Bodyguards (17 page)

She took a step back, breaking
free of him. “If you won’t take me back,” she said, blinking away the tears
that still gleamed in her eyes, “I’ll find a way back on my own. Or Anabel will
teach me before she...” She gulped and looked away. “But I’m not going to that
man just so he can kill me. And you can’t force me to.”

She didn’t make a noise as she
slipped out of the room. Bradan took a deep breath and let it out in a long
sigh. What else could he say, he wondered as he joined Aedan in the corridor
and they followed her upstairs. Maybe he could try to talk to Anabel, remind
her of Dame Eleoren and the duty she had given Anabel when she had entrusted
her with Vivien. That Anabel had come to love Vivien as her own daughter and
wanted to keep her safe was understandable, but too much depended on Vivien.
Had Anabel’s long years in the Otherworld caused her to forget what was at
stake?

Bradan would never get to ask.
Seconds after Vivien had entered Anabel’s room, she wailed, a long, broken,
wordless cry that spoke of pure grief. Bradan rushed forward, knowing what he
would find already, but he had not expected Vivien’s tear-streaked face to hurt
as much as it did.

He had not expected that it would
remind him so much of the day Dame Eleoren had sent Vivien away with Anabel,
and Vivien had cried and cried, clinging to her distraught mother until Lord
Stefen had gently unwound Vivien’s arms from her mother’s neck and handed the
child to Anabel; Bradan had watched from afar then, unable to do anything and
hating that he was so young.

He had not expected his
determination to crumble in front of her pain, his loyalty to his land and
brother faltering even when he uselessly tried to hold on to them.

And he hadn’t expected that one
simple certainty would rise inside him when she let him draw her into his arms
and sobbed against his chest: whatever she wanted, wherever she wanted to go,
Bradan wanted that for her. He would do his best to give it to her, however
much it cost him.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Grief

They had all known it would happen
sooner or later, and a tiny part of Aedan wished he could shake Vivien and pull
her out of her grief. They didn’t have time to cry over what the Quickening
couldn’t fix. Channelers were born, lived, and died; Aedan had seen his share
of deaths—he had even caused a fair number of them himself—and if he knew one
thing, it was that Vivien was lucky she had had the chance to talk to Anabel
one last time.

However, he watched his brother
comfort Vivien, one arm curled tight around her waist and his other hand
stroking her hair gently, he felt Bradan’s grief through the bond, a strange
mix of pain and love, and Aedan remembered what it was like to know that your
life would end, that you would lose those you cherished and there was nothing
you could do about it. From the moment he had become a vampire, death had
become more abstract to him, something he didn’t need to fear as long as he
learned to fight well. This was a sharp reminder of what loss had been like
before he had been remade.

Bradan turned his face toward him
and met his eyes in a silent question. Aedan nodded. Yes, he would prepare the
body. It was only fair, since Bradan would have to return Anabel to the
Quickening.

Vivien was sobbing when Bradan
guided her out of the room, and even after Aedan had closed the door, he could
hear her. His hand clenched, still against the door, and as it closed his nails
scratched the wood. He hated that old, familiar sound. It had been decades
before he had stopped hearing a little girl’s tears in his dreams and the many
tears that had come after hers...

Shaking that thought away, he
pushed himself from the door and turned toward the bed. A muscle tightened in
his cheek. It wasn’t the stillness of that empty shell that unnerved him; it
was the silence that filled the room, crushing everything. Channelers’ bodies
were full of sounds, heart ticking, food digesting, the Quickening whispering
just under their skin, waiting to be used. Vampire bodies had no blood pumping
through them, but the Quickening was louder in them, crackling like a roaring
file, giving them life. Only when a body died for good did the Quickening leave
it fully.

Stepping into the washing room,
Aedan activated the water pump. After decades of disuse, the metal creaked and
groaned, and it was a few seconds before stale-smelling water finally flowed
out. Aedan continued to pump until the water ran clear, its scent speaking only
of cool, dark places.

A basin waited on the window sill,
covered in dust. Aedan rinsed it twice before filling it with water. He rinsed
a washcloth as well, and took both back into the bedroom. He set the basin on
the night table and the washcloth along the edge. It dripped water onto the
floor.

Turning to the bed, he drew the
cover down Anabel’s body. He unbuttoned her dress and, with slow, respectful
movements, stripped her down.

She had been barefoot when she had
Passed Through, stumbling on unsteady legs, the scent of dried blood letting
him know of the nicks on her feet. There were more on her arms and knees; she
had been made to kneel and prostrate herself, of course. When she lay bare on
the sheet, Aedan dipped the washcloth in the basin again before wringing most
of the water out. Then, he took her hand in his and lifted her arm.

A wrinkled petal fell from inside
her hand, the same petal she had pulled from Vivien’s hair earlier. Aedan
picked it up between two careful fingers, set it in the palm of her hand, and
closed her fingers over it. He ran the washcloth from her shoulder to her hand,
first the top of her arm, then the inside, where her skin was paler and a tiny
QuickSilver tattoo, no bigger than his fingernail, gleamed at the crook of her
elbow.

Unexpected sadness flowed through
him at the sight of that symbol. He hadn’t known Anabel had sworn the oath.
Aged and frail, she would have been fairly useless in battle, but she had
defended Vivien the best she could. The same had been true for Aedan’s mother.
He had never known that she, too, was part of the QuickSilver Guard until he
had needed to prepare her body to return it to the Quickening. Her tattoo had
been as wide as his palm, high on her shoulder, and at that moment he had
regretted not having the QuickSilver symbol inscribed on his skin like her, his
father, and Bradan.

He’d known when he took the oath
that he would join the king’s guard at some point while waiting for Vivien’s
return; displaying the QuickSilver tattoo would have drawn the king’s attention
to him, and not in a pleasant way. Now, though, after Vivien had refused to let
him swear his oath again and she had demanded to be brought back to the
Otherworld, he wasn’t sure he wanted that tattoo anymore. Like Bradan had said,
what did their oath mean if she refused to be Vivien Te Celden, heir to the
throne? At least Bradan had told her no. Aedan didn’t know what he’d have done
if his brother had left Foh’Ran forever with their dame.

With his thoughts going around in
grim circles, Aedan finished bathing Anabel’s body, then wrapped her into the
bed sheet, his gestures as gentle and reverent as they had been with the
washcloth. Her spirit was gone, back to the Quickening, but her body still
deserved respect. He wondered what had happened to Dack’s body, left behind in
the human world. What about his spirit, for that matter? Had it found its way
back to Foh’Ran? And what of Sensh? Vampires didn’t leave anything but ashes
behind, but they had a spirit, too. A spirit that could be crushed more easily
than their bodies.

All these deaths already and
Aedan’s own Maker had called him a traitor and laid claim on his blood, yet
Vivien only wanted to go back to the Otherworld. The mere thought caused him to
slam the door shut rather than close it softly when he left the room, and he
winced, feeling vaguely guilty. It wasn’t long before his thoughts returned to
Vivien.

How could he convince her to
confront the king? More importantly, how could he keep her safe if she did go,
when she despised being under his protection? Witnesses would make it necessary
for the king to be cautious, but very little actually stopped him when he
wanted something. Kings and queens were all-powerful, Rhuinn liked to remind
everyone, quoting past rulers’ deeds and sometimes imitating them like it would
strengthen his claim to the throne.

Aedan froze midstep in the middle
of a corridor, afraid that if he moved, that tenuous silver thread of an idea
might break before he could fully take hold of it. He remained still a few more
seconds, winding that thought until he knew where it led.

An old story, half forgotten,
echoing within him to the sound of his mother’s voice; it was probably more
legend than truth, but it was exactly the kind of thing that appealed to
Rhuinn, the same kind of story he displayed as artwork on his walls. As he ran
down to the library, Aedan was so excited he could have sworn his heart had
started beating again.

* * * *

“I could have tried to heal her.”

The words tore at Vivien’s heart.
Brad’s shushing whisper didn’t soothe her, and neither did his hand, still
gently sweeping through her hair.

Not that long ago, she would have
been delighted to be curled against his side like this, sitting on a stone
bench with the warm caress of the afternoon sun upon her, the chirping of birds
in the distance, and the low whistling of the wind for music. How far away that
time seemed…

“I healed you.” She clutched his
arm like he needed the reminder, or maybe to remind herself. “I did the
Quickening thing, and I healed you. I could have healed her. At least I could
have tried.”

Brad’s hand never stopped its
slow, regular stroking. “I tried,” he said gently. “And I have a lot more
training than you do at channeling. There was nothing I could do, and nothing
you could have done. She knew it. She told you, didn’t she?”

For the first time since he had
helped her out of that room, Vivien pulled away from Brad, raising her head
from his shoulder, where her tears had disappeared into the black fabric of his
shirt.

“She told me more than that,” she
said, wiping her eyes with both her hands. “She told me to go home. She said
you’d take me back. And you won’t.”

Brad clasped his hands in front of
him, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. He stared straight
ahead rather than look at her.

“If that’s really what you
want...” He sighed. “I’ll be too tired to channel anymore tonight after we
return Anabel to the Quickening. But if that’s still what you want in the
morning...”

Vivien’s heart jumped. She didn’t
know what he meant about returning Anabel anywhere, but any thought she had of
asking disappeared at what he was all but promising.

“Really?” she asked, slipping a
trembling hand in between both of his. “Why the change of heart?”

He looked up at her and gave her a
lopsided smile. “You know why. I love you. You’re unhappy here. If what it
takes to make you happy again is to take you back to the Otherworld...”

He sighed again. It wouldn’t make
him
happy; that much seemed clear. But it didn’t have to be all bad.

“Your brother can come with us,”
she said. “At least, you’ll have your family.”

He would, but she wouldn’t, she
remembered with a pang, and a fresh flow of tears rose to her eyes. She blinked
fast, trying to chase them away; she really hated crying, especially in front
of anyone. She caught just the end of Brad’s head shake.

“Aedan can’t live in the
Otherworld. He can stay there for a few hours, maybe even a couple of days, but
it’s the Quickening that keeps vampires’ bodies alive, that gives them their
strength and helps them heal faster. In the Otherworld, he’d…fade away.”

Vivien felt confused. It was still
weird to hear him and Aedan talk about vampires. “So he doesn’t...drink blood?
Like in the stories?”

“He does,” Brad said like it was
the most natural thing in the world. “But it’s usually animal blood. The myth
of vampires is based mostly on some vampires from Foh’Ran that were exiled to
the Otherworld before such a punishment was outlawed. But now Rhuinn is talking
about lifting the ban again and...”

He shook his head again and looked
away. “And you don’t need to hear about that. I’m sorry. Are you feeling a
little better?”

She had been, the topic
distracting her enough to dull her grief for a little while. It resurfaced in
the time of a blink, and she couldn’t find it in her to answer. Brad seemed to
understand and gently squeezed her hand in between his.

“I have to prepare the bier for
the return ceremony,” he said softly. “Would you like to help me?”

“The return ceremony?” she
repeated. “What is that?”

“We do not bury people when they
die,” he explained. “We give their bodies back to the Quickening, so that their
energy may join those who preceded them in death, and remain around those they
leave behind. Some people believe that by calling on their loved ones who
passed away, they can channel better, accomplish bigger things.”

He lifted his right hand and
gestured in the familiar way that meant he was channeling. Vivien kept her eyes
on him for a few seconds, watching the colors swirl around his body. They
seemed dimmer, less vivid than they had been before. She then turned her head
to see what he was doing.

The bench they were sitting on was
on the edge of a circle, maybe thirty or forty feet across, paved in smooth
gray paving stones with the ever-present QuickSilver symbol inlaid in smaller,
darker stones. More benches were spread around the periphery of the circle. His
power was levitating stones of all sizes from beyond the paved circle and
drawing them to the center, where slowly they started to form an oval shape
about six feet long and maybe three across.

At first, the stones only rested
on the ground, but soon they started to settle on top of each other. Nothing
but a light glow held the stones together, and as the oval grew taller, surely
they should have collapsed. They looked steady, however, like the Quickening
was acting as mortar.

“Do you believe that?” she
murmured without looking away from the bier Brad was erecting. “That you
can...call on their power?”

A moment passed before he
answered. “Sometimes, I think I do. It feels like my parents are right next to
me when I channel, supporting me. But I felt their presence in the Otherworld,
too. How could they be there? Maybe it’s just their love I feel. And that’s
enough.”

Tears prickled Vivien’s eyes, and
she was about to say she wished she had had as much, but she chastised herself
before she could voice the words. Of course she’d been loved. Anabel had cared
for her as though Vivien had been her own child. And Vivien’s mother had sent
her away so she’d be safe; surely she must have loved Vivien. Vivien wished she
could remember her.

Brad had asked if she wanted to
help, but before she could get a grip on herself, he was done. The bier rose
four feet up, the top a mostly even surface on which a body could be lain.

“Is this...is this where it always
happens?” she asked, rising to go to the bier. She lifted a hand to touch the
gently glowing stones, but couldn’t make herself complete the gesture.

“That’s what this circle is for,”
Brad confirmed. He remained on the bench, but she could feel his eyes on her.
“This is where both my parents were returned to the Quickening. And Dame
Eleoren. And many others.”

An image flashed through Vivien’s
mind: her mother’s face. But rather than the solemn expression from the
painting, a soft smile lit up her face. Was it a memory, Vivien wondered, or
her imagination at play?