Emergence (Book 2) (33 page)

He stepped back into the hall and walked away, and Ciara watched him go wondering how he always seemed able to turn her inside out. Then she sprinted after him and caught him by the arm. She spun him so she could once more wrap her arms around him, resting her cheek against his chest.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I was so scared. We came so close to losing you."

She felt him trembling, but whether in anger or some other reason, she didn't know. He held her stiffly a moment, then buried his face in her hair and whispered something in Galysian. They stood that way for a long time before Bolin finally stepped back. He brushed his hand across Ciara's damp cheek.

"We'll be leaving this morning if you feel up to it," he said. "I'm putting Garek in command so do as he says, please."

Ciara's stomach lurched. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You're lying." Ciara reached for his brow to check for fever, but he caught her hand and lowered it.

"I'm tired, is all," he said. "And probably not making the best decisions right now."

"Then we should wait another day."

Bolin shook his head. "We can't. I want to be in Nisair before dark, and it's already past mid morning. Get something to eat. I'll send one of the men when we're ready to head out. It won't be long, though."

She stared up at him, but couldn't read his expression in the dim light of the hallway. "Are you sure you're all right?"

The honesty of his answer shocked her. "No. Far from it, I think. But I'll keep till Nisair. You've done what you can, and for that I'm grateful. Though
…it was a reckless thing you did."

Ciara blew out an exasperated sigh. "You just couldn't go without saying it, could you?"

She thought he grinned at that, but it must have been some trick of the poor lighting.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Berk leaned against the wall near the north tower, watching the early morning sun play against the Ranwynn as it tumbled through its tree-lined banks. The Reaches sat on the horizon beyond it, a purple-grey haze, the higher peaks already covered in white. His eyes followed the jagged line, coming to rest on the snow dusted cap of Kavluun. Partway up its side, Lord Verrun's fortress nestled at the lip of a broad valley. Berk sighed, a pang of homesickness throwing itself on top of his melancholy. It had been over three years since he'd seen any of his family. So much had changed in that time. So much had changed in the past seven days.

Thoughts he had tried to stay away from danced through his head in a gruesome parade of images and emotion. Each time he thought he'd seen the worst of them, something else intruded.

Goddess's blood, he needed to find a way to lock them in a box, wrap a chain about it, and stuff the damn thing in the murky corner of his soul where he hid all those memories he'd rather not revisit. There weren't many, thank the Goddess, but he seemed to have doubled the count in short order. He had to find something to block them out. Unfortunately, the only thing that offered itself was the one thing he couldn't have. Not in the way he wanted at least. Her heart belonged to another. Obvious to Berk if not to the man himself, and that made them both fools.

Berk shoved off the wall with a growl and headed for the stairs. If he were given to drinking his problems away, he would have spent more of the previous night at Mol's with Salek and the day watch. In which case he also would have still been in bed. Instead, he made for the practice yard hoping to find someone to spar with.

Ciara's healing spells had taken care of the physical aspects of his injuries. He rotated his shoulder to work the stiffness and ache out of it. The myriad of bruises across his ribs were now a lovely shade of yellow and purple, but he could at least draw breath without the accompanying sharp stab of pain of just a few days ago. Even if he found it hard to move in the morning, the physical activity and resulting discomfort of a rousing morning of sparring would certainly keep his mind occupied.

"Such a long look on such a handsome face."

Berk startled at the sultry voice as he passed through the gate to the yard. His hand dropped to his weapons, and he turned to face the woman who had spoken. She stood just within the shadows of the archway.

"Is she worth such torment?" she asked.

"Excuse me?"

She leaned forward
, and the light falling across the side of her face gave her eyes a lavender sheen. "You pine for someone you cannot have."

Berk's brow furrowed. "Do I know you?"

The woman's mouth curved into a smile. She stepped into the open and prowled around him, brightly colored skirts swishing around her ankles with each step. A memory chased cold fingers down Berk's spine. The way she circled him like a hungry predator reminded him of another woman. One he owed blood for blood. When she reached up to trail a hand across his chest, Berk grabbed her by the wrist and pushed her away.

"Is there something I can help you with?" He tried to keep his voice from reflecting the distaste he felt.

"Many things, I would imagine," she said. "Perhaps later, when we've more time."

With more strength than he would have thought, she grabbed him by the front of the tunic and spun him around. His back hit the wall
. Before he could stop her, she arched up on her toes, her free hand grabbing his nape as she forced their lips together.

Berk's skull smacked stone hard enough to send lights dancing behind his eyes as he jerked away. The woman laughed, keeping a firm grip on the back of his neck. Berk didn't think he'd hit his head hard enough to blur his vision, but her face distorted--all except the brightness of her violet eyes. He blinked furiously. His lips tingled, and running his tongue across them only dragged the sensation into his mouth, along with a slick, oily taste that caught in his throat.

"What--"

"Shhh." She placed a finger against his lips. "Hush, pretty one. No arguing now."

But Berk wanted to argue. He wanted to push the vile woman away, and draw a breath that didn't include the cool, musky scent of her. The muscles in his arms bunched as he tried to bring up a hand to shove her off and succeeded only in curling his fingers into his palms.

"What did you do to me?" Even his voice wouldn't fully obey him, coming out in
slurred, broken syllables.

"Nothing permanent, I assure you."

He recoiled when she reached up to trace the healing gash across his forehead with the tip of a finger.

She clicked her tongue. "What evil would mar such beauty? When we are finished here, perhaps I will get to keep you as my own. Then the only evil touching you will be me, and I promise not to leave any marks."

Berk's lip twitched. "I'd rather be dead."

"That can be arranged." She glanced over her shoulder. "Come now, time to walk in the shadows."

Berk's leg whipped forward, his hips turning to pull him from the wall. He followed behind the woman as she walked away, skirting the empty practice yard, his body going against his will. Muscles clenched until they hurt as he fought each wooden, jolting step. Sweat trickled along the side of his face and skittered across his skin like a spider. A sense of dread crept over him, tightening around his chest with its cold grip.

Not here. Not in Nisair. This couldn't be happening. A frustrated growl ripped from his chest. He planted his heel and twisted, managing one backwards step before
lurching forward against the woman's back. She turned her head to smile up at him.

"You've a strong will," she said. "I like that, but it's going to make things tougher for you. Just give in and you may find you get your heart's desire."

***

Donovan glared at the priestess. "You could not have simply told him I desired to see him?"

Teeva circled the soldier, stopping in front of him and reaching up to caress his cheek. He jerked his head back and glared at her, his eyes full of fury. "What fun would there be in that?"

She gave a yelp when Donovan wrapped his fingers in her hair and jerked her head back. He put his mouth close to her ear. "What makes you believe anything I do is for your entertainment?"

He pulled her from the guard and threw her across the room, not caring where she landed. The man stepped forward, his hand moving to the weapon at his hip.

"That would be unwise," Donovan said. He turned and waved at a chair. The priestess crouched in the corner, a trickle of blood sliding from her nose, her eyes alight with hatred. Such a strong, yet petty emotion. "Please, sit."

"What do you want?"

Donovan poured two drinks before he turned. The man still stood with his hand on the grip of his sword. Donovan indicated the chair once again, and placed one of the glasses on the table before it, claiming his own seat with casual grace.

"I apologize for my associate's handling of this situation," he said. "She tends to misinterpret my intentions on a frequent basis. Please, sit."

"I'd rather not."

"Then at least remove your hand from your weapon."

His eyes flicked to the corner where, no doubt, the priestess still crouched in one of her many moods, then slid back to Donovan. Wary. Angry. Only a touch of fear. The Emperor's guard had spit, Donovan had to admit.

"What is it you want?" he asked again.

"I want you to remove your hand from your weapon
, and join me in a drink."

"Why?"

"I was led to believe you could provide me news of my daughter."

His brow furrowed.

"You were with the escort accompanying the Lord General and a young woman, were you not?"

"Ciara is your daughter?" The furrows deepened. "You'll excuse my confusion
. I was led to believe the lady has no family."

"We have been...estranged. It is a difficult situation that I would like to rectify. But I am afraid her mind has been poisoned against me. It seems she h
as fallen under another's influence." Donovan stopped and took a purposeful drink, watching the guard over the rim of the glass. "It pains me to say, as I would rather not speak ill of someone in such an esteemed position. I want only what is in my daughter's best interests. As any father would."

Ah, finally. The hand relaxed, fingers releasing their grip on the sword. The man's gaze went to the chair, the priestess, back to Donovan. He sat stiffly, ignoring the drink.

"Thank you," Donovan said. He crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair, swirling the contents of his glass.

"If all you wanted was word of Ciara's well-being, there was no need to send her." Again, the shift of his gaze past Donovan. The guard made no effort to keep the repulsion from his face or his voice. It lessened only minimally when his focus swung back. "There are messengers to be had on every corner of the city. If you needed to get word to me, one of them would have sufficed."

"Perhaps. But I prefer to use my own people in such delicate matters."

Donovan studied the man, sliding easily into his thoughts. Arnok had been right about being simple to read. Most people without magic were. But the guard's chin came up, and his eyes narrowed, and Donovan felt the tingle of resistance. So, he had learned something from his encounters with Arnok and the priestess. Not that he could block Donovan. He had learned quickly, though. Perhaps too quickly. Donovan would have to watch himself with this one. A strong will could make things mo
re difficult than actual magic.

"I hesitate to suggest any impropriety of course, but my daughter is young and impressionable, and the Lord General is, well, impressive. To someone who has led as sheltered a life as she has, it is not surprising she has found herself infatuated with the man. I mean him no disrespect, of course. The General and I have a very long history. I'll be the first to admit it has not always be
en pleasant. But my daughter is..."

Donovan let the sentence hang. He needed to play this carefully. The man held the General in great regard. A stronger tie than the feelings he nurtured for the girl. Donovan did not even need to pry into the guard's thoughts to learn that. The hard glint in his eyes at the mere
suggestion that the good General could be anything less than god-like spoke for itself.

"What exactly is it you wish to know?" the man asked.

So formal. So annoyingly polite even through the mistrust and anger. His emotions were strong and far too honest for Donovan's sake. Clear, resolute, and sickeningly good. In many ways, he reminded Donovan of the General, minus the hard shell. Given enough years, the man may have attained one just as thick and impenetrable. Now, however, the scars he carried were fresh and close to the surface, making them easily picked at: shame, self-doubt, hatred, desire. That last one an ember Donovan could fan into something useful.

"Tell me," Donovan said, "if you were forced to choose between the Emperor, the General, or my daughter, if you could save only one, who would it be?"

A flash of anger. The man had passion, and control. He would be hard to twist, but then, all men had their weaknesses.

The guard got to his feet, his hand once again going to his weapon. "I'm not sure what game you're playing, but I believe we
are finished here."

Donovan smiled. "I will decide when we are finished. Sit."

"I think not."

The chair moved, caught the guard behind the knees, then the rest of him as he landed heavily on its padded cushion. His eyes widened as he tried to stand and failed. A flicker of panic chased across his face, followed by
a sheen of sweat, and the sudden quickening of his breath. He opened his mouth to speak and Donovan shook his head.

"We are done talking." Donovan locked his eyes on the man's and held him with a gaze.

"You should exercise care with this one," the priestess said, still from somewhere behind him, sulking. "He is not as weak as you think."