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Soulmates

by
Julie Law
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events
are entirely coincidental.

SOULMATES

Web Edition
Copyright ©2018 Julie Law
All Rights Reserved
 Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Epilogue
 Chapter 1
Sophia breathed deeply as she pressed against the shadows in the
palace’s roof, keeping her eyes on the guard standing just a few feet
away. She had moved silently, no one had gotten a clue she was
there, but she needed to be careful if she wanted to keep her
presence hidden for much longer.
Queen Alexandra wasn’t a trusting person, and there were
plenty of guards patrolling all over the palace’s grounds, searching
for anyone that didn’t belong. Some would think the woman
paranoid, but not Sophia, after all, she was here to kill her.
That thought filled her heart with joy for a moment, before she
took hold of her emotions once more. She couldn’t risk losing
control, not now; she couldn’t move or she risked disturbing the
shadows keeping her hidden and the guard would see her.
It wasn’t easy. Something inside of her brightened in joy at the
chance she now had to make Alexandra pay. A memory of her
parents, smiling at her, made her tremble in rage for a moment, but
she focused once again when the guard started moving away.
Sophia watched him go and resisted the urge to sigh.
Her family had been killed by the crown, struck down simply
because they hadn’t bowed low enough for the queen’s taste, and
Sophia had been seeking her revenge for a long time. She had been
forced to run and hide, she had become an assassin, only waiting for
a chance to have her vengeance, to one day face the queen with a
dagger in her hand and end the other’s existence.
She waited for a little while longer, trying to see if the guard
would return, but he didn’t and she started moving once more. It
hadn’t been easy to climb into the roof, but according to the plans
she had of the palace it would be her best bet to get close to the
queen. And so far, she hadn’t been proved wrong.
Instead of moving down the stairs like the guard, Sophia
looked down from one of the edges of the roof, and after making
sure there wasn’t anyone who could see her, she climbed down, only
a small distance, only enough to enter through one of the windows
of the palace, after breaking the lock. It took a little longer than she
liked, and she couldn’t stop herself from glancing down as it
happened, hoping no one looked up.
The room was supposedly unused, it was just one of many
guestrooms spread all over the palace, and only used when the
number of guests was vast. The stale smell inside seemed to confirm
it, it was probably only visited or cleaned when it was about to be
used, and it seemed it hadn’t in a long time.
Reaching for her backpack, Sophia pulled the clothes she had
stashed away, grimacing a little at the uniform, but knowing dressing
as a maid was the best chance she would have to get close to
Alexandra. It didn’t take her long to get ready, and she glanced at
her backpack and the remaining of her clothes, her map of the
palace and other things. She would only be able to take her dagger
with her, hidden away, she couldn’t be seen with anything else, she
couldn’t risk arising any suspicions as she moved closer to the
queen’s quarters.
With a deep breath, she gathered herself and left the room,
her pace brisk and steady, her head low. A maid wouldn’t risk
meeting anyone’s eyes directly, not in the corridors of the palace,
where nobles and knights roamed freely. She needed to seem
demure and unthreatening, which wasn’t too hard with her
physique. Oh, if people looked better, they would see the muscles in
her arms, the stoutness of her frame, but there was no denying she
wasn’t the tallest of women, or that she was a woman at all, not
with the chest that strained against the uniform she was wearing.
Her face was soft and feminine, her hair fell down her figure in
brown curls, and her eyes were brown as well. Sophia was
attractive, even without trying. It wasn’t always a blessing, but it
had been very useful in the past.
One of the guards that passed by her smiled, letting his eyes
move over her figure, and she let a blush appear on her face before
scurrying away. Attention was bad, but sometimes it was
unavoidable. She needed to react as any other young maid would if
attention shined on her, or people would find her more memorable.
They might remember her once everything was done.
 Not that she had too much faith about getting away. She
understood that. She couldn’t be sure of how long it would take for
the queen to be found, or that she would even manage to get to the
woman without disturbance. And that was without taking into
account the pursuing that would follow. She wasn’t dumb enough to
think it would be easy to slip away after killing a queen, her only
chance was to leave to far away and never return.
The amount of coin she was being paid for the job would be
enough, would give her the chance to start a life somewhere else
without worry, if she could get away.
Part of her wasn’t too worried about that, getting revenge for
her family would be worth it, no matter what happened afterwards.
The guards were more numerous the closer she moved to the
queen’s quarters, and they eyed her with more suspicion as well.
Sophia tried to seem unbothered about it, as if she had faced it a
thousand times before, and that scrutiny lessened once she moved
away from the area. It had been necessary for her to pass that close
unfortunately, to get on the other side of the palace and near the
room she needed to be in. It was another guestroom, though one
that was regularly used. It was clean and well cared for, and it had a
door leading into a balcony from where she could climb once again.
She needed to be careful, she was closer to the ground, it
would be easier to see her, especially when she started climbing to a
balcony on the same floor of the queen’s quarters, but once more
luck seemed to be on her side.
She let herself lay down on that balcony for a few moments,
resting, knowing how close she was to her objective. Queen
Alexandra liked her privacy and her guards were barred from her
quarters and from her wing of the palace. Instead, they guarded the
entrances, careful not to let anyone who didn’t belong in. That did
nothing to stop people from entering from alternative entrances, as
Sophia had just done.
One more breath and she got to her feet, picking the lock of
the balcony’s door and getting inside, careful to see if there was
anyone in the room. It was supposed to be empty, but one could
never be too sure. Plans changed all the time, and she had learned a
long time ago she needed to be ready for anything. Fortunately, it
seemed this time that didn’t happen, and the room was empty.
She moved to the door and pressed her ear against it, trying to
listen to the corridor outside. She couldn’t hear anything and took it
as a good sign. Carefully, slowly, she opened the door and took a
look, and once she was sure no one was there she moved, steps
sounding a little too loudly on her ears, but she knew she was being
careful, that no one else would hear her come.
She stopped outside the queen’s door and looked around once
more, trying to see if there was anyone that could see her slip
inside, but fortunately there wasn’t. Her hands trembled as she
opened the door, knowing her objective was close. It wasn’t the first
time she killed someone, life had forced her to do many things she
had never believed she would have to do, but as always, she
couldn’t help but be a little nervous.
Most of those she killed had been evil, she made sure of it, but
others might not have deserved the fate she granted them. She
didn’t have much of a choice though, she was simply playing the
hand fate dealt her. And the reason for her lack of choices was just
behind that door, the target she now needed to eliminate. Sophia
couldn’t stop a smile of anticipation from growing on her face. After
so long, she would have her revenge.
Her emotions made her use a little too much strength opening
the door, and she froze for an instant, fearing the noise had alerted
the woman inside. Fortunately, it didn’t seem to. Sophia entered and
closed the door behind her, and the woman in the bed didn’t move
one inch. The assassin couldn’t see as well as she might wish to, the
light of the moon was the only thing that lit her path, but it was
enough to see the outline of the queen laying down on her bed.
She couldn’t help the rage that filled her at the sight. Here was
the woman that destroyed her life and family, living in luxury,
unworried about anything, worshipped by a great deal of the
populace, while Sophia had been forced to struggle for years before
she ended up becoming a hired killer. She was aware that people
wouldn’t look at her like a hero for this, no matter what, but in her
mind, she was in the right.
 Alexandra had her parents killed. They were nobles from an old
line, but that hadn’t mattered one bit and they were cut down as if
they were diseased animals. Only luck had allowed Sophia to escape
that day, and it hadn’t lasted long. She had been fifteen and forced
to live on the streets on her own.
Her anger kept her alive, gave her the strength she needed to
overcome the difficulties life threw at her, and made sure she didn’t
blink before accepting an offer to become a criminal. Even then, she
had dreamt of a day where she could have a chance to pay back the
queen in kind, and now that day had come.
She had frozen in place, looking at the queen, but now she
moved, slowly, carefully, making sure not to make any loud noises.
She couldn’t be sure that the other woman wouldn’t awake after all.
The queen looked like a fairytale princess with long blonde hair
that fell down her figure, the golden strands framing her face and
making her seem beautiful. Well, Sophia supposed she couldn’t deny
the other woman was beautiful, but she had long learned
appearances didn’t reflect who a person truly was. She was also
beautiful, but her hands were stained by blood, and her soul
weighted by death.
She grabbed the dagger stashed away in the back of her dress,
raised it high above the queen, and prepared to drive it into the
other woman’s heart. Before she could, the queen lashed out with
one foot, after throwing the covers aside, and hit Sophia’s stomach,
making her breath flee from her chest.
A curse almost escaped from her lips, but the urge to kill the
other woman before anyone could come upon them made sure she
focused on attacking the blonde. She soon realized it wouldn’t be as
easy as she expected it to: the queen knew how to fight. Some part
of her was very surprised at it, never imagining the other would
bother to learn such a thing. She didn’t get a chance to think about
the matter for long though, not before she realized she had to
defend herself or she might actually lose.
Alexandra was a good fighter, strong and agile, and she
managed to push Sophia away without too much effort. The
brunette quickly realized her only advantage was the dagger in her
hand, and that might not be enough to kill the other woman before
help could reach her. Much to Sophia’s surprise, the queen didn’t
scream for help, just looked back at her, and it was when their eyes
met that Sophia realized she had lost.
There wasn’t much magic in their world. Supposedly, there had
been, once upon a time, but for the most part those were tales. Only
one thing could be described as magic in their world, and it was
something Sophia had never truly cared about: soulmates. Most
people went their whole lives without meeting their soulmates, but
those that did always described the day they met them as the best
in their lives.
Sophia felt like throwing up. When her eyes met Alexandra’s
green ones, the two stopped as tingles ran down their backs, and
they knew the other was their soulmate. The brunette shook her
head, taking a step back, not believing that could be happening to
her. “No, no.” She murmured under her breath, trying to look away
from the other woman and failing. Her body wasn’t working right,
her eyes were imprisoned within Alexandra’s, unable to look away
from them.
She was lost in a sea of chaos and emotions and the only thing
that managed to make her focus was the smirk that grew on
Alexandra’s lip. That smirk made her remember her anger and rage,
made her remember what the other woman ordered done to her
family. With a scream, she threw herself at the queen, trying to kill
her however she could.
Rage dominated all of her existence, and she forgot how to
fight, how to control her punches and kicks, and just tried to hurt
the other woman any way she could, but anger wasn’t a good
counselor, and it gave the queen the leverage she needed to trip
Sophia and make her fall down, and before the younger woman
could reposition herself the queen pressed down, succeeded in
putting one of her knees atop one of Sophia’s shoulders and getting
hold of Sophia’s dagger as well.
The sounds of steps could be heard from outside, and
Alexandra smirked down at Sophia, reaching out and caressing her
cheek with a finger. “What a nice surprise to find crawling into my
room.”
Sophia gritted her teeth, trying to find a way to lash out at the
queen. Unfortunately, it didn’t appear and the guards opened the
door and entered the room, then once they saw the situation their
queen was in they took hold of the assassin and pulled her back.
“Don’t harm her,” Alexandra said, letting her eyes move over
Sophia’s frame, something like hunger shining in her orbs. “Make
sure she’s well taken care of and put her in one of the secure
guestrooms.”
If the guards were surprised by the request, Sophia couldn’t
see it, but then she could barely take her eyes off the other woman.
The queen strutted her way, and Sophia cursed to herself when
she let her eyes wander down that figure and noticed what the
woman was wearing.
Alexandra smirked once again, noticing the glance. She clasped
Sophia’s chin between her fingers and peered into her eyes,
caressing lightly. “We’re going to have so much fun together.” She
turned and focused on one of the guards. “Take her away.”
 Chapter 2
Alexandra chuckled as she moved towards the council room, and
one of her guards threw her a worried look, which prompted her to
smirk at the man. He swallowed and her following chuckle was
somewhat more amused. Fate always found a way to make her
smile.
One of her fists was sore from punching the girl that attacked
her, but the pain would pass and what the attack granted her was
simply too good for her to be worried about anything at the
moment. How could she not laugh when the fates made sure her
soulmate was the one hired to kill her? The woman wouldn’t have
been able to go through with it even if Alexandra couldn’t defend
herself, she was sure.
Most people probably wouldn’t understand her amusement, her
bright disposition, and when she entered the room she saw the
confused looks some of her counselors were throwing her way. They
expected her to be angry, furious even, about being attacked in her
home, in her quarters, and deep down she was, at least a part of
her. That didn’t stop her from being cheerful as well.
“Gentleman.” She took a glance at the whole group. More than
once, she had tried to find some women to join her counselors, but
tradition held her back from actually picking one. It hadn’t been too
long ago that being ruled by a queen would be something
completely strange to these people, she couldn’t risk pushing too
much and provoking any more unrest between her subjects.
And then there was the fact there weren’t many women
qualified to be her advisor. Most noble daughters were only trained
to be wives, nothing else, and though they were able to run a
household, a kingdom was very different. Some women were more
qualified, but they either didn’t have the right pedigree, or the
interest, to help. She aimed to change that in time.
“Your grace, you seem well.” Count Cooke said with a
questioning tilt to his tone, and she nodded at him with a smile in
her lips.
 “Remarkably well, actually.” She let her smile widen, loving how
confused they were.
From their point-of-view, there was nothing for her to be happy
about, but then they didn’t know what she did. For a moment, a
memory of the assassin’s body, her brown eyes and curls, her soft
cheeks and generous curves, flashed through Alexandra’s mind, and
her smile became more like a smirk. She didn’t know the woman’s
story, not yet, but she would find it in time.
There was something familiar about the other woman, more
than just being her soulmate. She was sure she hadn’t seen her
before, they would have noticed their connection if they had, but
maybe she had seen a member of the woman’s family, a sibling or a
parent. That would be something to think about later though.
Her smirk didn’t vanish as she turned her gaze around, letting
her eyes linger on the faces of each of her counselors. Some shied
away from her gaze, others nodded at her and looked down,
respectfully, one or two eyed her back, frowning at her. Cooke was
one of them. She could trust him, he had proved it more than once
before, and he knew her well enough to realize there was something
more going on here.
“And may we ask why that is?” He continued after sharing a
glance with some of his colleagues. “From what we’ve been told,
you were just attacked by an assassin and luck saved your life.”
She could hear the anger underneath his words, anger on her
behalf, and against the one that attacked her. She let her smirk
soften to something like a smile in his direction, and his features
softened in reply. He had always been on her side, one of her
father’s best friends, and one of those that made sure she got the
chance to become the queen of their land. Without him, she might
not have been able to do it.
“It wasn’t luck that saved my life, it was fate.” She didn’t say
anything about her ability to fight, few people knew about that, and
it was best to remain so.
Priest Anders, the representative from the church of the gods,
glared at her. “You shouldn’t jest about the fates, your grace, they
might think to punish you for it.”
 She smirked at him. “I wasn’t jesting.” She didn’t like him and
knew he didn’t like her, but she was certain he was loyal. He was a
true believer after all, and her line was blessed by the gods. He
would remain loyal to her. “If not, why would my assassin end up
being my soulmate?”
That stunned them into silence, and her smirk seemed to
become even more noticeable.
“I was not jesting when I said the fates were on my side,
somehow my enemies ended up sending my own soulmate to kill me
and obviously failed.” She didn’t tell them it failed because she had
defended herself. It did surprise her a little that the girl attacked her
with such anger, just after they realized they were each other’s
soulmates, but she would find the reason for it later. Now she
needed to worry about dealing with those that wanted her dead.
“These are joyous news.” Anders smiled widely, and the look he
graced her with wasn’t one she was used to getting from him. She
should have expected it though and blamed the lateness of the hour
for not thinking about that little detail.
Finding your soulmate was considered to be a blessing from
the gods, a sign they loved you. It was good luck most of the time,
and that she hadn’t found hers was something that had turned some
of the more extremist factions of the church against her.
She was different after all, and already knew that her soulmate
was a woman; all hermaphrodites had a woman for a mate. People
like her weren’t very well regarded by the populace, and the
knowledge of what she was spread when her father had died and
she was about to assume the throne.
Alexandra should have really considered all of that before
breaking the news to them, especially when her soulmate was an
assassin.
“We might have a problem though.” Cooke continued, putting
words to the thoughts inside Alexandra’s head. “After all, it seems
our queen’s soulmate is a killer for hire.”
That made sure silence fell once again over the room, and this
time even the queen was affected. That certainly wouldn’t help her if
it came out, and she was certain sooner or later it would, especially
if they didn’t deal with the ones that wanted to kill her.
“There’s nothing we can do about that now.” Alexandra shook
her head and made sure to meet the eyes of every man inside the
room. “We need to find who she is and who sent her, and deal with
them before anything about this becomes public knowledge.” She
hesitated then, but eventually continued. “There’s something familiar
about her, and I don’t mean that sense of recognition soulmates
have upon meeting each other.”
Her counselors exchanged looks, then Cooke took the lead
once again. “I’m sure we’ll find out who she is once we interrogate
her.”
“I want to do it.” Alexandra paused after the words escaped
her, regretting them almost immediately. She knew better, she
wasn’t an interrogator and she would be at a disadvantage against
her soulmate, but some part of her wanted to be near the woman,
to hold and caress her, to hear her voice and learn about her.
She needed to take control of herself. The brunette might be
her soulmate, but she was also an enemy for now, and they needed
to find whatever she knew about the ones that hired her.
“That might not be the best idea, your grace.” The count
started softly, not quite wanting to irritate his monarch.
Alexandra raised one hand in the air and made him still. “I
know, I spoke without thought.” She didn’t like to show weakness of
any kind, or hesitation, but she also wouldn’t dare appear foolish.
Better to admit to a mistake. “She’s not the only one we need to
interrogate however.” She let her gaze move around, pinning each of
the men inside with her glare. “She got to my room undetected, and
no one could have done that without help, without a map of the
palace and without knowing the paths the guards take during their
patrols. I’ve already sent captain Williams to trace back her steps
and find out if someone sneaked her into the palace.”
“We’re aware there are those that might want to replace you,
your grace, we’ve been for a while.” Stefan Muncher wasn’t exactly
one of her favorite counselors, he tried to lick her boots a little too
much to be truly useful, but he had influence in the city and
sometimes he did have some good ideas. “Some of them are known
to us.”
“Not many of them would dare something like this, not at this
time.” What Cooke didn’t say was that they wouldn’t try not because
they wouldn’t like her dead, but because they didn’t like the
consequences that would come their way. If they had done
something like this at the beginning of her rule, the people might
have cheered them on, but now she had the populace on her side,
and the support of the most powerful nobles in the kingdom.
Only a fool would move against her now.
“There are plenty of idiots that think they might be able to get
away with it.” She replied, and none of them denied it. Not all of her
enemies were masterminds that tried to control others for their own
purposes, some were just idiots with a grudge and less sense than
most. “We have to check on all of the known ones and make sure to
be as intimidating as possible.”
They nodded at that, and Alexandra found herself resisting the
urge to yawn. She was tired, she had been about to sleep when her
soulmate attacked her, and now that the excitement wore off
tiredness was settling in. She wouldn’t show it in front of them
though.
She got to her feet without another word and exchanged a
glance with them before starting to leave. “I want answers, quickly.”
 Chapter 3
In her deepest nightmares, Sophia hadn’t imagined she could have
failed as much as she did. She knew she could have been caught,
almost expected it really, but that hadn’t happened. If she killed the
queen, she understood there was a very big chance she wouldn’t be
able to leave before being captured, and that her death would be
very painful in that case.
She wouldn’t mind dying like that, not if it meant avenging her
family.
She hadn’t imagined that she would be able to get to the
queen and fail then, that the woman could defeat her in a fight and
capture her. Worst of all, was finding the other woman was her
soulmate.
A snort escaped her. As if she needed any more proof that the
gods hated her.
It had been days since she had been taken, and most of that
time was spent in interrogations, with different men asking her the
same questions again and again. She tried not to say anything, tried
to ignore them, but it wasn’t easy. They asked again and again, and
their voices wouldn’t leave her alone.
And in the end, it had all been for naught. When Count Cooke
entered her room, he recognized her immediately. Her father had
been a friend of his, not very close, but enough that she had seen
the man more than once when she was younger. His surprise was
obvious, then he smiled at her, almost gentle, and left without
another word.
Her interrogations became milder after that, and she knew that
even without saying anything she had given them more than enough
information. It wasn’t as if they would depend solely on the
information she granted them after all, they would conduct other
interrogations, find whoever it was that eased her way into the
castle, squeeze them until they talked.
She shivered. She had no illusions about her situation. If she
hadn’t ended up being the queen’s soulmate, they wouldn’t just ask
her questions, they would have tortured her until she talked, or until
she said whatever they wanted to hear. In a way, she ended up
being a little lucky.
So long as the queen didn’t try to force her into anything, but
maybe then she would regret her ‘luck’. Everyone knew the queen
was a hermaphrodite, if the older woman so wished to, she could
easily force herself on Sophia, and there was very little she could do
about it.
The thought made her dread, and more than once she
wondered if she should try to put an end to her own life, but in the
end, there wasn’t a chance. Nothing on her room would allow her to
do it, and the guards were keeping their eyes on her. That her death
might end up hurting the queen only made her smile slightly,
because some part of her now hated the thought of making the
other woman suffer in any way.
She bit her lower lip at that, until it started bleeding. It was a
curse, it had to be, someone had to have cursed her or her family
and this was the result. No one could be that unlucky, surely?
She clutched her clothes a little tighter. It didn’t matter if it was
any kind of curse or just bad luck, she was stuck with Alexandra as
her soulmate, and something told her she wouldn’t get rid of the
other woman that easily.
Steps echoed outside of her door, and she raised her head,
wondering who was coming now. Her heart started beating a little
harder when it seemed there were more guards than usual, and she
wondered if they would be moving her somewhere else. And then
the door opened and she realized the reason why.
Queen Alexandra smirked at her, even as a couple of guards
entered the room and grasped Sophia’s arms, imprisoning them in a
rope behind her back, leaving her basically defenseless against the
queen. “You may leave now.”
The guards obeyed their mistress without a word, turning their
back on Sophia and moving away, bowing before leaving the queen’s
line of sight. Not that the woman seemed to pay attention to them,
her eyes never left Sophia’s figure. The brunette found herself
gritting her teeth at that, not quite looking away, she didn’t want to
seem weak, but not meeting Alexandra’s eyes directly, fearing what
she would feel when she did.
Part of her hated the other woman, another part wanted to
love her, and she was afraid of which part would win in the end. It
would be better to avoid the whole situation, but a tug at the rope
around her arms only confirmed there was no chance of that. The
queen wouldn’t allow it.
Alexandra took one step forward then grasped Sophia’s chin,
forcing her to look up. Their eyes met, and the brunette felt a breath
ease out of her chest.
The queen was beautiful and lost in that beauty Sophia could
almost forget everything that happened to her because of the other
woman, everything she had been forced to do to survive. Every
person she hurt. She could almost forget. Almost. Without really
thinking about what she was doing, she spit on the other woman’s
face, and wasn’t too surprised by the slap that hit against her cheek
a moment later.
Well, she was a little surprised by how strong it was and how it
made her lose her balance and crash to the ground, but some part
of her believed it had been worth it.
A few moments of silence followed. “I apologize for that.”
Alexandra used a small handkerchief to clean her face, the tightness
of her features betraying the anger buried deep down. “But you’ll
understand why someone would react like that when they’re spit
upon, I believe. Maybe I shouldn’t have expected another reaction
from you, Sophia Devereaux.”
The brunette closed her eyes. It wasn’t too surprising that the
other woman knew who she was, she had expected it really, but it
put her at an even bigger disadvantage. Then she took one look
around, took in her position and felt something ease inside of her.
She was at the queen’s complete mercy: it wasn’t as if Alexandra
knowing her name would put her at further danger.
She just glared at the queen, wanting her to get over it. The
woman seemed amused by her anger, smirking once again.
“I almost couldn’t believe the story of your life. The missing
daughter of a noble family, thought killed when her parents died,
turned assassin for hire.” The queen’s amusement seemed to make
her shine for a moment, and Sophia sighed a little before noticing
what she was doing and stopping. “Almost like some kind of dark
fairy tale, isn’t it? And then to come after the one you think killed
your parents and try to kill her.” She stepped closer to Sophia once
again, kneeling down in front of the brunette and taking hold of her
chin, careful not to have the same thing that happened before
repeat itself. “Only to fail and find out that the woman you hate is
the one you should love.”
“I’ll never love you.” Sophia gritted out and regretted it a
moment later when the other woman’s eyes seemed to get lighter
with amusement, realizing the queen had been trying to get her to
react and succeeded.
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” The tone of Alexandra’s voice at
that last word made a shiver run down Sophia’s back. The queen
straightened, never taking her eyes off the brunette’s face. “Once I
realized my soulmate hated me, I started searching for other cases
like ours, where soulmates hated each other when they first met.
We aren’t unique in that respect, you know? And do you want to
know how most of them ended up?”
Sophia looked away. She didn’t need to ask, not when the
queen was feeling so amused by it all, she was certain most
soulmates ended up being together. “I’ll be the exception that
proves the rule.” She bit out, but her words ended up sounding a
little weak, and the queen’s smile widened.
“Perhaps, but maybe you shouldn’t try that hard.” When Sophia
glared at her, Alexandra chuckled. “What if I told you I wasn’t behind
your parents’ deaths?”
“I would say you’re a lying, treacherous bitch.” Sophia only
stopped herself from spitting at the queen once again at the last
moment, remembering what happened before. “You killed them.”
It took a few moments for Alexandra to say anything. “Perhaps
I did, but not as you think.” She shrugged, looking so nonchalant
she only made Sophia angrier. “People under my command did kill
your parents, but they were punished for it, and the one that
commanded them also paid for it. I never gave that order, I can
assure you.”
Sophia didn’t know if she could believe the other woman and it
didn’t really matter. “They were still under your rule, they were your
responsibility.”
Alexandra nodded at that. “They were and I made sure the
noble who ordered them lost most of his fortune, most of his lands,
leaving him with just enough to keep his family alive. But the idiot
couldn’t accept my mercy and planned against me, and he almost
succeeded as none had before when he sent you after me.”
“What?” Sophia couldn’t quite process the words that were
coming out of Alexandra’s mouth, she refused to accept them.
“Baron Westway was the one in command of the men that
killed your family and burned your home to the ground,” Alexandra
leaned down once again, and took hold of Sophia’s face, caressing it
gently. The brunette was so out of it she didn’t fight the caress. “And
I made him pay for it, but it seems he wasn’t happy about having to
crawl into a hole like a bug, and now he’ll force me to squash him.”
Sophia heard the words but they weren’t making any sense.
Westway was an old friend of her father’s, and she imagined he had
wanted revenge on the queen. Could the old man really be behind
her parents’ deaths? She wanted to deny it but looking deep into the
queen’s eyes she didn’t believe the other woman was lying to her.
“Guards.” The queen called out, and two men entered the
room almost immediately, pausing at the scene in front of them.
“Take her to my maids, they’ve been briefed on what to do.” She
pulled Sophia’s chin up, smiled at her. “And then, we’ll have dinner.”
 Chapter 4
Sophia’s heart was pounding in her chest and nothing she did could
make it stop.
She couldn’t understand what she was feeling exactly, or
maybe she could and wanted to deny it with all of herself but
couldn’t.
She had been taken away to Alexandra’s maids, and they had
bathed her and scrubbed away every little speck of dirt they could
find, they had swarmed her with perfumes afterwards, making sure
she smelled just as the queen liked, and then they had thrown dress
after dress over her figure, until they found one they believe was
just right.
Sophia barely paid attention to the whole process, her mind
too busy contemplating what the queen had told her. It couldn’t be
the truth, could it? Alexandra had simply weaved a story to try to get
to her, to convince or seduce her in some way, right? She didn’t
know what to think, what to believe, and the possibility the queen
was telling the truth scared her more than she could admit.
It was easy to hate the other woman, it had always been.
Thinking it might be wrong to do so unsettled Sophia, even as it
warmed a part of her. If Alexandra wasn’t responsible for her
parents’ death’s, there was no reason for her to resist the pull from
her soulmate, there was no reason to deny herself what her spirit so
wanted.
She shook her head, she couldn’t think about all of that now.
Her head was pounding in pain, and she just wanted to scream at
the world, to curse her existence once more, to sleep and be alone
and think about it all, but she couldn’t. She could only follow the
guards walking ahead of her as they took her to the queen’s
quarters.
Part of her wanted to speak to the woman, listen to the tale
she weaved once again, trying to see if she could catch Alexandra in
a lie of some kind. She had been taken by surprise before, but now
she was more prepared for the other woman’s words, ready to find a
hole in her story if there was one to be found, knowing there was a
voice in the back of her head that hoped no hole would be found.
One of the guards opened the door, then stepped back and
gestured for her to enter, positioning himself at the entrance. She
hesitated for a moment before starting to move in.
The dress she was using made her remember her childhood,
though the way it clung to her curves was anything but innocent.
The whole being taken cared of made her look back to the time
when her family was alive, when she was like a little princess,
pampered by everyone, loved by her family and their retainers.
Every one had liked her then, from the cooks that sneaked her treats
when her caretakers were distracted, to the people responsible for
teaching her, to her parents.
Losing them had left a whole in her chest that she knew would
never be fulfilled.
The guard coughed, lightly, and she shook her head and
entered, knowing there was nothing to be done about her losses at
the moment.
When she found Alexandra for the first time she froze still, and
her mouth fell open as she let her eyes run over the queen. Not
even the smirk the other woman graced her with managed to shake
her out of her stillness. Sophia hadn’t been the only one to be
washed and pampered: Alexandra’s hair seemed to glow from where
it fell in curls down her figure, its strands the only thing that helped
cover the generous cleavage the dress displayed.
Almost immediately, Sophia’s eyes were drawn to that flesh,
and she swallowed at the sight. The dress was very tight around the
other woman’s chest, letting Sophia realize just how generous
Alexandra’s curves were, and just how much part of her wanted to
touch them. The white dress she was wearing didn’t help at all, not
when it left her so bare or when it seemed sheer through in places.
The blonde tilted her head, smirk widening at the same time,
and Sophia swallowed before realizing how she must have looked
and schooling her features. It didn’t help much, there was no way
the other woman would ignore how she gazed at her, but Sophia
had to try something.
 She couldn’t let the queen believe it would be possible to
seduce her no matter what. If she did, the other woman would keep
trying and eventually succeed.
She didn’t want to think it was possible, but she couldn’t deny
the pull she felt for the blonde, how her heart beat faster in the
other woman’s presence, how something in the back of her mind felt
relaxed when Alexandra was near. Their eyes met and they became
imprisoned in each other, just gazing into the other’s soul.
Alexandra’s eyes were green, and like the rest of her they were
beautiful.
Sophia shook her head and broke the connection, and after
remaining in place for a few moments she moved forward when the
other woman gestured with one hand, pointing at the chair sitting in
front of her. The brunette barely realized she was following the
woman’s suggestion, she was simply happy for something to do,
something that occupied her mind and allowed her to ignore what
had just happened between them.
Then she was in a rush to sit and study the table, ignoring the
way Alexandra’s eyes moved over her figure, and how part of her
seemed to enjoy the attention.
The table wasn’t too big, not compared to some Sophia had
seen before. Sitting down, she realized it left maybe ten, twelve feet
between her and Alexandra, distance that was mostly filled by a
display of foods that she hadn’t seen in a long time. On one side,
there was what seemed to be roasted lamb with potatoes, several
fruits were also present, some of them covered in little bits of sugar,
obviously meant for dessert. There were more meats in display, and
even fish and vegetables, all of them smelling as delicious as they
looked.
Sophia felt her mouth getting wet at the banquet. It had been
a long time since she had seen so much food in one place, and all of
it for her.
One of her hands twitched with the urge to reach for some of
it, but she controlled herself and didn’t, and after breathing deeply
she raised her head and looked at Alexandra’s face. The other
woman was smiling, and the sight enchanted Sophia for a moment,
before she locked her emotions as far away as she could. “What do
you want?” She questioned, barely noticing how her voice came out
in a whisper. “Why this?”
“Can’t I hope to get to know my soulmate?” Alexandra asked,
tilting her head. She reached for her wine with one hand, and
brought the glass to her lips, drinking a sip from it before laying the
glass down on the table. The whole motion was seductive in some
way, and Sophia couldn’t stop herself from following it with her eyes,
before realizing what she was doing and stopping.
“I wouldn’t risk it in your place, not with what happened
before.” Sophia tried to smirk then, but it came out more like gritting
her teeth.
Alexandra laughed, amused. “I don’t think it went that badly,
you did fail to kill me,” Sophia looked away. “And I got to meet my
soulmate. It was more than good enough for me.”
Sophia blushed. She knew what the other woman was doing,
what she hoped to get from all of this, but she was still affected by
the queen’s flirting. It wasn’t fair, specially when she couldn’t be sure
the other woman didn’t have something to do with her parents’
deaths.
Focusing on that, she got her emotions under control once
again and glared at the queen. “How can you prove that you weren’t
behind my parents’ deaths?”
Alexandra smirked. “Later.” Sophia opened her mouth, ready to
complain, but the other woman continued before she could say
anything. “You will eat a nice meal with me, we’ll talk to each other
like two civilized persons, or my guards will take you away and you
won’t learn anything else about this whole matter until its finished.”
Alexandra’s voice had gotten cold, and her eyes narrowed. “I like a
little defiance, but there are limits. Dine with me, and at the end of it
I’ll give you what you want.”
It wasn’t easy to keep her mouth pressed together, to stop the
words that wanted to escape her throat. The other woman wasn’t
kidding however, Sophia could see that clearly, and she couldn’t risk
not knowing who had truly been behind her parents’ deaths. She
remained silent, looked away from Alexandra’s face and focused on
the foods in front of her.
She followed Alexandra’s lead when the woman reached for
some food, and grabbed some of that roasted lamb, barely stopping
herself from moaning at the taste of it once she got it into her
mouth. It didn’t stop the other woman from noticing her obvious
relish, not when Sophia closed her eyes for a few seconds, just
appreciating the taste.
She blushed when she opened them again and realized she
had Alexandra’s attention centered on her, but she tried not to let it
affect her. They ate in silence for the most part, though Sophia could
feel that Alexandra’s eyes never left her for long. She had nothing to
say to the other woman, she didn’t even know how to start a
conversation with her, and so she simply focused on the food,
hoping for the time to pass and maybe the other woman to take the
initiative.
Alexandra never did, seemingly content with having Sophia in
front of her, a smile or a smirk always present on her lips.
It made Sophia blush for some reason. She was attracted to
the other woman, and despite how much she might have liked to
deny it she couldn’t. They both knew it, and the only comfort she
had about the situation was that the queen was similarly infatuated.
Then she caught sight of Alexandra’s eyes, saw the lust there and
realized maybe having the queen’s attention wasn’t as good a
comfort as she might have expected.
Eventually, their dinner came to an end, and Sophia put her
cutlery aside and focused on the other woman. “What’s your proof?”
That was the only thing that should matter, she told herself, ignoring
how Alexandra’s sigh made her feel. “How can I believe you when
you say baron Westway was involved in my family’s death?”
“That’s very simple, we’ll just have to ask him.” Alexandra
smirked, and it made Sophia’s heart start beating a little faster.
Could the other already have captured him? “Tomorrow, my guard
will take him captive at his home, and you’re welcome to come with
me and ask him all the questions you want.”
 “Meaning you have no proof yet.” Sophia gritted out. She didn’t
know why she was surprised; did anything the other woman had
done proved she could be trusted?
She pulled her chair back and got to her feet, intending to
leave without another word, but stilled when she saw the other
woman mirror her motion on the other side of the table. There was
a wild look in Alexandra’s face, a mix of anger and lust and
stupefaction, as if she didn’t know what to do with Sophia and
wanted to punish her, even as she wanted to take her into her arms
and kiss her as well.
Sophia understood that very well, she felt much the same.
“I’m tired of you doubting my word.” The words were hissed,
and the bite in them wasn’t imagined. Alexandra was angry, it was
pretty obvious, and it should scare Sophia a little, she was at the
other woman’s mercy after all, but it didn’t. “My word is law. I
haven’t lied to you, and it will be proven tomorrow.”
The brunette tightened her hands into fists, resisting the urge
to move closer to Alexandra and show her just how little she
believed her. It was easy to be angry, easier than to focus on the
other emotions that burned in her gut, the want that flowed through
her veins.
They were both angry and breathing hard, and they’re eyes
moved over each other’s faces, searching. Later, Sophia wouldn’t be
sure of who moved first. She could remember how loud their steps
sounded, how it made her think of the beat of her heart, she could
remember how they stopped with just inches between them,
studying each other’s faces, a thousand different emotions coloring
their interaction.
She could remember how soft Alexandra’s lips were against
hers.
At first, she could barely process what she was doing, that she
was kissing the woman she had hated for so long, and when she let
it sink in her first thought was to move back, part from the queen,
but one of the woman’s arms encircled her figure, pulled her tight
against that soft body, and Sophia gave in to the yearning inside of
her chest.
 She forgot about everything that happened to her, the pain and
longing that had been with her for so long, the hurt, the regrets, the
fears. She forgot about her guilt and the reasons she had for feeling
guilty and she let her desire come to the front, kissing Alexandra as
if it was the last thing she would do in her life.
It was the best thing she could have done. For a few moments,
she felt free as a bird in the sky, she felt love and happiness, want
and desire and peace. It didn’t last unfortunately, and her doubts
and fears all returned when she parted from the queen, when she
had to lean back to breathe for a second.
Alexandra was just as visibly affected as she was, and they
only remained gazing into each other’s eyes for a moment before
closing the distance between them once again, wanting to feel like
they had during the first kiss. Somehow, the second one they shared
was even better.
There was no time for teasing, for playing around. Alexandra
started pulling them towards the bed, and Sophia knew better, she
really did. The other woman could be lying to her, just for this
chance to have her; she could end up discovering the following day
that Alexandra had lied and was the true responsible for her parents’
deaths, but the longing in her heart made sure she didn’t care.
She needed the other woman, needed to have her and be
claimed by her, needed to be touched and caressed, needed to be
loved. Not doing it would have felt like losing her family all over
again.
They crashed into the bed and smiled amused when they
almost seemed to bounce from it, a certain giddiness taking hold of
them. Sophia could barely remember a time when she was as happy
as in that moment, and she knew it wasn’t normal. Well, it was,
soulmates were supposed to feel like that, to brighten each other’s
days and lives, but she never thought it would be so literal.
She couldn’t even think about continuing her life without this
woman at her side, and it scared her, because she couldn’t be sure
that would truly happen. Not if Alexandra was the one that killed her
parents.
 Then the queen leaned in, kissed her, and she forgot about all
of that.
All that mattered was that kiss, the flushed lips pressed against
hers, how one of the other woman’s hands made little circles in her
back, how that tongue sought entrance into her mouth and she
granted it. They dueled with one another, a duel of tongue quite
unlike the one they had before, when they were almost shouting
into each other’s faces.
Sophia couldn’t stop herself from touching the other woman,
letting her hands come to a rest against her sides, spreading her
fingers so that she could touch as much as the blonde as possible.
Alexandra moaned into their kiss, and Sophia realized she quite liked
the sound. Even better was the thought she was the one to make it
happen.
She kissed harder, pushing her body against Alexandra’s,
putting her arms around the other woman, much as the queen had
done before. It didn’t take long for them to want more, and Sophia
felt as Alexandra started pulling at her dress, baring her. She paid
the woman in kind, smirking a little at how easily Alexandra’s dress
got ripped apart, certain it had been one of the reasons the other
woman wore it.
The glimpses of bare flesh made her stop to appreciate
Alexandra’s beauty for a few moments, but the queen didn’t seem to
be feeling very patient. Before Sophia could realize what was
happening, the other woman turned them around, forced her down
on the bed, and then grabbed the front of her dress and pulled.
It ripped apart quite spectacularly, and Sophia had to resist the
urge to blush when she felt her breasts spill free. It wasn’t easy,
especially when the other woman looked at her like she was doing.
The fire in Alexandra’s eyes was intimidating, made Sophia breathe a
little harder for a few moments. There was something hard pressing
against her body, near her groin, and she looked down, only
remembering how different the other woman was when she noticed
the bulge in her dress.
Alexandra leaned down and smirked. “That won’t be a
problem, will it?” She whispered the words right beside Sophia’s ear,
and the brunette shuddered. She didn’t answer, she just bit her lip
and kept her gaze down, focused on where she could see
Alexandra’s covered rod.
It wasn’t as if she was too bothered about it. It wasn’t rare for
couples of the same sex to be soulmates, though it wasn’t exactly
common either. Sure, then everything happened and she never
again thought about having a soulmate, but she had never been
bothered about the thought of loving a woman or a man. In some
ways, the queen could be considered a mix, and she didn’t care at
all.
She couldn’t deny she was a little curious though.
Alexandra didn’t allow her to sate her curiousness just yet. The
queen leaned down and pressed another kiss against her lips, then
one against her shoulder and collarbone, moving down slowly
towards her breasts. Sophia stilled, not quite knowing how to react,
wanting the woman to rush it, enjoying how good her caresses felt
at the same time, and imagining how nicer they would be on her
breasts.
It wasn’t too surprising that a couple of moans spilled out of
her, and she felt Alexandra’s lips quirk into a smirk where the woman
pressed them against her skin. It might have irritated her at another
time, but she was too focused on the pleasure the other woman was
bringing her to let something like that get in the way.
Sophia bit her lower lip when Alexandra’s mouth reached her
breasts, stifling the moans and groans that wanted to escape her,
resisting the urge to bury her hands in Alexandra’s golden hair and
force the woman to press deeper against her. The queen didn’t lose
any time teasing her or beating around the bush, almost
immediately after reaching Sophia’s orbs she grasped unto the
nipples with her lips, suckling a them, making Sophia wild with lust.
She lost control then and held unto the blonde with all of her
strength, not that it seemed to bother the woman very much. If
anything, it only made Alexandra’s motions a little quicker, the queen
realizing she was getting to the brunette.
Sophia whimpered when the woman left her breasts behind
and moved down, missing the warmth of that delicious mouth
almost immediately, but the thought of what that mouth could make
her feel in other areas of her body made sure she remained silent.
She couldn’t wait for the pleasure that would follow.
Unfortunately, it seemed this time Alexandra could. The blonde
made sure to rip the clothes that still clung to Sophia’s body apart,
the light dress parting easily, and moved back to enjoy the sight for
a few moments, almost making Sophia want to cover herself. It was
an instinctive reaction, Alexandra was looking at her with such
hunger that she almost feared what would follow, but in the end,
she stayed still and let her soulmate enjoy the sight.
She felt those eyes burning into her face, then moving down
and lingering on her breasts, before finally reaching their objective
and focusing on her sex. Sophia swallowed. She knew what came
next, it wouldn’t be the first time for her, though it would be the
second, but she imagined being with Alexandra would be completely
different from the experience she had before.
The queen seemed to notice her hesitation and slowed down,
slightly, started caressing her with a softness that hadn’t been there
before, not so obviously at least. Alexandra smiled at her before
leaning down and laying a kiss against her belly, then one on her
waist, and Sophia’s body tightened in anticipation.
When the other woman leaned back once again, she sighed in
disappointment, disappointment that vanished when she saw the
queen slowly undressing. Her mouth got dry at the first look of
Alexandra’s uncovered breasts, then the tight stomach just beneath
them and the belly that followed. Sophia couldn’t take her eyes of
the other woman’s body, knowing the flesh that would be revealed
next, and wanting to see it very much.
Alexandra smirked at her and pushed her dress the rest of the
way down.
Sophia gulped at the sight revealed. Alexandra seemed fairly
big, too big to fit inside of her, and yet there was a part of her that
was certain the other woman would fit.
She swallowed, and Alexandra started moving closer, crawling
into the four-poster bed once again. Sophia imagined she must have
looked like a rabbit or some other defenseless animal watching a
predator approach, at least, that was what Alexandra’s smirk
seemed to indicate. And maybe there was reason for it: Sophia had
frozen in place, just watching the other get nearer and nearer, her
breathing having turned into something like panting.
Alexandra kissed her on the lips, just a peck, then played with
her collarbone, licking it from one side to the other, then down. She
didn’t touch Sophia’s breasts, only followed a path down the valley
between them, and Sophia whimpered in need. Not as much as she
whimpered when the other woman nuzzled against her curls,
caressing them for a moment just before her tongue pressed against
the core.
The brunette arched, spreading her legs and offering herself to
the other woman, wanting to be taken as she had never wanted
anything before. Alexandra didn’t need any more convincing: she
licked Sophia’s sex for a couple of moments, driving the younger
woman even wilder, but eventually she climbed her body and only
stopped when they were face to face, groin to groin.
The queen smiled before taking hold of her rod and using it to
tease Sophia for a few moments, waiting until the young woman bit
her lips before pressing harder and letting her rod enter.
They both moaned at that. The younger woman clutched at
Alexandra, holding her as the queen started moving against her,
their motions soft and tender at first, but becoming slightly harder
as they got used to them.
Sophia couldn’t find the words to describe how it felt. It wasn’t
her first time, but her previous experience was incomparable to this.
Alexandra felt divine against her, made her enjoy as nothing had
ever made her enjoy before, and the only think Sophia could do was
moan and clutch at her, hoping their moments together would never
end.
Alexandra moved back and forth, getting faster with time,
thrusting a little harder, and making them reach their peaks in short
order. Any sound that might have escaped Sophia’s throat was
muffled by the other woman’s lips pressing against hers in a kiss,
and they enjoyed their pleasure like that, kissing and caressing each
other.
 When they came down from their highs, Alexandra laid down
on the bed, and after a few moments of hesitation where she didn’t
quite know what to do, Sophia pressed against her side, and they
fell asleep like that, content as neither of them had been for a long
time.
 Chapter 5
“How are we doing this?” They were waiting outside of the baron’s
manor, inside a small carriage, just waiting for Alexandra’s troops to
move in.
Sophia breathed deeply, unable to settle down. She was very
nervous and couldn’t even be sure of why. Part of her wanted to get
this over with, to get to talk to Westway directly and question him.
She wanted Alexandra to be telling the truth, wanted to be certain
the other woman didn’t have any fault in what happened to her
family. She didn’t think she would be able to forgive herself for what
she had done with the queen otherwise.
The thought she might have slept with her family’s killer made
her want to hurl, but more and more she believed Alexandra’s
version of the story.
Westway hadn’t contacted her directly, no one would be that
foolish, not with the risk she incurred of being captured, but she had
enough contacts in the underworld to be certain of who held the
purse strings of the man who hired her, and it seemed Alexandra’s
investigations led her to the same path.
That she had attacked her soulmate in name of the man that
might have killed her parents made her angry, extremely so, and she
wanted to get near him and stick a dagger deep into his heart, but
she would give him a chance to explain himself. She would give him
a chance to either confirm or contradict Alexandra’s story, and then
she would decide what to do.
At sundown, Alexandra’s guards moved in. At first, it seemed
as if the baron’s guards would try to fight back, but they knew what
their fate would entail if they did, knew there was no way to resist
the might of their kingdom and one of the strongest fighting forces
in it, and so they stepped aside, allowing the royal guard to disarm
them and lead them away. Alexandra and Sophia were ushered
inside the mansion by one of the baron’s servants, one with two
guards hovering over his shoulders, making him obviously nervous.
His twitching actually made it more than obvious.
 They were led to what must have been the baron’s study, and
they found the man inside, two royal guards at his back, others all
over the room, keeping him from trying anything. His eyes widened
when he saw Sophia and the queen, then narrowed, his mouth
tightening into a fine line. He didn’t say anything at first.
“Baron.” There was something like amusement in Alexandra’s
voice, or at least something most people would take as amusement.
Sophia couldn’t say she knew the woman very well, but she had
listened to her before, when she was truly amused, and there were
some differences in her tone of voice. Deep down, Alexandra was
angry, furious even, and Sophia let a smirk take hold of her lips.
“Alexandra.” The baron was being disrespectful, and one of the
guards behind him grabbed unto his shoulder with his steel gauntlet,
tightening until the man flinched in pain and tried to move away.
The queen’s smirk was a little more real this time, and she gestured
for her guard to move back.
Westway eyed her warily, but didn’t say anything, just waited
for his fate. He must have known he was finished, there was no way
he didn’t, not with the royal guard inside his home, not after what
he tried to do. The only thing that remained to be decided would be
how painful his death would be.
“Why did you do it?” Alexandra questioned, though she must
have suspected the reason already. She moved forward at the same
time, pulling back one of the chairs in front of his desk and seating
on it, comfortably. He stayed silent, and she let her smirk widen.
“Was it because I took almost everything from you?” He gritted his
teeth but didn’t say anything.
The smile she graced him with was mocking.
“It seems you end up being a failure in everything you try.”
Without waiting to see his reaction, she looked over her shoulder at
Sophia, then extended her hand. The brunette only waited for a
moment before doing what the other woman wanted and stepping
forward, taking hold of that hand, gently, lovingly. His eyes widened
when she did it. “You’re such a failure you ended up sending my
soulmate to kill me, with the obvious results.”
 His mouth opened and closed, more than once, and eventually
he gritted his teeth once again, intending to remain silent. Alexandra
knew she had to put an end to that.
“You’ll die, obviously, and quite painfully I can assure you.” She
tilted her head, and her face gained a cruel tint. “But your family
doesn’t need to die with you. Your children can be allowed to live,
your wife can be sent to a convent or to her family.” His face became
paler and paler as each word came out of her mouth, and Sophia
stepped forward, knowing this was her chance.
“Why did you do it?” He surely knew what she was asking
about, especially if she was here with Alexandra. “Why did you kill
my family?”
He remained silent for a few moments, glaring at them, and
she knew he didn’t want to say anything, wanted to remain in
silence and let her doubts go unanswered, but in the end the fate
that awaited his family made him act. “It wasn’t supposed to, not at
first. I was just trying to intimidate your father.”
“Why?” She asked him. Anger ran through her veins, a fury so
strong she barely stopped herself from jumping at him and killing
him. Part of her was also relieved, his words confirmed what
Alexandra had said earlier, meant her soulmate was guiltless in her
family’s death.
“He found that a small group of nobles were stealing some of
the kingdom’s tax money, me included.” It took him a while to
answer her, but the words seemed to ease something inside of him,
as if the guilt had been weighting at him.
He should be feeling guilty, and she didn’t like that he seemed
to be getting some relief from confessing to his crime, but at the
same time he was exculpating Alexandra from the same, and she
could bare to let him have some relief if that benefited her soulmate.
“We hoped to make him keep quiet, things just got out of
hand.”
Baron Westway didn’t say anything else, but it wasn’t needed,
not really. Sophia wanted to kill him, she wanted to kill his family
and make him live with the pain of it, but in the end all she did was
turn her back on him and start to move away. Alexandra got to her
feet and followed after her, and behind them the guards moved
forward and grabbed the baron, putting him in chains and dragging
him away.
Sophia could barely think.
This was it, after so long she had gotten justice for her family,
she would get to see the man who killed them die for his many
crimes, and yet, it didn’t seem to satisfy her spirit as much as she
had hoped it would. Alexandra pressed against her side and warmth
infused her body. The two exchanged glances and Sophia felt her
lips quirking into a smile. Maybe revenge wouldn’t be what would
make her happy, but love might.
Alexandra reached out and held Sophia’s hand, and the two left
the baron’s mansion like that, smiling at each other, the brunette
trying to leave her past behind, Alexandra just happy about having
found her soulmate.
Life could be worse.
 Epilogue
Sophia married Alexandra a few months later. It was a risk, she was
an assassin for hire and everyone who knew it could be a threat to
her spouse, but in the end, they couldn’t resist the pull they felt for
one another.
They did plan for the worst however. If her past ever came to
light, they would reveal that most of those she killed were monsters
and evil, and that by killing them she had made their lands safer.
Those that didn’t fit their narrative were conveniently forgotten, and
though Sophia wasn’t exactly proud of it she did nothing to stop
Alexandra’s machinations.
She knew her lover risked too much by taking her as a wife,
whatever qualms she had about the whole matter paled in
comparison to that.
Fortunately, it seemed luck was on their side for once, and the
years passed by and no one ever found about Sophia’s sordid past.
It didn’t take long for her to get pregnant, and one day she stopped
and looked at herself in the mirror, saw her swollen belly, and
thought back to her mother, to what the woman must have felt
when she got pregnant for the first time.
It was one of the occasions where she most missed the other
woman.
Alexandra and Sophia were happy together, as most soulmates
ended up being. Their rule was fair and just, their people loved
them, and they had many children together. Neither of them ever
regretted meeting one another, nor the manner in which it had
happened. At the end of their lives, they could even laugh about it.
Their lives were well spent, and they died within days of each
other, following into the afterlife together.
The end

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Photo. by Emri Kopte
THE CHIEF SNAKE-PRIEST. LEADER IN THE WALPI CEREMONIES
At the upper end of the kiva was an elaborate sand-painting after the
fashion of the Navajo, no doubt another adoption, of foreign origin. A
sand-painting is a mosaic-like picture of Indian symbols and fetishes,
worked out in colored sands. This was surrounded or fenced by peeled
wands, placed close together on end. And at this ceremonial altar stood,
practically nude, two of my schoolboys, bronzed lads of about sixteen,
who had taken part that morning in the sunrise race.

Under the ladder and on the main floor a number of older Indians were
grouped, having close to them large bowls of clay holding water or other
liquids. And these priests were arrayed for a ceremony. The sacred-meal
pouches were in evidence. Soon a chant was intoned. The Hopi chants
are primitive, but have in them an echo of Catholic litanies. I have seen a
Hopi priest anoint with and toss the sacred meal just as his forbears saw
the padres bless the people. The Hopi is an assiduous adapter. And while
listening to the chanting, I have often expected to catch the response: “Ora
pro nobis.” The padres were sacrificed to the desert gods in that red revolt
of 1680, but their peaches dry each season on the pueblo housetops, and
Hopi ceremonies carry an unconscious echo of the black-robes who
taught the solemnity of ritual.

Around the walls of the kiva, at the height of one’s head, were wooden
pegs set in the stone, and draped over these were masks and costumes.
As my position at the end of the platform brought me close to one of these
bundles, I leaned against it and the wall, half turned, to give an eye to the
nearest snakes of my corner, and another eye to the proceedings of the
elders. A snake wriggled out [273]from the pile and came closer; but the
Indian who had received us waved him back with a feather-whip.
Someone was watching that sector, and I grew more confident.

We stood there for a little time in silence. From above came the noises of
the crowd, thronging through the village streets. One could look up
through the square opening of the entrance and see the blue Arizona sky.
The ladder was very comforting. Several of the guests sat down on the
edge of the platform, but I did not. I leaned comfortably against my pile of
regalia, and kept a wide-angled view of the whole interior.
Then one of the Indians crossed the platform, gathered a few snakes and
passed them swiftly to the old men at the bowls. They uttered invocations,
stretched the snakes out, and anointed them with meal, all the while
chanting in a low tone. A number of the men had lined up against the wall,
carrying rattles and insignia. They too began a chant. And then suddenly
the old men plunged the snakes into the water of the bowls—a quick,
unceremonious ducking; the choir raising its chant to a savage crescendo.
It was no longer rhythmic and solemn. It was like a scream of death, a
wild, unreasoning challenge that ended in a blood-curdling shriek; and at
that final cry the snakes were hurled up the kiva, to fall on the sand-
painting. The peeled wands were knocked over by their swirling bodies.
Somnolent before, the snakes now waked up, and twisted about, seeking
escape, their heads raised, their tongues darting in and out. A hissing and
whirring sounded. Their movements in the sand caused the design to be
obliterated.

Now came another handful of snakes, swiftly passed for the baptism, and
again the low chanting, but faster now, faster, and always that wild ending
of the chant, and [274]the throwing of the reptiles. More and more snakes
squirmed on the wrecked sand-painting. All the wands were down now.
And in among the snakes, with a calmness that chilled the blood, walked
my two schoolboys, nude as Adam, hustling back to the sand those that
darted for the walls. Twice snakes reached the stone bench along the
kiva’s end and, climbing it, sought crevices of the upper wall. Each time a
boy reached for the disappearing truant and nonchalantly dragged him
back to his place in this wildest of pagan rites.

Finally all the snakes had been removed from our corners, and several
inches of them made a moving carpet where had been the mosaic. There
came a pause, a significant cessation of action, as if the priests had
reached an unexpected, unforeseen part of the service. There was a quick
consultation among the head-men. One of the boys, Edward, began
looking around. He went to the nearest peg and removed some of the
costumes, dropping a mask to the floor. He examined the mask. Then he
went to another peg and performed this same search. And then he came
straight toward me, at the end of the platform.
“What is it, Edward?” I asked him.

“We had sixty-five rattlesnakes, Mr. Crane,” he replied stolidly, “and now
we count but sixty-four. Let me look through those dresses you are leaning
against. That other one may be—”

“Excuse me,” I said hurriedly, as I went up the ladder. [275]

[Contents]
XXI
 DESERT BELASCOS
Of course all Indians should not be forced into the same
mould. Let us try to give each his chance to develop what
is best in him. Moreover, let us be wary of interfering
overmuch with either his work or his play. It is mere
tyranny, for instance, to stop all Indian dances. Some
which are obscene or dangerous must be prohibited.
Others should be permitted, and many of them
encouraged. Nothing that tells for the joy of life, in any
community, should be lightly touched. Roosevelt: A
Booklover’s Holidays.

When I first read this, I thought of and began to compare the different types of
Indian dances and ceremonies I had witnessed: the Butterfly, Basket, and Corn
dances, the Snake and Flute Dances of the Hopi; the Medicine Sings, and
squaw dances, and the Ye-be-chai of the Navajo; the colorful pageants of the
Pueblos, after Catholic Mass is celebrated on the name-days of their patron
saints, and the fiesta begins; the memorial ceremony of the Mohave, and their
cremation of the dead. And those slam-bang, whirlwind dances of the Sioux.

Some of these were commemorative; some were fixed ceremonials; some were
of little moment; some seemed nothing more serious than masquerades; some
were filled with superstition and had just a touch of smoldering fanaticism under
the veneer of paint and feathers. A few were social gatherings, a break in the
monotony of existence, having in them “the joy of life.” And while all of the native
dances should have thrown around them a thin [276]line of supervision and
restraint, many of them should be by no means “lightly touched.”

The Snake Dance may be dangerous, and it is certainly revolting at first sight.
And perhaps it should be prohibited. That is a point of view. I am not thoroughly
convinced of its danger to Indians, since I never heard of a Hopi dying from
snake-bite. I saw so many Snake Dances that the edge has been dulled from
my original thrill. If tourists were denied the pleasure of seeing it, I believe the
ceremony would soon languish, and pass away entirely with the going of the
elders from the mesa stage. Certainly I sought to prevent its perpetuation
through the initiation of children, but without result, for I was unsupported in this,
and alone I feared my inability to stifle a pagan war.
But of those things that should be dealt with gently, the tiny shows that the
vacationist seldom sees and the Bureau has never heard of, I recall the Dance
of the Dolls.

One afternoon, at First Mesa, I came along a trail toward the witch’s camp,
meaning to start for home once the team was harnessed. I met an Indian of the
district walking with my interpreter, and was about to give direction concerning
the horses when the latter said:—

“He wants you to stay and see the Dolls’ Dance.”

Now I had quite a collection of Hopi dolls, those quaint figurines carved with
some skill from pieces of cottonwood, and dressed in the regalia of twig and
feather and fur to represent the various katchinas of the clans. But I had never
heard of a dance devoted to these little mannequins.

“What sort of dance is that?” I asked.

“It is called the Dolls-Grind-Corn dance,” he replied.

“When—to-morrow?” thinking of those monotonous [277]open-air drills, having

various names but scarcely to be distinguished one from the other.

“No. To-night, in the kiva.”

This interested me. I could see that the interpreter longed to remain overnight
among his people, and to take in this show.

“Well,” I said, “is it worth climbing that mesa in the dark?”

“I think you would like it,” he answered; “it is a funny little dance, and the children
go to see it.”

So I did not order up the team.

After supper, when the twilight had faded into that clouded blackness before the
stars appear, I scrambled after my guide up the mesa trail. When we reached
the end of that panting climb, the houses of the people were murkily lighted by
their oil lamps, but most of the householders were abroad, going toward the
various kivas. To the central one we went, and down the ladder.
The place was lighted by large swinging lamps, borrowed for the occasion from
the trader, lamps that have wide tin shades and may be quickly turned to
brilliancy or darkness by a little wheel at the side. I had expected to find it a
gloomy place, whereas they had arranged something very like the lighting of a
theatre. It was a trifle difficult to find a place in that crowded vault. The far end
was kept clear, but the two long sides and the ladder-end were packed with Hopi
women and their little ones. Just as I have seen in our theatres, the children
could scarcely repress their nervous interest, now sitting, now standing on tiptoe,
turning and watching, as if this would hasten matters.

I seated myself on the lower rung of the ladder, believing this place would be
most desirable from my point [278]of view, because from it I had a view of the
kiva’s centre and could most easily make my way to the upper air when things
became too thick. A crowded kiva is rather foreign in atmosphere when filled to
its capacity and with lamps going. But I soon found that I would be disturbed.
From above came the noise of rattles and the clank of equipment, calls and the
shuffling of feet. A line of dancers descended upon me. I moved to let them pass
into the lighted centre-space. They were garbed in all the color and design of
Hopi imagination, and wore grotesque masks. They lined up, and I sensed that
their mission was one of merrymaking. Two clowns headed the band, and soon
had the audience convulsed. They hopped about, postured, and carried on a
rapid dialogue. There was a great deal of laughter.

I had my usual experience in trying to gain a knowledge of the show through an

interpreter, quite the same as that lady who accompanied an attaché to hear a
speech by Bismarck in the Reichstag. You will remember that the visitor kept
demanding interpretation, whereas the attaché remained silent, intently listening,
as the Iron Chancellor droned on, monotonously voluble.

“What does he say?” asked the visitor for the fifth time.

“Madam,” replied the attaché, “I am waiting for the verb!”

And that is about as far as I ever got toward exact knowledge of the clowns in
any dance. I have tried it many times. The interpreter always enjoyed the show
for himself, first, and left me in outer darkness. Occasionally he would attempt to
explain some part of the horseplay in progress, probably such simple portions as
he thought my feeble intellect would rise to. [279]

“You see,” he would begin, pointing, “he is one of the uncles!”

And apparently there are always two, paternal and maternal, I suppose. The
uncle is the great man of the Hopi family. The father does not amount to much—
he can be divorced in a jiffy and, while the mother is the household boss, she is
always dominated by the grandmother, if living, and dictated to by the uncle in
matters concerning alliances with other families. Perhaps one should call him a
social arbiter. He has a great deal to say about weddings, marriage portions,
and the like. Whenever I have watched the clowns at these smaller dances, and
have asked their rôles in the play, invariably they have been of the uncles.
Perhaps the Hopi in this manner square themselves at the expense of the family
martinet.

I could not see that there was anything to cause suspicion of evil in this little
scene. In old Navajo dances the clowns would often engage in dialogue that
interpreters feared to translate. This is the charge too against the clowns of
certain Pueblo and Zuni dances; and the clowns of the Hopi have been known to
indulge in antics that were not elevating. I cannot bring myself to believe,
however, that the clowns of the Dolls’ Dance were relating anything other than
crude witticisms, for the little children laughed as loudly as the others, and it
seemed sheer fooling. Had a slapstick been in evidence, I should have been
sure of the nature of the proceedings; but the Indians have not developed
exactly this form of humor.

Then the dancers filed out, up the ladder, and away.

“They go to another kiva,” said my companion.

And almost immediately came another and different set of fun-makers. They
took the centre of the kiva and [280]soon had all laughing at similar jokes and
grimaces. So, I thought, the old tiresome reel over again, to be continued
throughout the night. For I had seen this dancing in relays last an entire day,
only stopping for hasty meals and new costumes or make-up, and to one who
does not understand the differences in scenes it becomes an intense boredom.
As I once heard a man remark: “They are three days making ready for one day’s
dancing, and the rest of the week getting over it.” This critic was not too severe,
for there is much to be said about the time lost in Hopi spectacles, when one is
seriously engaged in thrusting them along the pathway of progress. I arose and
was about to depart; but my interpreter pulled me down.

“Wait!” he urged. “They will put out the lights.”

This time the dancers did not leave the kiva. One of them came to the lamp just
above me, and at a signal all the lights were dimmed. The kiva was in thick
darkness. One could hear childish sighs of expectation. Perhaps the lights were
off for thirty seconds, although it did not seem so long. Then they flared up, to
reveal a curious little scene that had been constructed in the dark. I had not
noticed that the dancers packed anything in with them. The setting may have
been in that crowded kiva all the time; but where had it been concealed?

At any rate, it was a queer little show, quite like that of our old friend Punch.
There was a painted screen of several panels, and in the centre ones were two
dolls, fashioned to represent Hopi maidens. Before each was the corn-grinding
metate. And farther extended on the floor before them and their stone tubs was
a miniature cornfield—the sand, and the furrows, and the hills of tiny plants.

Hardly had the first sigh of pleased surprise from the children died away, when,
even to my astonishment, the [281]dolls became animated, and with odd life-like
motions began to grind corn, just as the women grind daily in the houses of the
villages, crushing the hard grain between the stone surfaces of the metate and
the mano. These mannequins worked industriously, and with movements not at
all mechanical. Then a little bird fluttered along the top of the screen, piping and
whistling. Shrills of delight from the youngsters, to be followed by audible gasps,
for from a side panel came twisting a long snake, to dart among the corn hills of
the scenic field, and then to retreat backward through the hole from which it had
appeared. These actions followed each other in quick succession. The fellow
behind the screen was quite skillful in working his marionettes for the delight of
those children of the tribe.

Perhaps in all this there was some deep-laid symbolism, checking rigidly with
the North Star and the corn harvests of the past and future. Perhaps it was a
primitive object-lesson, to encourage thrift and industry as a bulwark against
famine. But if you ask me, I saw in it exactly a repetition of the district
schoolhouse or the country chapel at holiday time, when Cousin Elmer obliges
with a droll exhibition of whiskers and sleighbells and cotton snowflakes.
Sometimes the Hopi at these festivals for children give them presents too, and a
handful of piki-bread bestowed by a clown, however bizarre his facial
appearance, has all the gift-wonder of our childhood Santa Claus and his
treasure-pack.
Touch gently! They—all children will be gone soon enough. A little while and you
can rest from anæmic policies and sophist sermons. The Desert will be lonely
without its simple shepherds and their simple customs. Those who strain to
inherit it, through legislation, will [282]pack with them no poetry and attract no
culture. Great cattle- and sheep-camps, monopolies, grimy oil-rigs, and yawning
coal-drifts will mar the Desert. A few old books, a few paintings,—their creators
gone, too,—will picture what you once possessed, and experimented with, and
auctioned off. For one Shelton, discredited perhaps by a clamor of
sanctimonious mediocrity, you have entrusted these people and their empire to
twenty Bumbles. Twice you have sought to partition their community life, to
make swift the end, to hasten the advent of the speculator who follows estates
and bids for the possessions of the dead. At length,—because at length you will
succeed in selling the desert heritage,—there will be only the museum case, and
dust, and a ticket.

The days of approach to a major celebration in the Desert, such as the Snake
Dance, were passed in a ferment of preparation and a stew of unrest. All
employees would be imposed on in one way or another. Some would be called
on to act as stewards, others would surrender their quarters to house
unappreciative idlers. And certainly the men would have to drag cars from
muddy sloughs, ferry them across dangerous washes, repair them when broken,
and perhaps by main strength push some into havens of rest. Certain camps
would have to be arranged, and some supplied. No! we did not welcome these
extra duties, so often repaid with meagre thanks.

But we did enjoy meeting cordial people, both neighbors and visitors, who,
catching the holiday freedom of the moment, invigorated by the tonic of the fresh
desert air, gave us entertainment of a kind that was relief from long monotonies.
Photo. by Emri Kopte
THE ENCHANTED DESERT AND THE MOQUI BUTTES, SEEN FROM THE PUEBLO OF
WALPI

The Snake Dance ends very close to sunset. The [283]crowds leave the mesa-
top, down the trails afoot or mule-back, down the rocky roads in rough wagons,
a scrambling multitude. The sun is gilding the western walls of First Mesa,
throwing the east-side roads and trails in shadow, and above, the ruined crest of
the headland loom black in a gorgeous halo. The farther eastern valley is bathed
in a strange lemon light. The far-away northern capes gleam luminously in
scarlet and gold, and then suddenly are gone. Huh-kwat-we, the Terrace of the
Winds, pales in lavender and grayish green. Twilight, with its mysterious desert
hush, steals over Hopi-land. Something has been fulfilled in accordance with an
ancient prophecy. The desert gods have been appeased.

Soon it is dark, and stars appear as vesper candles. And then, all about the foot
of the great fortress-like mesa, lighting the sand dunes, gleaming warmly
through the peach trees, grow camp-fires. Where is usually a heavy silence at
evening, broken only by sheep bells, now one hears laughter, many voices, the
sound of the chef at work; and the smell of cooking rises. Coffee and bacon,
desert fare, spread their aroma, and a ravenous hunger comes to one. Here is a
tiny group about a tented auto, there amid horses and harness and camp
dunnage are thirty around one board. “Come and get it!”

I recall incidents of my introduction to these scenes. Armijo, the trader’s relative,

had brought his treasured violin. I heard its tones from the trail, and when I came
to Hubbell’s camp, there a group of them, musicians of the posts, were making
ready to match their skill against the melody that tourists bring. Supper put away,
the concert began.

“How do you like this?” asked the master of the bow, and as he swept the
strings, that saddest of memory songs [284]cried poignantly, a song fit for a
desert night and a desert camp: La Golondrina! Such harmonies of double-
stopping I had seldom heard. It seemed to me—or was it desert magic?—that
Kreisler could do no more. Silence. And then applause from fifty camps.

And Ed’s guitar. Soon the lilting airs of old fandangos would sing through the
stunted trees, and one could imagine that the long-dead children of the padres
made fiesta.

“Now, Doctor,” said someone.

“What do you play, Doctor?” I asked.

“I play the banjo,” he replied—I thought with a shade of mockery in his voice.
Now I had just heard the Spaniard’s violin sob a song that had swept a nation,
and Ed’s lightsome Mexican airs were no mean music for a summer camp.
Night, under the old trees and in the shadow of the mesa of the gods, brings the
romance of serenades, especially soothing after a long, tiresome day.

But—a banjo! That thumpety, plankety, plunkety thing! I was sorry I had spoken.
He would oblige with something to fit clogs and the levee, and the whole
atmosphere of that evening would vanish, never to return! The doctor opened a
case.

“What would you like to hear?”

That is a terrible question from a banjoist, isn’t it?

“Well—what do you play?”

“Oh! the—anything—popular classic stuff. Now there’s the Melody in F or
Mendelssohn’s Spring Song, Schubert’s Serenade, the Fifth Nocturne—”

“Great God!” I cried. “On a banjo!”

I think he pulled this little joke on all strangers, for, after allowing it thoroughly to
soak in, he brought that wonder instrument closer to the fire and began
strumming [285]the strings of it until its resonant cadences hushed all the noises
of the camps. Then, softly through the grove, sounded the Melody in F, in organ
tones.

Of course you will perceive that I am no musician and no critic. I have not the
ear of the one, nor the language of the other. I am simply one of those who like
to hear what I like—hopeless. The Andante from the Sonata Pathétique haunted
and eluded me for years and, but for a wandering pianist disguised as an
investigator, I might have classed it with a dream. Sordid duties dull one to
accept coarser things on a phonograph.

“Yes,” said the doctor, “I have played through the East and on Canadian circuits,
but I don’t care for the stage. I took up concert work, traveling with glee clubs
and orchestras, but that wasn’t much better. Hurried life. I like the quiet places.”

And he was a doctor in the Indian Service!

Someone called: “Play it again!” And he played it again—on a banjo!

Down under the hill were camped a bunch of troubadours that once had trooped
with a second company, passing as the Original New York Cast. By the light of a
lantern they played accompaniments on an old melodeon, dragged from the
schoolhouse. A rousing chorus, and then a tenor voice: the Irish Love Song.
Followed a roar of applause that brought drowsy Indians to the mesa edge.
Strange Americanos! Strange Bohannas, who mock at drums and chanting, and
who then make such queer music and many cries.

And by midnight the fires would die down, one by one, to mere glows. The
pueblo lights, high up along the mesa cornice, would be blotted out. Beyond the
camps, only the sound of horses munching, the bray of a desert [286]nightingale
from the upper corrals, or the canter of a mounted policeman through the sand,
as he gave a last look around before rolling in his blanket. Then silence under
the dark star-strewn sky, a tranquil desert silence, to be broken, perhaps—who
knows?—by ghostly sandals, as the padre walked to see that curious company,
asleep in his one-time garden, guests of a pagan feast. [287]
[Contents]
XXII
 ON THE HEELS OF ADVENTURE
I have lived both at the Hawes and Burford in a perpetual
flutter, on the heels, as it seems, of some adventure that
should justify the place; but though the feeling had me to
bed at night and called me up again at morning in one
unbroken round of pleasure and suspense, nothing befell
me in either worth remark. The man or the hour had not
yet come; but some day, I think, a boat shall put off from
the Queen’s Ferry, fraught with a dear cargo, and some
frosty night a horseman, on a tragic errand, rattle with his
whip upon the green shutters of the inn at Burford.—
Stevenson: A Gossip on Romance

Adventure! The Standard Dictionary divides it, like Gaul, into three parts,
peculiarly interrelated, yet thinly divisible from each other:—(1) A remarkable or
hazardous experience; an unexpected or exciting occurrence. (2) A hazardous
or uncertain undertaking; a daring feat. (3) The encountering of risks; daring and
hazardous enterprise.

And the writing of it has come to signify swift dramatic action, having a spirited
and triumphant finale.

But life in the Desert,—for that matter, life anywhere,—does not advance to a
whiplash conclusion. One may not dismiss unwelcome characters simply
because convenience or stark justice demands Finis. Despite taut emotions and
unsavory possibilities, they go on living and muddling up the action; and the sun
rises, and to-morrow is another day. My personal experiences among the
Indians in the lonely places have not been [288]exactly hazardous or desperately
daring from my point of view, indeed, not half so venturesome as nights I have
spent in New York. One will have to accept these reminiscences as simply
unusual and I hope not uninteresting happenings, with what of thrill they may
inspire. Would you insist that I lug in ghosts or bandits? Should I stage a
massacre? Perhaps I could contrive to have Youkeoma abduct the trader’s
daughter, and arrange a nick-of-time rescue by the cavalry. But Youkeoma was
interested in ceremonies only, as he told me, and the trader had no daughter. I
should therefore libel a sincere pagan and a bachelor business-man.
Now it strikes me that there is more of nervous drama in Colonel Scott’s going
alone into a half-hostile camp, facing down a band of sullen fellows, and coming
out with obedience to his decisions. It strikes me, too, that in these desert camps
that have known so little of discipline, with no force in the offing and no hope of
one, is the real drama of an Agent’s life. I can relate my kind of thrill, but there
will be little of dramatic conclusions. Nothing of wild rides, and pursuits, and
ambuscades; nothing of foiled villains, and certainly nothing of beautiful maidens
in distress. This last the Indian Service does not invite, and if accidentally
acquired does not long retain.

The nearest to that sort of adventure I ever came was in meeting the mail-hack
one cold sunset, far from the Agency. It was driven by a half-frozen Mexican who
could speak no English beyond: “Buenas dias, señor. Mucho frio. No savvy.”

There was a pleasing young woman with him, who said she was a teacher,
ordered to report to the Agent at Keams Cañon. Our meeting-place was about
thirty miles from the last post-house, and quite ninety miles from the [289]railroad.
I can imagine how strange and timid one feels under such conditions. It had
been a bleak day, and a keen night was coming on. My auto would reach the
Agency hours before those two weary bronks could plod in; so I introduced
myself, and said she would travel quicker to the Agency with me. She looked me
over: dingy hat, rusty puttees, red nose, everything—and decided to remain with
the voluble Mexican.

I can remember leaving Chin Lee one winter’s night, black shadows on the
snow-covered desert and a razor-edged wind coming straight out of that huge
funnel, Cañon de Chelly, to go seventy-five miles to Kayenta, the most isolated
post-office and trading-post in the United States. I had been bluffed into it by my
friend, the Water-Witch, who wanted to save the morrow’s daylight.

“Can you stand an all-night hike?” he asked, solicitously. “Sing out if you can’t.
There’s a good bed here, and—”

“I’m game for it, if you are,” I said, but without enthusiasm.

The engine of his emaciated Ford clucked, and the snow crunched under its
wheels. For the first hour a brisk conversation kept us illuminated and fairly
warm. Then it grew deadly cold, with that relentless, piercing cold to be
experienced only at night in those cruelly bleak, windswept, desert wastes. I bit
down on my pipe to prevent my teeth castanetting. I felt of my face to be sure it