CHOSEN (34 page)

Ambrose tensed at that news, having no desire at all for contact with the Temple. It was too soon. He supposed Gradyn felt that strain from the last time they spoke at the internment of Alurn and Fadril and their family, and wanted to do something to change the situation. Xavier allowing the message to come through meant the same thing.

“And I’m really sick of both of you,” he muttered under his breath. “All right. I’ll take a look at it. Thank you.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Is there anything else you need for the night, Sir?”

“Are the boys in?”

“I just checked on them.”

“Shalis asleep?”

“For the moment.”

Ambrose nodded to that. “Then I don’t need anything else.”

“Very good, Sir. Good night.”

“Good night, Thurmond.”

He waited for a time after Thurmond left, ignoring the lure of the letter and bundle until after he’d finished reading the daily report.

He slugged back the last sips of his drink, and after a lengthy battle of conscience over accepting this offering, or even looking at it, he took the letter. It was written in the High Bishop’s scrawling hand.

Ambrose,

The distance I feel between us pains me to such a degree that I feel I must try again to explain. This chasm is of my doing, caused by my inability to trust in faith and in you enough to tell you the truth. It’s an old man’s affliction, fear is. I readily admit to it. You are neither old nor fearful and I shouldn’t have lied to you about what concerns you most personally. I saw no other way at the time, ruled by my fear of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Perhaps you’ll find the capacity to forgive an old man’s weakness, now that both your sons are back with you and mending.

I dishonored the memory of your father in suggesting his last words to you were false. I didn’t know how much he was aware. I don’t know still where he came to have such knowledge, which you now know to be the truth.

There are other truths - too many, I fear - that you should be aware of. I thought by not telling you, fate could be delayed. I still pray it can be put off, at the least, but I know you are owed the full truth now. In faith that you will know what to do with it, I give you the Book of the Word.

At the committal for the First King and Queen, I asked that you have faith in your sons and in their future. I would ask that you have faith in your own as well, and in the Gods who guide and guard it.

Your servant,

Gradyn Vall

Ambrose shook his head at the words and the gesture, finding little capacity for forgiveness or faith. His sons had nearly died for it. Ambrose wasn’t about to let go his anger just because the High Bishop wanted it.

He grunted as he pushed himself out of the chair, turning to the wrappings, unsure he believed it was what the old man said it was. “Let’s see what we have here.”

The seal on the cover and the obvious age of the book sent a chill chasing up his spine. Ambrose turned the pages and read the story of his sons’ attack and torture hidden behind stains of blood. Maybe Alurn’s, maybe his deranged brother. Ambrose couldn’t tell who’d written it, one or the other and didn’t care. He read, turning the crumbling pages, looking into the future until he didn’t want to anymore.

“Father?”

Ambrose straightened, and found Kamien watching him from the doorway. He shut the book, trying not to appear as if he was keeping something from his eldest son. He tried his best not to believe the things he read, but the seed was planted.

“Damn him,” he said of the High Bishop.

He picked up the book, uncaring of its age and held it a moment. Kamien came over, curious now. “I came to say goodnight. What is that?”

“More ghost stories,” Ambrose said, looking to the glowing embers of the fire still burning in the grate. There he wavered a moment. Destroying the book wouldn’t destroy the truth in its pages. But maybe, as the High Bishop prayed, it might delay its onset.

“May I see?” Kamien asked, joining him by the fire.

“No.”

Ambrose took the book and flipped it into the fire so it landed on its face. The pages caught in an instant and flared. He watched in grim satisfaction while the Book of the Word burned.

~*~

About the author

Jolea lives in Virginia with her family in a 200-year-old farmhouse. She collects historical artifacts from the Civil War period. On a recent fact finding mission for information about the house, she discovered the name of a young Civil War soldier who died there while being cared for by a field doctor. She has two children who firmly believe in ghosts.

For more information about the author, go to

http://jm-harrison.com

on Facebook at
Jolea M. Harrison

and on Twitter
JoleaB

~*~

Keep reading for a sample chapter from the next book, Myth

THE SECOND CHRONICLE

OF THE

GUARDIANS OF THE WORD

MYTH

Dynan Telaerin felt a throbbing tension behind his temples, expanding as he moved. He became aware of a voice, urging him to get up, the sound swirling through a fog, close at hand one moment, distant the next. Light cut across his eyes, instantly intensifying the pain in his head. He didn’t know where he was, or who was talking to him, but as awareness returned through the pounding in his head, he recognized that it was Liselle Tremault.

“Dynan, wake up. You have to go. You have to get out of here.”

He couldn’t get his eyes to open to confirm the voice to the face. It was like climbing straight up out of a long, dark tunnel to the surface where light existed. It was a long way off. He couldn’t think why Liselle would be in his bedroom, telling him he had to leave.

“Dynan, wake up.”

The urgency of her voice struck him then, and he pealed his eyes open, blinking at the soft colors of pale rose and lavender that told him he wasn’t in his room. Memory finally returned, but only in small, disjointed pieces. He remembered bringing her here. He remembered taking her clothes off, stumbling into this bed, kissing her, putting his hands through her long brown hair and everywhere else, wanting her. But past that - nothing. It all went away in a blazing white light and the fog of too much alcohol.

His head pounded with movement as he tried to sit up. “What—”

“They’re coming,” she said, looking back to the door and abruptly rising from the bed. She wore only a gossamer shift. He saw the gown he’d taken off of her, and all the under garments that went with it, strew around the room. “Lady Hendel. I should have been downstairs an hour ago. If she sees you...”

He knew then the reason for her growing panic. He had to get out of her room before he was caught here, the repercussions of which were too huge to think about. He untangled himself from the bedclothes and stumbled to his feet, grabbing for articles of clothing that were his, while Liselle was doing the same thing with hers, trying to repair the appearance of her room.

He’d only just managed to get his pants on when he heard voices from the closed door, leading to the sitting room. He recognized Lady Rene Hendel, and guessed there was probably a maid with her. Liselle grabbed a dressing gown, threw it on, and then started to work on her bed, trying to make it up so that it wouldn’t be immediately obvious that there’d been two people in it.

Dynan spotted an empty bottle of wine and two glasses sitting on a table near the fireplace. He pulled on his shirt, moving to get rid of more evidence. Lady Hendel knocked softly on the door. Liselle froze where she was. Dynan handed the wine and glasses off to her.

“Is there another way out of here? A service entrance?” he asked in barely a whisper, and she shook her head mutely. He looked to the window, wondering if he’d make it down the trellis without falling off. He still felt half-drunk. Liselle was shaking.

“It’ll be all right,” he said, whispering in her ear as he pulled her to him. He kissed her, despite the increasing pressure of time, because he didn’t want her to be afraid, and he didn’t want to leave her without letting her know that he didn’t regret being here for one second. She finally smiled, and tension left her face. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

He pulled his boots on, and then opened the window. A burst of cool morning air blew in. It was edging toward spring at Beren, unlike the Palace in Rianamar where it was still snowing and would for another two months. On this crystal clear day it promised to be warmer than usual.

Lady Hendel knocked again and called for Liselle. Dynan took the wine bottle from her, and dropped it into a big bush two stories down, hoping it wouldn’t break. Liselle handed him his jacket, helped him into it and he took the glasses, putting them in an inside pocket. He heard the latch turn on her door, and swung himself out the window and onto the trellis that ran the length of the wall to the right of a line of windows. He crouched down so he wouldn’t be seen, while Liselle pretended to be opening the window and curtains to let in the fresh air. Dynan stayed under the window ledge, clinging to the edge of the trellis, waiting.

“Yes, Lady Hendel,” Liselle said in response to something Dynan couldn’t hear. “I know. I overslept. I’m very sorry I’m late. I’ll be ready in just a few minutes.”

Liselle moved away from the window. Dynan decided not to wait to hear more, thinking he needed to get down and out of sight, in case someone outside might spot him there. He clambered down as quietly as he could manage, trying to ignore the pain in his head, and the dizziness that swept through him when he looked down.

He made it, half collapsing onto the ground beside the wall and a first floor window under cover of the same bush that caught the wine bottle. He left it there, and ditched the glasses. The gardeners would wonder maybe, where they came from, but Dynan didn’t think they’d figure it out. He waited another minute for a bout of dizziness to pass, wishing he didn’t feel so horrible. He didn’t understand it, having been drunk a time or two, and not having had this kind of debilitating reaction. Maybe it was the added nerves of having had so narrow an escape, he thought, and pulled himself into a half crouch.

He made his way down the back side of the mansion that way, staying out of sight using various large plants to conceal his movements, and crouching down under the windows as he passed them. He made it to the corner, deciding the best way in would be through the kitchen, peered around the corner and saw that no one was there. He slipped inside and eased into a chair beside his twin brother, who was having breakfast, a second before Regan, his attendant came into the room.

“There you are,” Regan said. “I was beginning to wonder. You didn’t sleep in your room last night. Where were you?”

“I didn’t sleep,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound like he was lying. He wasn’t in the habit of doing so, and felt sure he looked guilty. “I had a few reports I wanted to get done. I stayed up most of the night.”

Beside him, Dain remained silent, except to roll his eyes a little. Dynan wondered what he’d have to say about it all, thinking it wouldn’t be anything good. Dain didn’t like Liselle, to the point where he refused to have anything to do with her unless he had to. They were at the Beren Mansion, a place Dynan thought of as his real home, for the annual spring festival. The usual number of servants and staff were busy making preparations. Shalis, their sister, was there, helping to get everything organized like she did every year.

“Your father’s transfer is pulling in the front drive,” Regan said with a raised brow. Dynan looked down at his disheveled clothes. He needed to get to a medic kit too, or he wouldn’t survive the next hour with this headache. Dynan nodded, even when he didn’t think he could stand up again.

“I’ll go get changed.”

He pushed himself to his feet, and found his arms shaking as he leaned on the table. He felt sick. He turned away when Regan looked at him, and started for the door to the hall. He met Ralion Blaise and Sheed Lasser coming in. Both guards stopped at the sight of him, eyes widening slightly, but they didn’t say anything. They shared a look as he walked by and then they were both looking back at Dain for the explanation Dynan wasn’t going to give them. They would know, just as Dain knew, that he hadn’t stayed up all night to work on a report. Dynan trusted they weren’t going to run to the King about it either.

He made it to the stairs, and thought climbing up them might kill him when he heard Ralion coming up behind him. His guard put a hand under his arm and helped him up the stairs.

“Have a little too much to drink last night?” he asked mildly when they reached the top. Dynan could only nod, barely, groaning from the pain that was now throbbing through his entire body. “Don’t remember much of what happened either, do you?”