and the others followed his example.
    Indaran lifted a hand in acknowledgment. “Years have passed since my sister and I have done the pas-sa-ra together. The last time, she was this high.” He held his hand to his waist. “And she used a wooden sword.”
    A few people smiled.
    “So go back to your practicing, while I see if she’s learned to fight since then.”
    Daria elbowed him. “Better watch yourself, brother.”
    In spite of being told to resume their practice, the fighters cleared an area for the two of them, then stood in a ring, obviously intending to observe.
    Daria and Indaran unsheathed their swords, saluted, and began the pas-sa-ra. They fell into the familiar patterns as if they’d never been apart, as if they’d sword-danced together for years. Daria hadn’t done the pas-sa-ra since the fall of Seagem, although once she’d met Khan, she’d begun practicing the solitary nis-alt again.
    Before long, Daria could feel the strain in her muscles. She needed extra concentration, knowing they fought with naked blades, instead of leather-wrapped or wooden ones.
    As they proceeded through the workout, emotion welled up in her. From long practice, Daria fiercely contained her feelings, focusing on the bladework and studying Indaran’s technique. Although the pattern of the pas-sa-ra was the same in every workout, each person made the sword dance his or her own. Sparring with Setteff had been different than with Joshel or Cihkel.
    Indaran didn’t move with the grace of his brothers; his strikes were more jerky, his blocks slower—nothing that those watching would see, for they didn’t have the training of Micfal’s elite fighters. But Daria could tell. As a girl she’d spent many hours watching her oldest brother spar with Micfal, Thaddis, and even their father. She’d been so young, yet hadn’t forgotten how he moved, maybe because his supposed death had seared the memories into her brain.
    Daria suspected that Indaran’s style would become smooth again as soon as the effects of his long confinement wore off. So I’d better take advantage while I can. She went low on the delt-tay, flashing him a