Rise (War Witch Book 1) (23 page)

Chara hugged the warrior tight, distressed by the idea that wandered into her mind. Ramora would never do that. Would she?

Feeding a nightmare of it into her subconscious, the Ascended manipulated her into sleep.

Scowling, Rakiss fell into a chair and leaned back. The bond between them was growing faster than he expected. He needed to do something to break it, and quickly. The fiasco he had arranged at dinner hadn’t made Little Sister eject the young woman from her bed, as he had thought it would. Unfortunately, he only had one option in front of him.

Standing, he glanced over as the two drifted off to sleep, the candles lowering themselves until the room was dim. Shaking his head, he passed through the wall and headed down to the kitchen, where Esteban was cleaning up from dinner.

Watching the Werejaguar for a moment, Rakiss admitted that he would do well enough. He wasn't a perfect choice, obviously, but he had all the needed requirements. Strong, patient, kind, and gentle, he was everything the Ascended needed, save human. He could work with that, though. Perhaps this wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.

"Excuse me there, lad," he said as he shed his invisibility.

Esteban nearly hit the ceiling. For some reason, Rakiss found that hysterically funny.

"Who are you?" the Were demanded. "How did you get in here?"

"Forgive me," he replied with a bow. "I am Rakiss, an Ascended in service to the Gods of Heaven. I have come to speak with you."

"Me?" the Jaguar squeaked. "Surely, you mean my father?"

"Imicot?" Rakiss laughed. "No, there is another attending him. I'm here to speak with you, my boy."

The Jaguar hesitated. "About what?"

Picking up an apple off the kitchen counter, Rakiss sniffed it and then took a bite, savoring the sweet taste. "The young woman who came with the Blessed. Chara."

Esteban sat aside the pan he’d been cleaning in the sink. "I cannot imagine why. I see nothing worth speaking about where she is concerned."

"Is that so?" the demigod asked with a grin. "Are you certain? She's quite lovely."

Esteban flattened his ears. "If you say so. A bit hairless for my taste."

Rakiss nodded at that. "Very true, but I only have so much to work with here, lad. You'll forgive me, I trust, as I try to mold a masterpiece from bad clay."

The Were gave him a curious look. "I don’t understand."

"Nor do you need to," the Ascended admitted as he sat on the counter, eating the apple slowly. "In a few short minutes, you won't even remember I was here, so it hardly matters."

"Which God did you say you serve?" Esteban asked, finding no distinctive traits that showed the Ascended's patron deity.

"I didn't," Rakiss grinned. "Rest assured I’m not a Fallen. I’m on the side of Heaven."

"So you say," the Cat growled.

Rakiss waved that off, and Esteban suddenly found he wasn't worried over it any more. In fact, he couldn't remember what he’d been worried about in the first place.

"Now," the demigod said. "About the girl, Chara. You find her quite attractive. In fact, you are falling in love with her. Do you understand?"

"Preposterous," Esteban snapped. "There’s nothing about her I like, and certainly not love. She’s a spoiled, pampered, idiot child."

Rakiss shrugged. "Yes, well, you aren't my first choice, either, but I'm making do. I'm sure you will, too."

"Excuse me?"

"Never mind," the Ascended said as he slid off the counter, dropping the apple core in the trash. "Tomorrow, you will begin courting the young lady."

"I will not," he growled.

He wasn't sure who he was talking to. Looking around the empty kitchen, he gave a weary sigh. It had been a long few days, and with his father in such poor health, his nerves were getting the best of him. Assuming he had drifted off standing up, he turned back to cleaning the dishes.

At least he could see Chara again in the morning. That would brighten his mood.

Rakiss smirked and headed upstairs to deal with the old man.

Imicot woke to a gentle nudging on his shoulder. Expecting to find his son checking in on him, he opened his eyes, already smiling, and found a strange white-haired man with dark eyes looking down at him. Startled, he gasped, and began to cough.

Rakiss touched his chest, stilling the bout before it could begin, saying, "Easy now. We can do without all that."

"Who are you?" the old sorcerer demanded.

The Ascended rolled his eyes a bit. "Why does everyone lead with that question? Really, mortals are so dull and predictable at times."

Imicot narrowed his eyes a bit. "An Ascended. I recognize the disruption in the flow of the magic around you."

"How very astute," Rakiss acknowledged as he strolled about the room. "I imagine you can also see the deity I serve, despite my attempts to hide it."

"I can," the sorcerer admitted, watching him with some fear. "But only barely. Why is that?"

"You might say I'm acting as a free agent at this time," the demigod told him, pausing to examine the chairs the sorcerer and Ramora had used earlier. "Not that it really matters, but I figured I should show you a bit of respect on that front at least. You’re a very unique mortal, after all."

Imicot struggled to sit up, gasping for breath as the Ascended wandered about. "You aren’t here with Adalynn. You aren’t attached to the Priestess. Why are you here?"

Rakiss bobbled his head a bit. "That's sort of the thing, you see. I'm working on this little project. An experiment, you might say. It requires constant supervision, though. Always having to make little tweaks here and there to keep it from going wrong."

The sorcerer watched how the mystic energies flowed around the Ascended. "The girl who came with the Blessed of Ramor. You're here for her."

The demigod applauded him. "Well done. You’re much brighter than that Jaguar of yours."

"You leave my son alone," Imicot barked, hating the feebleness of his own voice that made it sound like a whine.

Rakiss shrugged. "Sorry, but I have need of him. He's suddenly become a very crucial ingredient in my little experiment. Without him, the whole thing will just fizzle out and be useless."

"No," the sorcerer argued. "He's a good boy! I won't let you use him!"

"Use him?" Rakiss chuckled as he pulled a book from the shelf and leafed through it. "I tend to think of it more as borrowing."

Scowling, the old man tried desperately to steady his breathing. "I won't allow it. I forbid it."

"You’re in no position to be making demands, my friend," the Ascended sighed as he put the book away.

Imicot studied the flow of energy around the demigod, but could discern nothing. Whatever he was up to, he was shielding it well. If only his body hadn't grown so weak, he could divine the course his boy was being set on. With enough time, and help from the Priestess, he might still be able to.

"What is it you want of me, then?" he asked, deciding to humor the demigod until he could ask Ramora for aid.

Rakiss folded his hands behind his back, making a face that over-exaggerated his pondering of that question. "Well, there is one thing you can do to help me. A little nudge in the right direction from you would do wonders for moving all of this forward to the next phase."

Chuckling, the sorcerer waved a hand slightly. "Esteban is going to return to his world after I am gone, immortal. I will not help you do anything. He deserves to be among his own people."

"And the world deserves to be a peaceful place, unsullied by evil," Rakiss said with a shrug. "Funny how things never go the way they should, isn't it?"

Scowling, Imicot considered the Ascended carefully. "I’m not being given a choice in this, am I?"

Rakiss paused, a note of sadness crossing his face. "No, you’re not. I am sorry for that. I wouldn’t do this if there were another way."

"Find another way, I beg of you," the old man pleaded. "Leave my boy out of it."

"I truly do wish I could, but there isn’t enough time," the demigod said as he moved to sit on the bed. "Things are happening, things I can barely control. I need him, and I need him now. You’re going to help me, and I am so, so sorry for that."

Imicot nodded slowly. "Will he suffer?"

"Greatly, yes," Rakiss said slowly. "There’s no other way."

"Why?" he pleaded, tears beginning to fall. "Why must you do this to my boy?"

Rakiss reached out, stroking the old man's balding head. "Because the world is full of evil, and it shouldn’t be."

"Making him suffer will not erase that," Imicot argued.

"Yes, it will," the Ascended told him. "That you must believe."

Imicot bowed his head, weeping for his son, his beautiful boy. "What are you going to make me do?"

Pulling back his hand, Rakiss stared at a window for a long moment, then said, "Listen to me carefully, for you will do exactly what I say."

The old sorcerer listened, horrified, shaking his head weakly at the things the Ascended wanted him to do. When the demigod left, Imicot remembered none of it, and slept peacefully.

The last piece in place, Rakiss waited to see if things went as planned.

"Forgive me, Little Sister," he murmured at the blizzard-coated night outside. "I must break your heart to strike at Ker Zet."

WHEN SHE WOKE
the next morning, Chara didn’t feel as rested as she’d hoped. Horrible dreams had plagued her all through the night; though she couldn’t fully recall them once she was awake. She just remembered that they’d frightened her and filled her with dread.

Rolling over, she found Ramora still sleeping, and started to reach out, wanting to caress her. Her hand trembled before she could, a feeling of uncertainty washing over her, making her pull back. Instead, she sat up and eased out of bed.

She would go right through me to get the man she's after.

Chara shook her head, pushing the thought away. Ramora wouldn't do that. The warrior loved her. Didn't she?

Looking down at her, she wasn't as sure as she’d been before. Maybe, she thought, she saw her young companion as a way to pass the time. Or worse, a useful distraction that she could use in her quest for vengeance.

Chara closed her eyes a moment, pushing all of those thoughts aside. It was nonsense. She didn't even know where they came from. Still, she couldn't bring herself to go back to bed, and instead got dressed and slipped quietly from the room to go in search of breakfast.

Sunlight shone in through the hall window, drawing her to it. Outside, the landscape was solid white, a frozen stretch that seemed to go on forever. Drifts of snow had piled up along the wall that surrounded the keep, looking deeper than she was tall from her vantage point. She couldn't even make out where the road was.

Her father and his fellow soldiers had been trapped here for weeks, making her realize for the first time that she and Ramora could be as well. With a frown, she decided she best get used to it and headed down to the kitchen. There wasn't anything she could do about it, after all, and with the new day, she’d chosen to approach life from that direction.

She would go right through me to get the man she's after.

Chara paused on the steps, resting a hand against the wall as a wave of nausea and dizziness swept over her. Glancing back up, she assured herself that wasn’t true, but she wondered. After all, she’d leapt at the chance last night, hadn't she? Right in the middle of their intimacy no less, right? What if she would think nothing of cutting through the young woman to slay the man who had destroyed her family?

What did that make them?

"Stop it," she muttered to herself. "Just stop it. Ramora is a Blessed. She’d never do that."

Except.

She’d watched her family be brutally murdered. Blessed or not, a person wasn't the same after that. It destroyed a part of them. They didn’t act in rational ways. Even with the people they loved the most. They couldn't.

"I’m not thinking this," she told herself.

Yet, she couldn't help but wonder. Where did she really stand, when push came to shove, with the warrior? Suddenly, she was no longer certain. That alone made her feel sick.

Pushing the dark musings aside, she continued down the steps. It didn't matter anyway, none of it. She’d made a promise to stand by Ramora's side, and help her find the man who had devastated her life. She would see that through, no matter what. Regardless of how Ramora felt, Chara loved her too much to abandon her.

Unless she was misleading herself about that, too. Maybe it really was just hero worship. Or latching on to the first person who offered a chance to get out of Rheumer. Maybe what she felt wasn't love at all, but lust. Didn't that make her little better than a whore?

Reaching the landing, she stopped, taking a deep breath. She’d left all of that behind when she departed Rheumer. She wasn't that girl anymore. She didn't just hop into bed with whoever looked fun. She was different now. She was aiding a Blessed of the Gods.

Right?

"Shut up," she snapped at her own head. "Last thing I need is you getting all weird on me, too."