Emergence (Book 2) (9 page)

***

Ciara rested her back against the door until her legs stopped shaking. She'd resolved not to allow her emotions to rule her head or her mouth, especially around Bolin. That hadn't been easy. Harder still when he'd told her his news. Her first reaction had been panic. Lucky for her Bolin hadn't been able to see her expression, or he likely would have tied her to a chair for fear she would run. The thought had occurred to her. Why on the G
oddess's green earth would the Emperor want her to come to Nisair? How did he even know of her? She pressed a hand to her stomach to ease the knot growing there. She had no clue how long it would take to journey to Nisair, but Bolin's doubt that they'd make it had rippled through his words whether he intended it to or not.

Ciara squeezed her eyes shut, and forced herself to be calm. If the injured guard Bolin had brought back proved to be anything like the messenger, Konly would definitely need her help, but Ciara needed a level head for that. Another lungful of air and she shoved away from the door. Being busy would keep her thoughts from dwelling on anything else. She changed out of her shift and robe, slipping on a tunic and light breeches and quickly twining her hair into some semblance of a braid. She hesitated at the door, hoping Bolin had gone to his room and hadn't lingered. Nothing moved in the gardens save the gentle night breezes, and Ciara crossed the courtyard to the healer's hut without notice.

Konly looked up from her patient when Ciara entered the surgery, and her scowl faded instantly. "So he changed his mind? Good. I can use another set of hands."

"Who changed his mind?" Ciara asked, following the master healer's gesture to the opposite side of the table.

"Bolin. I was going to send one of the boys for you soon as this one came in, and he out and out said no. Like to take my head off the way he snapped out the order."

Ciara could imagine. "He's quite good at that."

"Not a skill really appreciated 'round here. Leastwise, not by me." Konly passed her a basin and cloth. "Finish cleaning the wound, if you would. I've a poultice to make."

"Is this like the messenger's wound?"

"Well, like as in a slash of claws across the ribcage. But there's none of the dark magic about this one."

Ciara breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't want to go through that again any time soon.

"Are you all right, girl?" Konly returned with the poultice, wiping her hands on her apron. "You're white as frost."

"I'm fine."

"Tired?" Konly gave her a stern look. "With all you've been through, and then that bit with the messenger, I'll wager you haven't gotten near enough rest."

"I've gotten some."

"I'll put you back in one of my beds if I need to. How's the shoulder?"

"Good." Ciara flexed it for her.
The last of her physical injuries from the battle to fully heal. "It only aches a little bit."

Konly nodded. "You're a tough one."

"How's the messenger?" Ciara asked, hoping to get the healer's focus off her.

"On the mend, thank the Goddess and you. I don't know what that was you did, but it saved his life, you know? That's a very handy gift you have."

Ciara made a face. "You're the only one who's ever called it that."

"Oh?" She arched a grey brow. "I guess it just depends which side you're looking at it from. For my sake, there's always room for another healer. I'm not getting any younger. You'd be welcome here if you choose to stay. I'm sure none of the elders would argue."

Ciara snorted. "Oh, I'd wager there's at least one who would."

The master healer chuckled. "Danya Maurar?" A light twinkled in her eyes, and her mouth pulled into a knowing smile. "He's always been a bit stern."

"He and Bolin certainly don't see eye to eye."

Konly's mirth dissipated. "That one hardly sees eye to eye with anyone. Too full of himself, if you ask me. Everything out of his mouth sounds like an order. Can't say a please or a thank you if it means his life."

"It sounds like you know him well."

"Well enough. Thread that for me, lass." Konly handed Ciara a needle and length of horsehair. "Danya Nialyne raised him as her own, you know. I didn't know him then. By the time I came to Galys Auld, he'd already gone to serve the Emperor, but he came back often enough to visit. He was always polite and mannerly, I suppose. Goddess knows he's plenty easy to look at. A lot of women tried to catch his eye, but none could. They're likely all jealous of you now."

"Me?" Ciara missed the needle's eye and tried again, her hand shaking. "Why would they be jealous of me?"

"Come now, girl, you're not that blind are you?" Konly looked genuinely shocked. "The man dotes on you. Well, as much as he's capable of doting on anyone, I s'pose. Don't you know, when you were first brought here, even though he was near dead himself, he refused to leave your side? Wouldn't take rest or food or tending. He took drink though." She gave Ciara a sly wink. "We slipped a tincture into some wine. He was so exhausted it dropped him on the spot. You've not seen angry until you've seen that one wake up from something like that." Konly shook with mirth at the memory
, and dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her apron. "I probably shouldn't take such delight in it, but it served him right."

"I'm sure it wasn't anything more than normal concern on his part. He promised my aunt he'd see me safe."

Konly gave Ciara a long, hard look. "You fancy him, don't you?"

Ciara averted her eyes, and felt her cheeks warm.

"Does he know?"

"He should." She sighed helplessly. "He's hard to get through to, and even harder to read. He probably thinks of me as nothing more than a silly girl."

"I doubt that. I've seen the way he watches you." Konly took the threaded needle and started to expertly sew the guard's wound shut. "Trust me, he sees you as the woman you are. Besides, love doesn't know age. My husband was an old man when we married. In a lot of ways, Danya Bolin reminds me of him: hard, stern, not a lick of softness to him so far as anyone knew. But alone, when we shared our time and our nights, there couldn't have been a gentler, more open man on all the Goddess's green earth."

"But how did you ever get him to--" Ciara faltered. She dabbed absently at the wound as Konly worked, keeping it clean so the master healer could see her work.

"Just wore him down, I guess. We loved each other. I knew it well before he'd ever admit it. But eventually he gave in. Men are hard creatures. Why do you think most healers are women? It's because men won't feel. Not that they can't, mind you, and some are better at it than others, but they think it makes them weak." She shrugged, and tied off the last stitch. "Maybe it does, I'm not a man so I can't say for sure. And soldiers are the worst of the lot. They have to be hard because they see too much. I've tended on the battlefield." Her expression clouded. "If you don't put a wall about yourself, you'll never survive it."

Ciara took the needle from Konly and passed her a length of bandaging. "I think Bolin's wall is pretty impassable."

"Well then, he's a fool." Konly's ministrations done, she flicked a blanket over the soldier, and tucked it around his shoulders. "This lad needs his rest now, and so do you. Mix yourself some tea so you get some sleep or I'll wander by and drug you myself. Come the morrow, if you find yourself with nothing on your hands save brooding, bring yourself back. I've got plenty to keep you busy."

The healer patted Ciara on the shoulder as she walked her to the door.

"Remember," Konly said as Ciara started across the square, "sometimes we just need to be still and let them come to us."

CHAPTER SEVEN

Bolin knew the lands between the Greensward and Nisair better than most. Unfortunately, the two most direct routes skirted both the Nethers, Donovan's home, and the Great Fen in which the crone dwelt. Or had dwelt. The at
tacks on the messenger and the Imperial escort assured him Donovan still lived. Not knowing whether the crone had survived the battle just added another layer to Bolin's worry. Not being able to deal with them while Ciara remained safely in Galys Auld gave him nightmares. Or would if he could sleep.

He frowned at the map spread across the table in his study. Though Nialyne had announced she wouldn't burden the expedition with a carriage, opting to ride her own mare instead, a supply cart would be a necessity for man and beast. That would make it impossible to take the quicker, more secretive, routes Bolin would have preferred. He traced a line east out of Galys Auld, to the Southrun, then another in the opposite direction
, northwest out of Galys Auld and toward Guldarech. The safer route would be the Southrun. It would put them well away from the Nethers. It would also add days to their journey. No matter how he manipulated their route, safety meant a longer journey. A longer journey meant more time for Donovan to move against them.

The lantern on the table flickered as it burned low, and Bolin lifted the glass and blew it out. He kicked his boots off, and sank into a chair before the fireplace, slouching down until he could rest his head comfortably against the cushioned back, stretching his legs out in front of him. The dancing flames bounced shadows across the beamed ceiling; chasing one another as the fire flickered along the lone remaining log.

If he were smart, or less inclined to keep his head, he'd stay in Galys Auld and send a messenger to Nisair, explaining to the Emperor the folly of his request, then send out a small, hand-picked force to put an end to Donovan. But Bolin knew the Emperor better than any, and the man could be downright pig-headed when he decided on a certain course of action. Not that anyone could fault him as emperor. Dain had taken the throne after the death of his father, and a failed coup by his uncle. He had been all of fifteen years old at the time, and still men had been willing to follow him without question. Well over twenty years later the people were no less enthralled with him than they had been. But then, they had the luxury of seeing him as something close to godlike, and without fault. Bolin knew him as a man, and like all men, imperfect.

A memory played out behind his eyes of the last time he had been at Nisair. Ariadne had followed him after preventing him and Dain from coming to blows.

"So you'll leave without a word, then?" Ariadne caught up to him at the stable.

"By the Emperor's command," Bolin said.

"Goddess's light, can neither of you see past your own pig-headed pride?"

Bolin ignored her as he led Sandeen into the yard. He would have continued to ignore her if such a thing had been possible. But Ariadne put herself directly in his path, her expression hard.

"He doesn't doubt you," she said.

"He cows to the mages. He knows as well as I where the real threat lies, yet he allows Arnok to sway him. Tell me, Ari, when is the last time any of the mages set foot outside of Nisair? They are blind, and yet Dain licks their heels like a pup."

"And you'd rather he lick at yours?"

He glowered at her. "Are you done?"

She laid a hand on his arm. "Don't go in anger, Bolin. Wait until tomorrow when both of you have had a chance to calm down."

"That will change nothing. His mind is set."

"And yours?"

"I do as the Emperor commands," he said. "As always."

Ariadne snorted. "You will do as you see fit and expect my brother to accept it. Or push him to ask for your head."

"There are times that would be preferable." Bolin covered her hand with his, his finger brushing across the ring she wore, a reminder he did not always do as he saw fit. "When will you be returning to Courrin?"

"In a few days. The children are anxious to get home and see their father. You could stop in for a visit some time, you know?"

"My duties rarely take me north."

"On purpose."

"Ari--"

"Promise me you will talk to Dain and not let this fester," she said. "He needs you, Bolin."

That had been over four years ago. Bolin had conveniently avoided the Emperor, and found many excuses for repeatedly ignoring Dain's requests for him to make a personal report. The
Imperial Mages were the ones who had insisted on sending Bolin out on the search in the first place. They likewise knew when Bolin found Ciara, and must have wondered, like others, why he did nothing.

There were times Bolin wondered himself.

His hand drifted up, his finger idly tracing the pendant beneath his tunic. Ciara's image floated behind his eyes: her brown hair slipping from its braid, hazel eyes dark and smoky, the way they looked when she moved close to him. Those times when he could feel her desire as though in answer to his own. Before the flash of anger that could come quick and sharp like a lightning strike, without warning or provocation.

They needed to find someone capable of training her. Until that happened, she posed a serious threat to everyone.

But first they had to get her safely to Nisair.

Bolin growled and pushed out of the chair, padding barefoot to the veranda doors, open to allow the gentle late summer breeze in. His rooms, on the backside of Nialyne's sprawling manor, opened onto a stretch of plush lawn that slid gently into the creek. He'd chosen these quarters because of the seclusion they offered, and the serenity of the view. He rested his shoulder against the door jamb
, and sighed into the night.

Like all the elders, Nialyne's magic was bound to the Greensward. The further they ventured from its borders, the weaker it would become. It would still be substantial, all things considered, but Bolin had no desire to pitch himself and Nialyne against Donovan and the witch while trying to keep Ciara out of it.

Bolin wondered if Konly had an herb that could safely knock Ciara out for the duration of the journey. Or at least numb the part of her that drew Donovan. It would have the added benefit of removing that particular distraction from Bolin's mind as well. Even now his blood raced when he thought of her power. A simple word would waken it, would bring it to him willing as a lamb. Just as willing as Ciara would be. She would give her body to Bolin as she would give her power to him: freely and without reservation. And he would take them both. But in the latter case, Ciara would fight him once she realized he meant to keep it.

But what if he were to merely hold Ciara's power until they were clear of Donovan? Just as he had held the witch's magic. He doubted he would suffer the same ill effects, and that would certainly make things easier. They wouldn't have to worry about Ciara losing control or calling to Donovan. And really, if he chose to do so, who could stop him?

"Unholy mothers."

Bolin shuddered at the reality of what he considered. The seeds of those thoughts had been planted by Donovan when he'd had Bolin in his hands, weak and near broken. It terrified him now that he hadn't rid himself of them. He would have to stay well away from Ciara, no matter what it took, and trust to Garek and his men to see to her safety. It had just become painfully obvious he couldn't trust himself.

He wandered back inside and poured a drink, his hand shaking as he raised the glass and downed the contents in one hard swallow. Sleep seemed unlikely, but he stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling, his arm folded behind his head, and tried to keep his thoughts on planning the route to Nisair.

It almost worked.

***

A figure moved out of the darkness surrounding him, a woman, dark skinned and slender. The shadows flowed with her as she came toward Bolin. She lifted her hand, a casual gesture that sent pain shooting through his left arm.

"You intrigue me." She trailed her fingers across his bare stomach, leaving behind a streak of black ooze that burned his skin. "What are you I wonder?"

Bolin tried to reply but his mouth, like the rest of his body, refused to work. He stood rooted, unable to do anything but breathe. Her scent--wet earth and pine, mingled with wood smoke--tantalized his nostrils.

"Do you know what I am?" She circled around behind him, and he willed himself to turn with her to no avail. Her voice carried the ripple of an accent in a throaty burr. "I'm your death. But you've no fear of death, do you?"

She pressed herself against his back, encircled him with her arms as her hands caressed his body. "Before I take your life, I'll take your pleasure, and give it in equal share. You desire power. I can feel it. I have power the likes of which you have only just tasted. It revolts you just as it draws you, doesn't it?"

She turned him in her arms and found his lips with hers. Her breath filled his mouth, tepid and seething, like tendrils of oil that slid down his throat and choked him. She smiled as she released him.

"Soon, you will seek me out." She touched the scar on his arm. "We are bound until I decide otherwise."

***

"Are you still with us?"

Bolin jerked his head up and looked across the table. Garek surveyed him, brow raised, and the corners of his mouth pulled down in an expression similar to the one Nialyne wore beside him. They'd gathered in Bolin's study shortly after breakfast, giving Garek a chance to give his men a day's worth of orders to keep them occupied. Ciara, thankfully, had gone straight to the healer's hut.

"I asked if you've decided on a route yet?" Garek said.

Bolin cradled his arm, absently massaging it through his shirt sleeve, and glanced back down at the map spread out before them. Although sleep had eventually come, it hadn't been even close to restful. "There's no good choice. The shortest routes put us too close to Donovan, or would be too difficult to venture with a cart."

"Or a Galysian elder?" Nialyne asked.

"Hence the reason for a cart," Bolin said. "But there's no chance I'm going to convince you to remain here, is there?"

She smiled. "No."

"And you're certain Donovan will be a problem?" Garek asked.

"He wants Ciara."

"The girl?"

"Aye."

"And why is that again?"

"Because," Bolin said, "she has incredible power."

Garek held up a hand. "Enough said. Spooky stuff. You know I don't care for it. Sets my flesh to crawling just thinking about it. We'll keep it simple. He wants her; we can't let him have her." He chewed at his mustache. "So, what about east, catch the Southrun past Broadhead? Fairly easy country for travel, even if we opt to keep off the road."

Road or not, Donovan and his new pet would find them. The only question
s were when and how.

"Or," Garek drawled the word out. "We sit back on our heels, and send word to the Emperor that his demand reeks worse than the cesspit on a hot summer day, and we'd sooner run naked through Guldarech during festival than make the trip."

Bolin stared at the map though he could have redrawn it blindfolded. Garek had no idea how sorely tempting it was to do just that. Damn the unholies, if the Imperial Mages were so curious about Ciara, they should make the trip to Galys Auld instead. Donovan couldn't touch her within the borders of the Greensward. At least, not yet. But how long before he tried? How long before his patience ran out, with his prize so close? And the idea of turning the Greensward into a battle ground made Bolin's stomach roil.

Perhaps within the walls of Nisair they could hold onto the illusion of safety.

"Bolin?" Garek waved a hand to catch his attention. "Are we boring you?"

He shook his head, ignoring Nialyne's penetrating stare, and dropped his hand to the map, tapping the area around the Southrun. "East. But we'll avoid the road as much as possible. Can you be ready by tomorrow?"