Emergence (Book 2) (38 page)

Rage. Defiance. Longing.

"Well done, daughter," Donovan said.

Ciara turned, Andrakaos's roar thundering in her ears. His power coursed through her veins as it never had before. He had become her, and she him. They could no longer be parted. She smiled at Donovan, a mockery of his
cold expression.

"Hello, F
ather." The word spilled off her tongue like acid. Where the mere thought of it had made her cringe in the past, now it meant nothing. "I'm afraid you're too late."

"Am I?" His gaze shifted to Andrakaos, mantling the tower once again, his great head dropped on level with them. "I must say, I am impressed at what you have accomplished. But do you truly think a chain of earth magic will hold him? Look at him. He is magnificent. That,
Daughter, is your creation, do you realize?"

Ciara furrowed her brow. "What do you mean?"

Donovan stepped closer. He waved a gesture at Andrakaos. "This form, this manifestation of a great winged beast, that is something you bestowed upon the ancient power I have gifted you. It is your choice to see it as such. In doing so, you have transformed it into much more than I had ever imagined. But tell me, daughter, can you control it?"

"Try me and find out."

"Do you intend to destroy me?"

Yes!
The word leapt to the fore of her mind but never left her mouth. They shared a blood bond between them. The only one she still had. As much as she despised him, he was her father.

"Ah."

Ciara jumped. He stood directly in front of her. She hadn't even seen him move. Andrakaos rumbled, and the sound rose in her own throat as well.

"So what is it you intend to do, if not destroy me? Do you think to imprison me? Banish me to some fetid swamp? Would you rather join me?"

"Never." She croaked the word, forcing it out.

"No? Is that truly your will? Or your beloved General's? He lusts for your power. You know that as the truth now. He has told you as much, has he n
ot? Do not be deceived by him, Daughter." His fingers curled around her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "I will take your power if you do not willingly join with me. No one in this city can help you. Not the Goddess's bastard son, not the Lady of the Greensward, not the Emperor himself. You, Daughter, are very much alone."

No,
Andrakaos said,
we are not.

Ciara felt it first as a gentle hand on her shoulder
. She turned to look but found no one there. Then the presence completely enfolded her. Donovan took a step back, his dark eyes clouding.

The ancient one.
Respect colored Andrakaos's tone, and an image of Thadeus flittered through Ciara's mind.
He will show us what to do.

"The old fool is too late," Donovan said.

He raised his hand, and Ciara flinched but a sudden flash of pain crossed Donovan's face, and he staggered backwards, clutching at his head. Blood trickled from his nose, smeared his cheek as he drew a hand across his mouth to wipe it away. He snarled. Ciara realized she had begun to talk, her tongue and lips forming words in a foreign language. Her hands moved, guided through the link Thadeus had somehow forged with her. Andrakaos tilted his muzzle skyward, and began to croon. Around them a shimmer of magic grew outwards from Nisair. The city wards pushed forward, closing around them, entrapping Donovan where he stood.

Fire flashed in his eyes. He twisted away from Ciara, looking down the wall as though searching for something. A cry of pain escaped him
, and he doubled over.

"This does not end here," he said, arms
clutching his stomach. "It does not end."

"I'm afraid it does," Ciara said.

"You are a fool." He flung a gesture outward. "They will use you. Do you think the Emperor does not lust after this power the same as I? The same as the mage who aids you? They will hold themselves out as your friends but all the while conspire to ensnare you."

"I'll take my chances."

"Then I shall take mine."

Donovan
straightened as though jerked upright by some other force. A wicked grin crossed his face. Without another word he turned and ran for the lip of the wall. Ciara cried out in horror as Donovan thrust one foot against the crenel and leapt off. Andrakaos sprang from the tower as though he meant to snatch him out of the air, but Donovan's form wavered and disintegrated to nothing but dust caught by the wind and flung across the sky.

It does not end.

***

Ciara watched until every bit of Donovan disappeared from her view, transfixed by the sight.

He is leaving us.

"I'd say he already did," she said, her
voice sounding odd in her ears.

And then the meaning of Andrakaos's words caught up to her, and she whirled, her eyes seeking Bolin and finding him unmoving further down the wall. She gathered up her skirts and ran, sinking to her knees beside him.
His breathing sounded labored, rattling as though it came through shattered ribs.

You must bring him back.
Andrakaos had settled once again on the tower roof, craning his head down to peer at her.
We cannot be without him.

Ciara closed her eyes against his mental anguish. She steadied her own breathing to calm herself, and slipped into the veil with barely a thought. She found Bolin instantly, as though he were waiting for her. He gave her a quick glance, his eyes glittering in the half-light.

"Nialyne is dead," he said.

The pain of his loss compounded
Ciara's already raging emotions.

"I'm sorry." She held out her hand to him. "Come with me."

But Bolin stood rooted. "I've always wondered what good it is."

Ciara tried to move closer and found she couldn't lift her feet. "What good what is?"

His brow furrowed. Something in the distance had caught his attention.

"Bolin, please." She reached down and tugged at her calf, hoping to dislodge her foot from whatever held it.

He turned to look at her and she wished he hadn't. Bitterness had replaced the pain in his eyes, and it stole her breath and her resolve.

"You should go," he said.

"Not without you."

He shook his head. "I'm tired, Ciara."

"You can rest when we get back, for as long as you want. I promise."

"You were right, you know? You and Nialyne both."

"I don't care. Whatever it is, Bolin, I don't care. Please, just take my hand."

"I'm sorry." He turned and started walking away, deeper into the greyness of the veil.

Ciara's stomach lurched. A frustrated growl rose in her chest as she struggled to free herself from whatever held her mired, but it did no good, and Bolin started to recede.

"You're a coward," she said in desperation, her voice flat, and that stopped him. "And a selfish one at that. You'd rather give up than face your feelings. Have you given any thought to the rest of us? Oh, I'm sure you tell yourself you have. You've got yourself convinced if you die it will be some grand, noble gesture. That somehow it will make things so much better for everyone else. Well you're wrong. It won't be better. Tell me again how honor and duty define your life. Then explain how either of those is served by running away."

His shoulders stiffened. He didn't turn, but Ciara could feel his anger rising. The mists around them swirled with the turmoil of it. Emotions were powerful things. They could drown a man just as easily as give him strength and purpose when the mind could find none.

"Go on," she said. "Run away. Let yourself die. I'll mourn. Eventually the loss will numb. Maybe Berk will wait for me to get over you. That's what you're hoping isn't it? That I'll find my solace in another man's arms, and you won't ever have to tell me how you truly feel? Because Goddess forbid you show you're just as human as the rest of us."

He stood directly in front of her before she could take her next breath. His eyes burned into hers, his mouth compressed into a tight line. "You're right, I am a coward. I hide behind duty and honor because they're all I've ever known. But you, you make me question both. Worse, you make me forget both. And that terrifies me. Do you know how far I'd go to keep you safe? I would have killed Dain for standing in my way. A man who is like a brother to me. Who I swore, by my life's blood, to protect above all others."

"You wouldn't have done it."

"You think not? Then you have more faith in me than I do in myself." He looked away, and Ciara could feel the effort it took for him to control the feelings bombarding him. "Do you honestly think I'd be happy to see you in the arms of another man?"

Ciara hated to keep goading him but she saw no other way of bringing him back. If she had to use his anger to save him, she would. "Why wouldn't I? You've never told me otherwise, and now I'll have to live the rest of my life never knowing because you're going to give up."

Without warning, he curled his fingers around the nape of her neck and pulled her into a hard kiss. Her lips curved into a smile against his, and before he could react Ciara wrapped her arms around him and pulled them both from the veil.

Bolin sucked in a huge gasp of air, and then another, his back arching upward with the suddenness of being ripped from the ethereal. Ciara cradled him against her, smoothing
damp hair off his forehead.

If ever you had any love for me
, Ciara implored the Goddess silently,
you'll let him live
.

He wet his lips. "That...was reckless." His voice came out
as little more than a pained whisper. He blinked up at her as though having trouble focusing on her face. "You could have killed us both."

"I thought you wanted to die."

"I did." His eyes closed, and Ciara's heart stopped in panic, but then they opened again, clearer. "I may have been a fool."

Ciara smiled. "You'll get no argument from me."

"You deserve much better."

"I don't want better."

He raised a hand, using his thumb to wipe unnoticed tears from her cheek. "I've never understood why."

She bent her head to kiss him. "Because I love you, fool."

He tried to laugh and it turned into a cough that left him limp in her lap, his eyes squeezed shut. She looked up to find Ariadne standing beside the Emperor.

"Tell him he has to stay," Ciara pleaded.

"Like I'd listen to them."

She looked down. Bolin's eyes were still closed, but his chest rose and fell in a deeper, easy rhythm. "Then you'll listen to me. I won't let you go. She's taken too many
from me. She'll not have you as well."

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Ciara found Bolin in the Grieving House. He sat on a low bench beside the stone table where Nialyne's shrouded body lay, his forearms resting on his knees, his head bowed. Early morning sunlight streamed in through a wall of painted glass, shattering the scene depicted on its surface into a blanket of soft colors. A soothing blend of cardamom and cedarwood incense drifted up from the wall sconces, its gentle smoke adding a slight haze to the room. Ciara hesitated in the doorway, afraid to break the quiet tableau.

"It's all right, Ciara," Bolin said without looking up,
the words raspy, as though coming through a raw throat.

He didn't move when she slid onto the bench beside him. His eyes were open, fixed on the floor at his feet where bits of pastel light bathed the tiles. Ciara wished she had words for him, something to ease the grief radiating from him. But nothing came. She threaded her arm through the crook of his, wrapping her fingers around his forearm. He remained motionless for a time, then reached up to lay his hand across hers.

"It shouldn't have come to her like this," he said, and anger made his voice crack. "Death should have taken her peacefully, within the Greensward, not leagues from her home at the hands of that witch." He sucked in an uneven breath and looked away. Ciara could see the side of his face, a bruise growing around a cut on his temple, his cheeks glistening damply. His jaw worked and his fingers curled tight around hers. His next words were little more than a harsh whisper, "Not for me."

Ciara rolled her lips to contain a gasp at the pain
in his voice, and rested her head against his shoulder. Goddess's blood, why couldn't she come up with words of comfort?

"I told her to stay in the castle. Demanded it," he said. "
But she wouldn't. She didn't understand I was only trying to protect her. At the end, I knew what she was doing, and I begged her not to, but she wouldn't listen. I couldn't stop her. I would have given anything to prevent this. It should have been me. Every time someone valued my life over their own, it should have been me."

The scrape of shoes on the tile drew Ciara's gaze back toward the door. Danyer, the Emperor's aide, bowed his head respectfully. "My pardon, Lady. My
Lord, His Majesty sends his apologies for this disturbance, but he requires your attendance."

"Tell the Emperor--" Ciara began, but Bolin squeezed her hand
, and gave a small shake of his head.

"I'll be there shortly, Danyer."

"Thank you, My Lord."

Bolin closed his eyes and took a deep breath before standing. He left Ciara sitting on the bench and approached the table. He stood for a long moment, hands loose at his sides, head bowed, and a sag to his shoulders. Ciara longed to go to him but held her place. She had never felt so totally useless
.

Bolin's arm shook as he lifted a hand and rested it gently on the shrouded figure. His voice came to
Ciara, low and rhythmic as he said something in Galysian, and though she didn't understand the words they still tore at her heart. When he turned to face her again the mask had returned, the dampness on his cheeks the only indication of the grief he locked somewhere inside.

"I'm not sure how long I'll be with the Emperor," he said. "I'll have someone escort you to my rooms until we can find you more appropriate quarters. If you don't mind, that is. Anything you need can be brought to you there."

Ciara would have done anything he asked at that moment without a word of argument. If there were any way to bring Nialyne back--but the past would always remain unchangeable, no matter how much they wished otherwise.

"This wasn't your doing. You know that, right?" he said. "I won't have you taking it on yourself. Nor would Nialyne."

"It's hard not to feel responsible," Ciara said.

"If there is blame to be had it is mine." He looked past her, visibly fighting to maintain the facade he had constructed.

Ciara stood and laid a hand on his arm, drawing his look. "I'll make you a bargain. I won't take it all on myself if you do the same. Nialyne wouldn't want either of us blaming ourselves."

Bolin dipped his head. "I'll try. That's the best I can offer."

***

The Emperor stood before the window, and Bolin stared at his back and waited. When Dain finally turned and Bolin read the expression
he wore, he held up a hand.

"Don't." It had taken him the entire walk from the Grieving House to Dain's office to
gain some semblance of control over his cascading emotions. Dain's sympathy would undo the wall Bolin had built as effectively as a battering ram against a rotted door.

The Emperor nodded
, and gestured to a chair. "Sit." He took his own and leaned his elbows on his desk, fingers interlaced. "We need to discuss some things. Are you up to it?"

"I'm fine."

"Of course you are."

Bolin raised a brow at Dain's tone. "Meaning?"

"Meaning even if you weren't you wouldn't admit it. Quite frankly, you look like hell. Did you get any sleep?"

"I don't think that's really what you asked me here to discuss."

"It's not," Dain said. "But I didn't realize I wasn't allowed to express concern for a friend."

Bolin dragged a hand across his face. "I'm sorry. No, I haven't slept, and although I appreciate your concern, I would rather stick to the real reason I'm here."

"All right. Any idea where we're likely to find Donovan?"

"We?"

"You're not going after him alone," Dain said, his tone suggesting he expected an argument.

The sarcastic retort forming died before it reached Bolin's lips. In light of everything, it seemed trivial. "The Nethers has always been his home. My guess is he'd go back there first. Especially if he's been weakened."

"All the more reason to move on him as soon as we can."

"I will be returning Nialyne to Galys Auld," Bolin said. His
loss betrayed him, and he looked away, struggling to maintain his composure. "If you don't intend to have me executed for attacking you on the wall, I'll search for Donovan when I return. By your leave, of course."

Bolin couldn't meet Dain's gaze. The arms had closed around his chest again, squeezing until he could barely breathe. He shoved out of the chair and walked to the sideboard on the pretense of getting a drink. Once there he rested his palms against the smooth surface and fought for calm, the tremor in his hands working up his arms.

"Nialyne will be given a full Imperial escort," Dain said. "As is befitting someone of her station. Bolin--"

"Damn the unholies, Dain, don't." Bolin didn't turn. He concentrated on working his way back from the edge of a huge, gaping hole he had no desire to touch. "I'm hanging by a thread here. Please. Just let it be."

A knock on the door preceded Danyer's voice. "Commander Garek, as you requested, Your Majesty."

The scuff of boot heels on tile announced Garek's arrival. The steps hesitated. "Would you rather I come back?"

"No," Bolin said, before Dain could reply. He straightened, and managed to pour three drinks without spilling a drop. No small feat given the shaking of his hands. He passed the drinks around and reclaimed his chair. "How's Berk?"

Garek sat beside him. He exchanged a quick look with Dain before answering Bolin's question. "He attacked you with the intention of gutting you. At the moment he's making his peace with the likelihood of being executed. I assume that's why I'm here?"

"If he's to be executed then two blades will need to drop that day," Bolin said. "Berk wasn't acting of his own volition. I was."

"And...I missed something," Garek said, his brow furrowed.

"I threatened to kill Dain if he didn't get out of my way."

"You've done that before."

"This time he meant it," Dain said.

"Ah." Garek downed his drink and went to refill the glass. "Look, I don't know exactly what happened up there, but I know Berk. He's a good man. He'd sooner fall on his own blade than go against either of you. He's got no idea why he did it
, can't seem to remember a whole chunk of what went on up there, or for a space before. You know Berk's father, both of you. You know the cloth he's cut from. The lad's proven himself time and again. He knows the law, same as I do, and he'd go to the block without a fight if that's what it comes to. But so we're clear, I won't let him."

Dain frowned. "So I'll need three blades?"

"Likely four," Garek said. "I doubt Sully will stand for it either. In fact, if it looks like it's going that way, I'm to request an audience with you on the Lieutenant's behalf."

Dain tapped the tips of his thumbs against one another. His eyes flicked from Garek to Bolin and rested there long enough to become bothersome.

"What is it you're trying to decide?" Bolin asked. "Whether you're going to schedule a festival to go along with the executions, or whether I'm stable enough at the moment to deal with whatever else is on your mind?"

"The second," Dain said. "I already decided there won't be a festival."

Bolin rubbed his jaw. The Emperor's lack of faith should have bothered him, but he couldn't find enough energy to dredge up the emotion. Grounds enough for suspicion, he supposed. He leaned his head against the chair back and closed his eyes. He ached, body and soul, at a level he never had before. Beneath it nestled the anger: at Nialyne for sacrificing herself, at himself for not being able to stop her. Mostly at the Goddess for allowing it. And that last one had begun to border on loathing. He often questioned the Goddess's plans, and the reasons behind her actions. He had never questioned his blind devotion to her until now.

"Bolin?"

He opened his eyes only wide enough to see Dain through the haze of his lashes. "I need some time."

***

Ciara had no desire to wake up. She nestled deeper into a cloud of warm comfort that, oddly enough, smelled of… She inhaled. Bolin?

Ciara bolted upright, the blanket sliding down to her waist. Last thing she remembered, she'd been lounging on the settee in Bolin's study, browsing through a book on the lore of Ralaquin, who she had never heard of before, but who had apparently been quite the powerful mage. When she had fallen asleep
, and how she had gotten into his bed--she looked down, breathing a sigh of relief to see she still wore the dress she'd had on the day before. Regret snuck up on the heels of it. Waking up in Bolin's bed would have been far better in his arms.

"Like that will ever happen," she said, and slid out from beneath the covers, her bare feet sinking into the thick fur covering the floor. She imagined it a welcome thing come winter.

That Bolin had chosen rooms at the top of the northern tower, far removed from everyone else, didn't surprise Ciara. The fact they were something other than sparsely decorated, however, did. She hadn't thought Bolin would have anything on his walls save weapons, or possibly a stag's head. Though an assortment of swords, daggers, and even two hand axes hung from pegs beside the open arch leading down three steps to the study, the other walls boasted rich tapestries with not a stuffed head among them. Another tapestry had been pulled back from the balcony to let in the early morning breeze. To its right, above the fireplace, hung an artist's rendering of what had to be the Greensward. Ciara knew of no other forest so lush and vibrant, and as she studied it she could almost feel the gentle breeze bursting with the scent of fresh, spring greens. Flanking it, one on either side, were oil lanterns engraved with an intricate pattern of intertwined knots.

Ciara trailed her hand across the rich, dark wood of one of the bedposts as she made her way around it. Even they were works of art, carved with the same tangle of intricate knots and animal shapes as the lanterns. Two padded leather chairs sat before the fireplace, a low table between them. A sideboard and wardrobe that matched the bed occupied another wall.

With its curved stone walls and high beamed ceiling, the room could have seemed as cold and hard as Bolin often did. Instead, it gave the impression of warmth and comfort. Ciara bit her lower lip, and brushed at the single tear that spilled across her cheek. It felt like home.