Rise (9 page)

ALL THE TALK EMBER
had heard of sailors described them as sour, drunken brutes. The crew of their ship, however, overturned those tales. Whether it was a reflection of their usual nature or an exception made out of respect for the holy mission of their current passengers, the burly men who occupied the ship were subdued and sober.

Ember learned quickly that she much preferred standing on the deck, where she could taste salt air and listen to the ship sluice through the dark sea. Belowdecks she suffered through the ongoing argument between Kael and Lukasz about whether or not they should actually join the pilgrimage upon reaching Bordeaux rather than seek another ship to carry their party east.

Their bickering tired her, but Barrow rested belowdecks as well. As much as Ember enjoyed the wind in her face, she didn’t want to leave his side for long. Taking another deep breath of sea-tinged air, Ember sighed and descended to Barrow’s berth.

Kael and Lukasz were there, still arguing. Sawyer was making do with the cramped space. He’d sorted through the herbs in Barrow’s saddlebags, along with additional ingredients that Kael and Lukasz offered, rendering them into tonics that might bring Barrow some relief.

Occupied with crushing herbs and mixing them with water and a touch of whisky, Sawyer worked happily, oblivious to the bitter voices that floated in the air nearby.

“I’m not asking that we go all the way to Constantinople with them,” Kael said. “But if we join them on the route south through France, you know they’ll stop at Sainte-Eulalie-de-Cernon, where we can remain.”

“Or we can hire a ship and sail directly to Krak des Chevaliers,” Lukasz answered brusquely. “Why delay?”

“It won’t be a delay if the clerics at Cernon weave us a portal,” Kael replied. “Walking through a door to the east will be much faster than sailing around Italy.”

Lukasz stood up, shaking his head. “If we appear at Cernon requesting a portal, word will get back to Eira. She has many friends in France and fewer in the Holy Land.”

“Barrow would benefit from the Hospitallers’ skills,” Kael said. “He doesn’t need to spend another week aboard a ship.”

“And carting him across the French countryside would be better?” Lukasz shot back.

Listening to the pair bicker, Ember wondered how their dispute could be so contrary to the tenderness she had seen them share the night of Sorcha’s death. The secrecy Lukasz and Kael were forced to maintain must be a heavy burden, particularly now that death chased their every step. Perhaps arguing over their mode of travel offered the only release of the frustration they surely felt to be so close as they escaped from Tearmunn, yet to be unable to take comfort in each other because Sawyer had been placed in their care.

Ember doubted her resolve would be unshaken without the reassurance of Barrow’s strong arms enfolding her and the warmth of his kiss to keep fear’s cold embrace at bay.

Looking at Barrow where he lay in his berth, Ember gasped. His eyes were open and he was watching Lukasz and Kael as their fight droned on.

“I’ll not be taking a cart anywhere,” Barrow said, voice groggy.

“Thank God.” Lukasz knelt beside Barrow. “How do you feel? Is there pain?”

Barrow pushed himself up onto his elbows, wincing. “There’s pain. But not worse than I’ve had before.”

“Good,” Kael said from behind Lukasz. He glanced at Sawyer. “Is that tonic almost ready?”

“Yes, my lord,” Sawyer answered without looking up from his work. “In a moment.”

Coming fully awake, Barrow frowned as he took in his surroundings. “A ship? What happened? How long have I been away from you?” He gripped the sides of the wooden berth, eyes going wide. “Where is Ember?”

Ember rushed from where she’d been hovering in the doorway. “Here. I’m here.”

She knelt opposite Lukasz, resting her hands lightly on Barrow’s forearm.

Barrow tried to reach for her, relief etched on his face, but the movement made him draw a sharp breath of pain.

“You must be still, my lord.” Sawyer stood over Ember. She looked up at the woodcutter in surprise, never having heard such strength in the man’s voice. “And drink this until it’s gone. I don’t want to hear complaints about the taste. Just drink it.”

Lukasz’s eyebrows went up, but he told Barrow, “Our friend Sawyer has been ministering to you. He has some knowledge of the healing arts.”

“Then I am in your debt, Goodman Sawyer.” Barrow took the cup Sawyer offered, though his eyes stayed on Ember’s face.

“Tell me what happened,” Barrow asked her. “All I can remember is Toshach stumbling.”

A lump formed in Ember’s throat, painful as she swallowed it. “Toshach fell and rolled over you. You lost consciousness.”

Barrow took a sip of the tonic and made a face, but as Sawyer had requested, he made no complaint and continued to drink it.

“They were on us before I could get to you,” Ember told him.

“What was it?” Barrow asked. “Who pursued us?”

“Alistair.” Ember took a deep breath and plunged into the tale. She struggled to keep her voice steady, watching Barrow’s face pale as she described the fire wolves. When she told him what Toshach had done, Barrow looked away.

“The wolves would have killed you if Toshach hadn’t stopped them,” Ember said.

Barrow didn’t answer. Neither did he ask how she and Caber had carried him to safety.

“We’ll leave you to rest now,” Lukasz said to Barrow. “I’ll return later to further discuss our current predicament.”

The commander stood, telling Sawyer, “Come with us. We’ll find something to eat.”

Sawyer nodded and followed Lukasz from the small room.

“Good to have you back, friend,” Kael said, and then left with the others.

Still silent, Barrow lay on his back, giving no acknowledgment that he knew Ember was still there.

Ember took the cup from his hand.

“You need to finish this.”

Barrow stared at the wood planks above him, his eyes full of unshed tears.

“He died because of my foolishness,” he said quietly.

Ember placed her hand over Barrow’s. “He died because we were forced to run in the dead of night.”

When Barrow didn’t reply, Ember dipped her fingers in the tonic and brought them to his lips. He started at her touch, but then clasped her wrist tightly in his fingers as he opened his mouth, half kissing, half drinking the tonic from her skin.

Shivering, Ember leaned down, pressing her mouth to his. Barrow’s tongue touched hers. His arm came around her back, drawing her against him. Through the kiss, Ember felt him tense with pain, and she quickly pulled away.

“Don’t,” Barrow whispered. “I can bear it.”

“Your lie tempts me.” Ember smiled at him. “But I won’t risk hurting you. Please finish this.”

She handed him the cup. Barrow sat up and drained it, shuddering as he swallowed.

“Vile,” he told her. “Strange how I didn’t mind when I sipped it from your fingers.”

Taking the cup and setting it aside, Ember said softly, “Don’t try to hold me… but I need to touch you.”

Meeting her gaze, Barrow nodded and became very still. He sat quietly, watching as she reached for him. Their quiet breathing was the only sound as Ember moved her hands through his hair. She touched his neck, sliding her hands up and tracing the shape of his jaw with her fingertips. Then cupped his face in her palms.

As Ember spoke, her cheeks became wet with tears. “I am so sorry that you lost Toshach. But I cannot regret what he did, for I could not bear to lose you.”

Barrow drew a ragged breath, lowering his eyes, and a few teardrops escaped onto his cheeks.

“I love you,” Ember whispered. No words she’d spoken had ever felt so important or so frightening. “I have loved no one but you.”

Barrow looked at Ember, and she saw that his deep gray eyes were the color of the sea upon which they now sailed.

“Kiss me, Ember.”

She was careful to hold herself above him when she moved close. His mouth was gentle and warm, tasting her, breathing her breath. Ember’s eyes were closed, her body caught between the sweetness of his kiss and the ache of needing more. She broke the kiss, murmuring, “Heal swiftly, for my patience is short.”

“As my lady wishes,” Barrow answered. His voice was drowsy, and Ember realized that the tonic Sawyer had made most likely contained a sleep draught.

“Will you tell me now how you came to my rescue?” he asked.

Ember backed away slightly, wondering what Barrow would make of her tactic with Alistair. Lukasz and Kael had seen the expedience of her decision, but Barrow already bore a grudge toward Alistair when it came to Ember’s affections.

“Because it was Alistair,” Ember told him, “I was able to persuade him to let me go, but—”

She hesitated, waiting for his response. When he laughed lazily, Ember sat up, banging her head on the low wooden beam that curved over the berth.

“Ow!”

Barrow didn’t react, and she saw how quickly he was drifting off.

Before his eyelids fully closed, he rolled out a few words, though exhaustion put strange lapses in his speech. “Poor lad. Of course he came after you… I would have… He can’t have you… kill him… sorry bastard…”

Smiling, Ember stretched out on the bed beside Barrow, close enough so her body touched his but keeping her weight from leaning too heavily against his bruised chest. Their fingers laced together. Ember rested her chin on Barrow’s shoulder, listening to his breath slow as the rocking ship lulled him back to sleep.

Her own eyelids heavy, Ember was about to let slumber take her when she heard a stirring at the door. Lifting her head, Ember met Lukasz’s gaze. The commander paused in the doorway. He looked at Ember and Barrow lying together on the narrow berth. Ember started to rise, but Lukasz lifted his hand and gave a brief shake of his head. The commander stepped out of the doorway, pulling the door shut. As he did, Ember thought she saw him smile.

ALISTAIR WALKED THE
perimeter of the great hall, taking note of the changes Eira had made in the chamber. No longer a gathering space for Conatus, Eira had commandeered the hall for her own purposes. The room now served as a meeting place for the Circle but felt more like a throne room in which Eira held court. A massive, ornately carved ebony chair had been placed in front of the dead tree that harbored Bosque’s rift. The glossy black polish of the thronelike seat offered a stark contrast to the bone-white, lifeless trunk. Alistair didn’t know where the chair had come from, though he suspected it had once belonged to Abbot Crichton.

Eira had other chairs and a table carved in the shape of a crescent moon added to the hall as well. The inner curve of the table faced Eira’s seat and the rift, while the outer edge featured much more diminutive chairs for the rest of the Circle. There was no chair for Bosque. Whenever Eira received visitors, the tall man stood at her side, just behind her left shoulder. Alistair did have a seat, one of the plain chairs designated for Circle members. At Eira’s decree, Alistair had been named to the Circle, a new voice for the Guard in the absence of the commander. No one had complained.

These changes suited Alistair. He much preferred that the order be ruled by a single, strong voice. Eira had explained how often accommodating the diverse opinions of the Circle had weakened Conatus. Better to be finished with such a burdensome form of leadership. While building her vision for their future, Eira, enforced by Bosque’s power, would not make any concessions.

But that didn’t mean the transition to a new order would occur without incident, unexpected turns of events that were sometimes helpful and sometimes irksome. Such was the case with the two things that delayed their travel to Inverness into the afternoon. The first delay was of the irksome sort.

Mercer was dead. When the guard had opened his cell to give the prisoner his morning meal, Mercer lay unmoving on the floor, his glassy eyes open wide.

Though by no measure a devastating loss, Mercer’s demise was nonetheless frustrating. He’d given up no useful information, despite Bosque’s extraordinary means for extracting desired answers. More troublesome were the questions that remained about how Mercer’s life had come to an end.