Rise (26 page)

Bosque watched as waves, copper bright, fell section by section upon Eira’s shoulders. “Your legacy. I would see you secure it.”

“My legacy,” Eira murmured. She rubbed her temples.

“Who will rule when you are gone?” Bosque continued. “Though I assure you, that will be many years from now.”

Though her eyes were closed, Eira smiled. “You are always so certain, Lord Mar.”

“I am.” His voice was much closer. Eira opened her eyes to find him standing before her.

Bosque’s gaze lingered on her face. “I would like you to think about your heir.”

Eira laughed. “An heir?”

When Bosque showed no sign of joining her bout of mirth, Eira said, “You spoke of Alistair. Is it your wish that I should name him my successor?” She didn’t dislike the idea. Though he often frustrated her with his youthful whims and irritating obsession with Ember Morrow, Eira held Alistair in high regard. Her affection for him grew daily.

A hint of a smile touched Bosque’s mouth. “You need Alistair to be your general, and in that role, he will serve you well, but someone else should take your throne.”

Eira frowned at him. “Who?”

“Why not your own child?” Bosque asked.

She took a step back, half turning from him. Twisting her fingers in her loose hair, she said quietly, “My years to bear children are past. I chose another life than that of wife and mother.”

Unsettled, Eira smoothed her hair back, intending to braid it once more. But Bosque was suddenly at her side, pushing her hand away.

“Leave it down,” he said in a voice that reached beneath her skin, making her tremble.

She drew a startled breath when he placed his palm low on her belly. Leaning close, he murmured, “Life would still quicken within you.”

“Why do you speak to me of this?” Eira couldn’t move. No man had touched her, desired to draw close to her, before now.

But he isn’t truly a
man.

Her mind tried to grasp that small, fearful voice, but her body responded to the warmth of Bosque’s hand and the caress of his breath on her neck. When she closed her eyes, attempting to focus, the image of Bosque appeared, emerging naked from the waters, rivulets of seawater chasing each other down the carved lines of his chest and abdomen.

Eira’s eyelids fluttered open and she shook her head, trying to dispel the memory.

“Does my touch offend you?” Bosque asked. His fingers pressed into her as he slid his hand from her stomach to grasp the curve of her hip. Bosque drew Eira close. Her back fitted against his chest, and she could feel the strength of the body her mind’s eye had memorized so well.

“I asked a question,” Eira said, not wanting him to know how far off balance he’d put her. She laid her hand over his, thinking to push it away from her, but the moment her fingers touched his warm skin, they curled around his hand as if by instinct.

“Your future is also mine, Eira.” He wound loose strands of her hair around his wrist like a serpent. “And our bond is already formed, joining our two worlds. I suggest only that there is a further path we might walk together.”

“Do you want me as a lover?” Eira pulled away from him. “Or do you simply wish for me to bear your child?”

“Is there a reason I can’t desire both?” Bosque asked. She kept her distance, and he didn’t attempt to draw near again. “And the child will not be mine, but ours.”

“I—” Eira stared at Bosque. Her skin was still flushed and strangely hot from their brief closeness.

“Consider what I’ve said.” Bosque retreated to the door. “When I speak of this again, I’ll require your answer.”

When he’d gone, Eira went to her bed. She lay down and closed her eyes, pondering a question she never had expected to be asked.

DAY AFTER DAY PASSED,
but Ember couldn’t shake Alistair’s visit from her mind; nor could she think of any prior incident in her life that she’d given such scrutiny. Once Alistair was out of the room, Ember had been able to catch her breath and collect her wits, only to find herself utterly bewildered by what had transpired.

In a matter of minutes, Ember had broken down, been reduced to a pathetic, weeping lump of a girl. All because Alistair had treated her more coldly than she’d ever believed he would, or could. His words had bruised her spirit as well as her heart. Though she didn’t love him in the way he wished, Alistair had been her only friend besides Agnes throughout her childhood. He’d been the only one who hadn’t chastised her for longing to wield a sword and become as accomplished a horseman as any boy.

Shocked and humiliated by her own naiveté, Ember had to admit that, while she had believed she would have to persuade Alistair that she had returned to Tearmunn for his sake as well as her sister’s, she had never imagined that she would arrive to find him turned against her.

But what bothered her most of all was the kiss. It was too easy to remember the feeling of Alistair’s mouth on hers and the way she’d responded. Ember recalled the first time Alistair had kissed her, how invasive his ardor had felt. This latest kiss Ember had wanted, but not because she wanted Alistair. In beating her down with his words, dashing her hopes to insinuate herself into his confidence, Alistair had rendered Ember a hollow shell, desperate to be filled with some affirmation. The kiss had served that purpose, and Ember was deeply shamed by her behavior.

Even so, she couldn’t understand why the kiss had happened. As much as Ember longed for some sign that Alistair still cared for her, she hadn’t brought her lips to his. Alistair had kissed her. If he despised her, as his words and manner implied, why would he want to kiss her like that? Perhaps, believing that Ember had at last returned his affections when his own had cooled, he’d offered the kiss as a final insult. A reminder of what she would now be denied.

The thought had been like a fist in her belly.

All Ember could do was wait for Alistair to return, and while she waited, she swore to herself that a scene like the first would never be acted out again.

But Alistair didn’t return, leaving Ember to wonder if she was truly held captive in Tearmunn by her enemies or if she’d simply imprisoned herself.

Servants came and relocated Ember to chambers of her own. Bosque Mar did visit them again, informing Agnes and Ember that they were free to move through the manor as they pleased, but if they desired to go elsewhere in the keep, they must be accompanied.

Over the course of the next week, Ember and Agnes shared days that Agnes greeted with cheer and Ember found monotonous. While Alistair didn’t appear, Lord Mar did visit them several times. On some occasions, he would converse with them for hours while Agnes embroidered and Ember sat with a needle and thread in her hands. Agnes chattered contentedly, showing no sign of being unnerved by the man’s strange eyes or mysterious origin. Though Ember supposed Agnes knew nothing of Bosque’s true nature, she nonetheless abhorred how easily Agnes accepted his invitations to walk the grounds of the keep or visit the scribes’ library. For her own part, Ember found it difficult to speak at all in Bosque’s presence. She made every effort to avoid making contact with his silver eyes. What Lord Mar’s assessment of her was, Ember couldn’t know.

When eight days had passed with no sign of Alistair, Ember began to wonder if he would ever visit again. Resting her forehead against the window, Ember stared down at the practice field. She watched pairs of the Guard battle each other. Her fingers twitched, wishing for the leather grips of Silence and Sorrow. She’d left her blades in Barrow’s care, fearing that if they arrived with her at Tearmunn, the weapons would be lost forever.

Ember didn’t turn at the light knock upon her door. “Come in, Agnes.”

“My lady?” Ember whirled at the man’s voice, the burgundy silk of her gown rustling with quick movement. A Guard stood in the open door. Ember worried at how many of the Guard were now strangers to her. Eira had been recruiting knights, expanding the Guard well beyond its traditional number.

“Your presence is required in the great hall.” The Guard bid her follow him.

Ember left her room and descended the stairs at his heels. A flurry of possibilities swirled through her mind. Ember suspected any leniency she had been afforded upon her arrival had run its course and now she would face an interrogation.

The Guard opened one of the doors to the great hall, letting Ember pass, and closed it behind her. Only a few steps into the room, Ember froze, stunned by the changes that had taken place since her departure. Structurally, the room was the same, but had she not known that this had once been the Tearmunn hall in which she’d begun her initiation to Conatus, Ember might not have recognized it.

The hall had been transformed into a throne room, Lady Eira’s throne room. The warrior woman sat in a high-backed chair elaborately carved from ebony. When Ember entered, Eira beckoned to her. Ember came forward but stopped again, gasping when she saw what stood directly behind the throne.

The cedar of Lebanon’s lush green canopy was gone. The sacred tree’s richly textured bark had been stripped away, as if the trunk and branches had been flayed. What stood in the tree’s place was a monstrosity, pale as dry bones and devoid of life. At the base of the tree was a gaping wound. The tree’s heart had been destroyed, leaving an empty carcass behind.

Gazing at the desecrated tree, Ember saw that what she’d assumed to be the gutted trunk teemed with movement. Shadows revealed edges of sickly green and dull bronze as they pooled and eddied within the dead tree.

“Welcome, Lady Morrow.”

Ember gave a small cry, jumping away from Bosque Mar, who had appeared without warning beside her.

“I’m sorry to have startled you,” Bosque said. His smile gave no sign of real concern for her. Pushing her forward, Bosque said, “You linger near the door when you’ve been invited to join us.”

Ember walked quickly toward Eira so Bosque’s hands would no longer be able to guide her. His touch made beads of cold sweat form on the back of her neck.

Ember’s eyes kept returning to the nest of shadows that marred the sacred tree. Even without knowing what the darkness was, she feared it.

Alistair was standing at Eira’s right hand. Bosque walked past Ember to take up a post on her left. Ember dared to look at Alistair; he met her gaze, but his face gave no indication as to whether he was pleased or displeased to see her. Ember couldn’t stop herself from searching for any sign of emotion in Alistair’s eyes, or any curve of his lips, and where there had been cold, heat immediately raced up her neck and into her cheeks. Staring at the floor, Ember clenched her fists. She didn’t want to think about the kiss. She hadn’t enjoyed it. Had she?

Keeping her head bowed, Ember didn’t bother to turn when the door to the great hall opened and closed again.

“Ah, Father Michael. Thank you for coming.” When Eira spoke the priest’s name, Ember was so relieved, her knees threatened to cave. Gratitude filled her when Father Michael stopped at her side, holding her with his kind eyes.

“Good morning, my child.”

Alistair had one arm propped on the top of Eira’s throne. He leaned against the ornate chair, almost lounging. “Well, Father Michael, you said you had an urgent matter involving Lady Ember Morrow to discuss?”

Father Michael nodded. “I received a missive from Lord Mackenzie. He currently plays host to Ember’s father and offers to act as a mediator between Lord Morrow and his elder daughter.”

“To what purpose?” Eira asked the priest.

“The tongues of men love to wag over the misfortunes of their fellows,” Father Michael answered. “Mackenzie knows of Agnes’s sorrows and wishes to see her restored to her father’s good will, provided for once again by her own family. Mackenzie has always been a clan leader who values loyalty over grudges. He believes it more honorable for Agnes and her unborn child to be acknowledged by her father than for Lord Morrow to continue to shame his own flesh and blood.”

Bosque folded his arms across his chest. “And what does Lady Morrow think of this?”

“Of course I—”

“Lord Mar speaks of Agnes, not you,” Alistair cut her off.

For a moment, Ember felt the rush of shame and confusion that had overwhelmed her when she’d last met Alistair, but before she pulled her eyes from him, she caught the way one corner of Alistair’s mouth hooked up in pleasure at the way she reeled from his reproach.