Suddenly the mare gave one last burst of energy, leaving Zoar and Maliek chasing their tail until they reached the end of the trail. Lyolis and Zoar brought their mounts to a halt, in a vast valley full of purplish-blue flowers that produced the soft, calming fragrance. The two giggled, their horses trotting around one another beneath the lilac cloak.
"You've improved. And the mare ran so fast, for a moment I thought she had wings."
Lyolis giggled, running her hand against the beasts crown. "She is a special breed. And together we make a marvelous team."
The horse's halted their dance, and Lyolis looked upon a field of vibrant purple, making the lilac sky nearly appear black. It was beautiful. Not even a dream or her imagination could pastel the floral-based canvas. The spirited tones enhancing the golden speckles in her eyes.
Zoar lowered himself to the ground then walked to her steed. He held out his arms, and she hesitated before giving in, sliding off the beasts bareback and into his warm embrace. Lyolis trusted Zoar, so valiant and vigorous, swinging her around while the violet fields and lilac sky smeared into colors of a bitter wine and a sweet jam.
Her moccasins found the ground, legs surrounded by the lavender that blossomed from the earth, filling the air with a soft, sweet fragrance that, for a moment, made her forget where they were. Zoar's eyes turned down upon her. They'd found that gentle kindness in the field, sparkling like violet moons. His hand stroked her cheek, drawing his spirit and warmth into her, while they slowly leaned in.
Lyolis couldn't form a thought. She was already visualizing the kiss that drew near; their lips pressed together, warm and wet, while the wind spun around them, lavender petals twirling, drawing them closer while their hearts beat gently in her chest. That is what she imagined, and when their lips drew inches apart, her dream did not match her reality.
"Get as many as you can!" A harsh, violent voice tore into the magic. "The Mayor needs acres, you hear … acres!"
Lyolis and Zoar's heads bobbed, eyes opening. Where the noise came from was a mystery. The man who produced it hidden behind the sea of purple petals. Lyolis shook her head, trying to find the door that led back into her dream, but it had vanished.
"I know who that voice belongs to …" Zoar said, grabbing the reins to the horses and leading them to the trees where they were tethered down and out of sight. He crouched, moving towards her like a nervous cub. When he reached her, the blackness in his eyes had returned. And with a pull of her hand, drew her to the ground. "It is him … we must stay out of sight."
Lyolis legs screamed, the flesh torn by the once beautiful flowers while her knees reddened due to the roots bulging from the ground. She found the trail where they'd come, hoping her guardians, Droom and Brylax, would appear like Knights from the old pioneers tales she read.
"Follow me," Zoar demanded, "I must know what vile plans they're conjuring next." Positioned on his hands and toes, he crawled like a prowling panther, ready for the kill, disappearing into the violet posies.
Lyolis reached after him and whispered, "don't leave me!" Her fear of being alone drove her to follow, crawling like the days when her mother scolded her as a child. You're not a bear, my youngling. You're a princess, and as princess must stand strong, her mother said. Though she didn't feel strong. Only afraid of what lurks beyond the violet cloak.
The voices drew louder as they drew closer, violent chops and riled heckles hid their steps. At twenty paces away Zoar stopped, staying down, using the flowers as his shield and shadows. She followed him, able to see beyond the posies into a once flourishing valley, just beyond a hill, now a waste of black soil and veiny roots.
"I can't take this smell much longer … are we done?" Butch asked, derooting mounds of flowers and dumping them into a basket on his back. He was wearing a white shirt and black trousers, with arms the size of logs. "The Mayor is a queer man."
A wild eyed man and pocked-faced woman raked pitchforks full of flowers into a wagon. The pile nearly spilling over.
One laughed feverishly, "I think it's about good…"
A younger boy, with a black hat and shirt, stood next to the scarred-faced man. Both with their own fields of black hairs planted across their bodies. Almost resembling apes. "Shut up and do as you're told," Mason said.
There's no doubt about it, they're kin. Lyolis thought. And the boy's as nasty as his father.
Butch ripped another patch, "Why does he need all of this shit anyway?"
Mitch said, "Isn't it obvious? To hide the wretched smell of the sick … If the townsfolk caught wind of what we're doing they wouldn't take too kindly to the Mayor, and it would foil his tournament."
"I knew it!" Zoar tried to stand but Lyolis held him tot. He glared at her hands. "Release me … This town is sick and we need to stop it from spreading."
Lyolis fear made her sound like her mother, "we are not certain what that means—"
Zoar yanked a stoned blade from his hip with free arm. "I must do now what I couldn't before."
"No," Lyolis said, tugging on his arm. "They will shoot you and do worse to me…"
Mitch waved a hand. "That is about enough," then climbed into the wagon, grabbing his rifle. Mason sat beside him grabbing the reins. "Hop in the back and let's get."
The others piled in, weighing down the flowers while the wagon shook and squealed and shriked beneath their weight.
Zoar pulled again, "I must go—"
Lyolis didn't know what came over her, all she knew is what she felt; her skin hot and beast blood boiling. She grabbed Zoar's cheeks, yanking his head with all her might then forced their lips to greet. It was not the wet and warm kiss she dreamed a moment ago. But a dry, rough-lipped smooch applied by two wild dogs.
Lyolis held firm against Zoar's tugs until he ripped his head away, shoving her back. Lyolis flopped into the flowers, twigs marking the flesh on her arms and legs. She cried out while Zoar stood, watching the wagon fade down the road. He glared down upon her, no longer the gentle prince she'd ridden in with, but a man drowned in the gloom of his anger.
He shouted, "Look what you did, you bitch!" Breathing heavy as a hog. "I'll just have to go at it alone …" He then looked beyond the fields, and stormed off, snapping posies beneath his moccasins.