1
" Eena turned aside, breathing shallowly as her mind raced with questions. She was glad he couldn’t read the confusion that swooped her up like a passing tornado. Was it even possible to genuinely love more than one man?
Yes. Oh, yes.
She knew it because her heart irrefutably felt it. She loved Derian; it was true. She wasn’t trying to convince herself of it, no matter what Edgar said. She yearned deeply for her captain.
But she loved Ian too. She always had. Only she purposefully, appropriately, had set those feelings aside when he made the decision to pursue Angelle.
But Angelle was gone now.
No, Eena thought to herself, this changes nothing. She scolded her heart for longing for something spent and ended, for even considering the possibility. Her with Ian? No, no, it had to remain in the past. "
― Richelle E. Goodrich , Eena, The Two Sisters (The Harrowbethian Saga #4)
3
" They went back to scooping up breakfast, licking the mess off their fingers. Soon the pile of berry mush was gone and their tongues were dyed a nice midnight blue. Ian seemed in a good mood, sticking his tongue out playfully at his best friend. Eena did likewise, right back at him. She was happy he was smiling, even if his teeth were purple.
(You’re too much fun, Eena,) Ian announced in her mind. (I’m really glad we’re friends.)
(Me too,) she agreed. (Best friends.)
Ian leaned back on his hands and watched the waves roll in from far off. The swells were building into large, flat-crested waves.
(Angelle never thought like you do. You’re creative and kinda crazy. Her thoughts were always more simple and, well…..normal.)
(Yeah, well, deadly dragons and evil witches tend to suck all the normal right out of you,) she grumbled.
(I suppose.) "
― Richelle E. Goodrich , Eena, The Two Sisters (The Harrowbethian Saga #4)
6
" Stop tormenting Derian.”
“Me?” Edgar gaped at her with a clearly fake look of innocence.
“Yes, you.”
“And what about you? When will you stop tormenting him?” Edgar moved past the young queen to approach the unmoving captain. He circled the man as though he were checking out a statue on display
“I’m not tormenting him; why would you say that?”
“You have the poor guy believing you actually intend to marry him.” Edgar stopped to fix the captain’s collar, raising it up high and stiff around his neck.
“I do intend to marry him.” Eena followed her immortal watchdog and folded down the captain’s collar, repositioning it as it had been.
“Oh please,” Edgar groaned. “You’ve had two opportunities to do so, and on both occasions you turned him down.” Edgar elevated the captain’s elbow—adjusting him like a mannequin—leaving it in an awkward position. “The council expressed a desire for you to marry, and you nearly hyperventilated over the mere suggestion. And just recently, due to his own paranoia, Derian all but begged you to marry him. Your refusal couldn’t have been more swift or more adamant.”
Eena returned the captain’s elbow to his side as she retorted, “I’m only seventeen, Edgar! I have no desire to marry anyone right now. But when I am ready, Derian will be my husband.”
Edgar took hold of the captain’s outreaching arm and shoved it forcefully down. “He will not.”
“He will so!” Eena raised the arm back to where it had been and warned her rival, “Don’t touch him again, Edgarmetheus!”
“Fine, fine,” the immortal ceded. Then with a smug grin he added, “If this had been Ian, you would never have let me touch him in the first place. "
― Richelle E. Goodrich , Eena, The Two Sisters (The Harrowbethian Saga #4)
7
" Eena worried to Ian in her thoughts. (You’re not going to let him walk away thinking what I think he’s thinking, are you?)
(You won't change his mind. The evidence is a little suggestive. You should have just stayed behind me.)
(Oh, this is all my fault?)
(Well, you were the one swimming in your underwear.)
(And you’re the one who took your shirt off!)
(You think the alternative would have been better?)
She shuttered at the thought of the Braetic stumbling across her in her underclothes.
“Cale,” Eena said in another attempt to convince the stranger. Somehow she managed to sidestep Ian’s effort to halt her, and she approached the man. “I am not messing around with my protector. I am, and always have been, true and faithful to Derian. It’s just……a lot of weird things have happened lately.”
The Braetic looked willing to consider a good excuse. “Such as?”
“Well,” she started, casting a furtive glance at Ian. He was shaking his head, conveying strong disapproval. She ignored him.
“Okay, well…..I’ve been fighting these immortals who are bent on using me to break free from an imprisoning gem where they were sentenced to stayed locked up for eternity. They nearly annihilated a world of Viiduns—that’s how awful they are! But one of these immortals has control over my necklace, and her brother keeps transporting me and my protector all over Moccobatra in search of pieces to a star-shaped platform they intend to use to free their bodies which have been trapped for over three-thousand years now. We were sent here at an inopportune—and highly embarrassing—moment to find the final piece to the platform. It’s been a nightmare just trying to stay alive!”
“Wow,” Cale breathed, not looking half as concerned as Eena thought he ought to. “So these immortals are using you and trying to kill you at the same time?”
She shook her head. “No, no, only the dragons are trying to kill me…or they were trying to kill me until Naga put a stop to them.” Eena heard Ian’s hand smack against his forehead. She saw humor sweep over the Braetic’s face. It made her angry.
“Dragons too, huh?” Cale snickered.
“It’s the truth!” she insisted.
(Eena, just forget it. You’re only making it worse.)
She ignored her protector’s advice again. “Cale, I’m telling you the honest-to-goodness truth. Do you know the story of Wanyaka Cave? The red-gemmed prison and the two spirit sisters?”
Completely out of patience, Ian broke into the conversation, rudely speaking over his queen. “We’ll be on our way now, sir. We apologize for trespassing.”
With a big grin on his face, the Braetic offered a friendly alternative. “Why don’t the pair of you accompany me home. I’m sure my wife can round up some suitable clothing for you. Those immortals must have a ripe sense of humor, leaving you alone in the woods without any decent attire.” He caught a chuckle in his throat. “That is unless it was the dragons who took the shirt off your back.”
“Dragons are immortals!” Eena snapped, as if any fool ought to know it.
Ian flashed her a harsh look. “We would greatly appreciate the help, sir.”
“Oh, it’ll cost you something,” Cale informed them, “but we can discuss that on our way. "
― Richelle E. Goodrich , Eena, The Two Sisters (The Harrowbethian Saga #4)
8
" Derian pulled the blanket snug around himself. “This is my added assurance.”
Eena wrinkled her nose as if she thought his answer was odder than his actions. “It’s your what?”
“If you recall the last time we were here standing in this very spot, you pelted me with neumberries.” He held up a single berry before popping it into his mouth. “I doubt you would risk soiling your blanket, so I figure wrapping it around me this way I’m pretty much assured safety from any potential attack.”
He winked playfully, and she laughed out loud.
“I’m afraid you don’t know me half as well as you think,” she announced. Aiming low, she flung a sizable berry at his calf. It hit its mark.
“Whoa, whoa!” He lowered the blanket to cover his legs.
“You can’t hide yourself entirely, Derian,” she said, aiming for his face. He ducked, raising the blanket like a shield in the process.
Another round of ammunition pelted his ankles before he decided it was time to fight back. Eena found herself bound up in her own blanket, arms wrapped securely at her sides. She laughed nonstop, unable to move within his strong hold. Derian leaned forward until their noses touched, and then he kissed her giggles silent. He kept her in the blanket, snug and close to him, but Eena managed to wriggle an arm free and drape it around his neck, holding his lips in reach. She uttered a quick count in between kisses.
“Seven,” she breathed.
Derian paused, his mouth a whisper away from hers. It tickled when he spoke.
“No, no, Eena.”
“No what?”
“No counting. Not today. No ground rules.”
She barely uttered a partial “’kay” before his mouth covered hers again. His hot breath tasted like breakfast. He fixed his hands on each side of her face, and the blanket fell to the ground. As the intensity of their kisses grew hungry, he gripped her cheeks more securely. Eena could feel the air electrifying around them. Her heartbeat drummed—excited and anxious.
“Derian…” she breathed. But he didn’t stop.
She felt his hand move to support her neck while the other slid down her back, urging her closer. She brought her arms together and pressed against his chest, somewhat objecting to the intimacy.
“Derian…” she tried again. But he covered her mouth with his own.
She pushed more firmly against him without success. Her protest weakened as his kisses softened. The fervor subsided, and she could feel her wild pulse even out. Amidst a string of supple kisses, Derian’s breathing slowed. He planted his lips on her forehead for a moment before squeezing her tenderly. She snuggled up against his warm chest.
“One ground rule,” he whispered in her ear. “We stop when you say ‘when.’”
“When,” she uttered.
“Okay,” he agreed.
Then, as if the thought had just occurred to her, she stepped back to look up questioningly at the captain. “Wasn’t there a leftover sandwich in that basket from last night?”
His lips formed a guilty smile as he confessed, “Yes—and it was delicious. "
― Richelle E. Goodrich , Eena, The Two Sisters (The Harrowbethian Saga #4)
9
" You know the story.” The Nalnom rotated his hand in the air as if she should recall it.
“I don’t. I’ve never heard the story.”
Joshlon summarized it for her. “Prometheus was turned into a dragon by his angry lover, Naradite. She refused to turn him back into his manly form. He became the first fire-breathing dragon—Naga the Terrible.”
Eena dropped her lower jaw. “What?”
“Naradite turned Prometheus into a dragon,” Joshlon repeated. “Naga.”
“And Prometheus is Edgar’s father?” She was sure the surrounding stares were the result of her virtually shouting out the question.
Joshlon answered with some hesitance in his voice. “I don’t know who Edgar is, but Edgarmetheus was supposedly the son of Prometheus, the illegitimate child of him and his lover, Naradite.”
“Oh. My. Gosh!” Eena exclaimed. “Naga is Edgar’s father!”
Joshlon’s lip curled. He didn’t look like he was following her emotional outburst. “Sha Eena, are you trying to tell me that this is all for real? And Naga is the undefeatable enemy you’re fighting?”
Her hazel eyes focused on him instantly. “Oh, no, no, not Naga! Out of all the immortals, he’s the nice one!”
Joshlon looked confused. “Naga the Terrible is the nice one?”
“Yes,” Eena nodded assuredly. “Edgar is the…” She halted mid-sentence. Joshlon had stopped moving. In fact, all the surrounding Nalnoms were frozen in place, skeptical expressions stuck on their faces. Her eyes fell closed when she heard the disgruntled voice behind her.
“I’m the what?” he grumbled lowly. “I’d really love to hear the end of that sentence, Amora. "
― Richelle E. Goodrich , Eena, The Two Sisters (The Harrowbethian Saga #4)
10
" Tell me you didn’t,” she groaned, knowing it would not be the truth. “Please tell me you didn’t take advantage of these poor people.”
“I didn’t,” he chirped.
“Liar.”
With an irritated sigh he tried to convince her. “Amora, you’re not seeing things from an immortal perspective. The people who built this temple…”
“Temple?” she cried, cutting him off. “You forced these people to build you a temple? Why? Because all of a sudden you’re God now?”
Perturbed by her interruption, he raised a warning finger. “No, no, Amora, not God. But from their viewpoint I may seem a bit…..god-like.”
She rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner.
“If you would let me finish,” he went on, “these particular individuals had no part in the construction of that monument; it was their ancestors who erected it. And I must say, they did a fine job. My likeness has weathered the centuries quite well.”
“You’re despicable.”
He frowned at the insult. “Nobody was forced to build us a temple, Amora. They chose to do so.”
“You were that impressive to them, huh?”
“Apparently.” His eyes twinkled at the memory. He took a few steps toward the distant city, pulling Eena along. “Come on, let’s go have some fun.”
“No way.” She planted her feet, refusing. Surprisingly it put a stop to him.
“And why not?”
“Because your sudden appearance will upset them! No doubt you’ll want to show off with some shockingly grand entrance. I’m not going to take part in a game of deceit.”
“I’m not deceiving anyone,” Edgar disputed. “I can’t help it if they happen to think I’m perfectly magnificent.”
His pompous view of himself earned a nasty look as well as a lecture. “I can’t believe you’re okay with selling people lies that affect the way they live and think! You’re not even close to being a god, Edgar, and yet you allow them to accept you as some sort of deity because of your unusual abilities. For centuries now you’ve abandoned this world and a population who probably looked to you and your lousy sisters for help. It’s all a big, disgusting sham!”
Edgar pouted like a child. “Fine—spoil all my fun. We’ll go do something else. Something that doesn’t include your poor, fragile, stupid mortals.”
“They’re not stupid.”
“They think I’m a god,” he snapped.
That was a pretty good argument. "
― Richelle E. Goodrich , Eena, The Two Sisters (The Harrowbethian Saga #4)
