Rift (33 page)

“I’ve been reading to you.”

“Reading to me?”

He set the thick book in his lap. “Herodotus:
The Histories.
”

Ember frowned at him, which at last garnered his smile.

“I’m supposed to be teaching you,” he told her. “Herodotus has excellent accounts of the Greco-Persian wars. I considered Sun-tzu’s
Art of War
but thought a narrative better than military philosophy for the moment. And even if you were unconscious, I thought you might . . . be able to hear.”

Her throat closed and she looked down at her hands.

Silence filled the small space between them.

After a few minutes Barrow coughed. “Shall I leave you?”

She shook her head, forcing herself to look at him though her face felt strangely hot.

“I’m grateful for your company, but wouldn’t you rather be out on a mission?”

He sighed. “Our missions are on hold while the Circle determines our best course of action.”

“Our best course of action regarding what?”

When he balked, casting his eyes toward the door, Ember sucked in a sharp breath.

“My father . . . what did he do?” She was desperate for Barrow to look at her again. “What happened? Am I being sent away?”

Her chest cramped at the thought and she couldn’t stop the anxious moan that slipped from her throat.

Barrow’s eyes finally met hers. “Please, Ember—if the healer thinks I’ve caused you pain, she’ll flay me.”

“I won’t go back,” she said. “This is where I belong.”

He didn’t touch her but rested one hand on the edge of her bed. “You’re not being sent away. The abbot has rattled the Circle, something he takes great pleasure in.”

Ember slumped against her pillow. “But it was my father’s complaint that brought the abbot here. He saw through my act.”

“He knew about your calling to the Guard well before your father petitioned him,” he said. “We believe he’s bought off a servant to spy on our order. It’s not surprising, but inconvenient.”

“Maybe I should return home.” She sighed. “If my father will bring this burden on Conatus, my presence risks too much.”

“If it weren’t your father, it would have been something else,” he told her. “Rumor has it that the abbot believes himself worthy of a grander home—and he needs the funds to build a new manor. He took advantage of your father’s complaint because it hits the sisters where they feel most vulnerable. Eira and Cian were the finest knights Conatus has seen. They want to ensure that other women can follow the same path they did, even women of noble birth. You’re the first of what they hope will be many.”

“Will the Circle meet the abbot’s demands?”

Barrow rubbed his temples. “I don’t know. They’ve been closed up in meetings and I’ve only been in attendance at one. I know little, but from what I’ve heard, they’re split over the issue.”

“Is there a choice other than submitting to Abbot Crichton?” Ember asked.

“Eira seems to think so,” he said with a grimace.

Ember frowned. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure. Eira wants to resist, and I’d be the first to choose that path if I thought it viable . . . but something doesn’t feel right about this.”

“I don’t understand.” Ember didn’t like the way Barrow’s voice had tightened.

“The man we came upon in the woods,” he said, leaning forward so his folded arms rested on his thighs. “He’s imprisoned in the stockade. We’ve been questioning him day after day, but he speaks only madness.”

“He looked mad,” Ember said.

“For all intents and purposes he is mad,” he said. “But he was able to call half a dozen striga into the Black Forest to serve him. Such a thing isn’t possible—at least we didn’t believe it to be.”

“And Eira thinks he could aid us against the abbot?” Ember worried at the deepening strain on Barrow’s face, so his quiet laughter came as a surprise.

“I suppose this is as good a lesson as Herodotus.” He set the book on the foot of her bed. “We fight creatures that are unnatural, beasts that corrupt our world. We’ve learned bits and pieces of the ways they can be summoned and more importantly how to kill them.”

He leaned back in his chair. “The aims of our clerics have been focused on drawing on the elemental magic held by the earth to combat those evils that don’t belong here. The powers we employ in this war against darkness are natural repellants to the creatures we fight.”

Ember lay very still, rapt by the tale.

“But Eira believes our energies misdirected,” he told her. “She wants the clerics to shift their study to our adversary—the supposed master of those wicked beasts that surface from the mysterious dark.”

“That doesn’t seem unreasonable,” Ember said quietly.

“No, it doesn’t.” Barrow drew a long breath. “I can’t explain why I’m troubled by her request. It’s that man we captured. He shows no fear despite being our prisoner. And he should be afraid. Any person we find dabbling in black magic does not see the light of day again. Because he allied with darkness, his life is forfeit.”

“But he’s what Eira wants the clerics to study?” Ember asked as pieces of Barrow’s story fell into place.

“Yes,” he said, frowning. “Eira believes this sorcerer has tapped more deeply into these dark mysteries than any other magician we’ve captured. And she’s right.”

He looked into her eyes. “Tell me if you think me a fool, Ember.”

She opened her mouth to object, but he kept speaking. “Eira thinks our prisoner may have found the source of all that is evil. Every beast we kill. She wants to seek that source out and destroy it.”

Ember held his gaze when he paused, gathering his thoughts.

“It follows that our enemies come from somewhere or something, but for reasons I can’t explain, I don’t want to seek it out, though Eira claims to do so might afford us the only opportunity to rid this world of these evils forever.”

“I could never think you a fool,” Ember whispered. The thought of a source that brought things like the striga and the revenant into being made her shudder. “What will happen now?”

Her mind was split, some of her attention still held captive by the thought that her father would continue to demand her return while the remainder cautiously mused over Eira’s proposal. No matter how frightening the source might be, if these horrors could be banished from the earth, how could Conatus fail to attempt that mission?

Barrow shrugged. “It’s in the hands of the Circle. Tomorrow the Guard returns to Dorusduain. Perhaps we’ll find more answers to guide our steps.”

“You’re riding out tomorrow? I want to be ready,” Ember told him. “I’ve already been lying about for two days.”

She started to sit up but winced as tight skin over her healing wounds objected.

“You’re not going back into the field until you’ve fully recovered. And you’ve already done enough in the fight with the striga.” Barrow was on his feet, his hand on her shoulder as if to press her back into the pillows. “Don’t strain yourself. You’ll be fighting alongside me soon enough.”

Ember lifted her hand, pushing his away as she gritted her teeth and wormed her way up the bed until she was upright. “The healer has told me if I lie here much longer, I could lose all the strength in my arms.”

He nodded slowly. “The healer said you might need help.”

“She did.” Ember frowned. “I don’t know what she meant.”

“I think I might.” His voice trailed off. He took a few steps away from her, looking at the door. For a moment she thought he was about to leave, but he turned around and came to her side.

“Try lifting your arms,” he said.

Without hesitation she raised her arms. Pain made her gasp before they were level with her shoulders.

Barrow leaned over, taking her forearms in his hands and looking her in the eye. “This will hurt.”

Slowly he lifted her arms. Her breath became shallow and she bit her lip, trying to will away the sensation that Barrow was about to tear her arms from their sockets.

“Breathe,” he murmured. He drew her body forward so her chest folded over her thighs, stretching the muscles in her back in addition to those of her shoulders and arms.

Despite all her effort to swallow it, Ember choked out a sob.

“You’re strong, Ember.” Barrow held her, keeping steady tension in her outstretched arms. “Remember that.”

“What are you doing?” The outraged question came from the doorway.

Ember started to lift her body, but Barrow kept a tight grip on her arms. “Sit up very slowly.”

Her body protested as she retracted from the stretch. When her head was upright, she saw Alistair coming across the room. Barrow paid the younger man no heed, easing Ember back against her pillow.

She brushed a tear from her cheek, not wanting to look at Barrow and wishing she could have been stronger.

“It will get easier,” he said, cupping her chin in his hand so she had to meet his gaze. “I can read to you for a bit and then we’ll try again.”

She didn’t know what was worse, that she’d now cried twice in front of him or that she was going to have to go through the painful exercise again. And probably soon.

Alistair shoved Barrow away from the bed. “I asked you what you’re doing, brute!”

“Alistair!” Ember glared at him. “What is wrong with you?”

Alistair’s face was white with rage. “What’s wrong with
me
? Look at you. He hurt you.”

“He’s helping me,” she said, furious again that her face was tear-streaked. “It’s not Barrow’s fault that my recovery isn’t pleasant.”

He didn’t reply but stood staring at her, breathing hard.

Barrow cleared his throat.

“What?” Alistair threw him an unfriendly glance.

“I was just waiting.”

“For what?” Alistair asked.

“An apology.” Barrow smiled at him.

Alistair’s answering smile was cold. “Does a farmer apologize to his jackass for the sting of the switch?”

“Alistair!” Ember wished she could get out of bed and kick him.

When he turned back to her, his eyes were pleading. “He’s baiting me. Can’t you see it? Why do you trust him?”

“Why wouldn’t I trust him?” she threw back. “And why would Barrow ever bait you?”

“Why indeed?” Barrow murmured, but the teasing lilt of his words had vanished.

Alistair ignored him. “Shouldn’t the healer be ministering to you? I wasn’t aware Barrow was qualified.”

“Any one of us could aid Ember with these exercises.” Barrow gestured to her. “Perhaps you’d like to take over?”

Ember’s eyes widened. She stopped herself from protesting, but not before a pained expression cut across Alistair’s face. Barrow looked at Alistair and then at Ember, his face suddenly troubled.

“I’m sorry I interfered.” Alistair stared at the floor rather than meeting her eyes. “I wish you a swift recovery.”

He walked away.

“You don’t have to leave!” Ember called after him.

Alistair didn’t look back.

Barrow’s gaze followed Alistair’s abrupt departure. Ember expected him to make a derisive remark about Alistair’s ill temper, but instead he slowly backed away from her bedside. Avoiding her questioning eyes, he murmured, “I should leave you to your rest.”

Ember frowned. “I thought you were going to read to me.”

“So did I.” His answer seemed directed to himself rather than to her. He didn’t look at her when he said, “I’ll send the healer to assist you with your exercises.”

“Barrow—” she began.

He cut her off. “I’m glad you’re awake, Lady Morrow. And I wish you a swift recovery.”

Before Ember could begin to puzzle out his odd change in behavior, Barrow was gone.

TWENTY-SIX

EIRA WAS VAGUELY
aware that Cian kept stealing glances at her. No doubt her sister was worried, but Eira couldn’t shake herself out of a dreamlike state as they rode eastward. Today the sisters returned to the village with twenty of the Guard, nearly the full company, all armed to the teeth. Though only four knights remained at the keep—including Barrow, who’d requested to stay in case the lady Morrow’s condition took an unexpected turn for the worse—Tearmunn remained well protected. The keep had defenses beyond its knights that were invisible to the eye.

On the road to Dorusduain, the restless mood of the soldiers permeated the air, stiff and edged with fear. But the cloud of apprehension that hung heavy over the rest of the Guard didn’t touch Eira.

Eira’s distracted state of mind kept flipping between two puzzles. The first was the night of dreams that held her entranced. While sleeping, she’d dreamed of the abbot’s estate, of standing over the abbot with Bosque Mar at her side. They’d laughed, watching as Crichton begged for mercy.

It should have been a nightmare. But the scene she’d lived and then relived in her sleep filled her with a sense of delight. She wondered at her proclivity for taking joy from his pain but pushed aside her fears of moral corruption whenever they crept into her thoughts. Hadn’t Abbot Crichton earned his punishment? And Eira had shown him mercy by commanding Bosque to spare the man’s life. The abbot was a prisoner in his own estate, but he was alive because of Eira’s will.