Sword's Call (5 page)

He’d respect her in that, because she’d been so shaken by the appearance of her cousin, but no more. Jorrin ignored the voice that chimed in: his kiss had jarred her, too.

He grabbed a handful of his magically infused kindling to keep the fire hot and strong. He watched the familiar blue glow as he threw it into the flames until it faded away. The fire rose, warming his hands and face as he leaned against a nearby tree, sword on his lap.

Jorrin wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway. He could kick himself for kissing Cera. Even though she’d responded, the rejection smarted.

Blessed Spirit, she was sweet.

Innocent.

His gaze drifted upward, focusing on the stars as he cursed himself. Often on lonely nights when he was too restless to sleep, he named constellations until he drifted off, but this night, that wouldn’t have helped, even if he had been trying to get some rest.

Cera.

He’d only known her a sevenday, but from the moment he’d met her, there was something about her. She was in his dreams as he lay beside her every night since they’d left Greenwald. Dreams where he did much more than just kiss her.

Jorrin shook his head. He was doomed.

To think she had actually saved his hide. He’d known better than to enter the tavern—a human tavern—without covering his head.

Stubborn idiot.

In the mountains of Aramour, humans were the minority. Jorrin had spent his childhood there, leaving for the first time to search for his father.

He was unfamiliar with the prejudices of the human world. His mother had warned him of those who would reject his mixed blood, but a part of him wouldn’t hide his heritage. He wasn’t ashamed of where he’d come from, or who he was.

Hiding his pointed ears hurt his pride more than admitting he was half-elfin ever would.

Jorrin’s parents loved each other, and his mother always told him he was the best of both worlds. And though he hadn’t spent much time with his father’s kind outside of his mountain home, sometimes he felt like he belonged more in their world than in the one he’d grown up in.

Maybe his elfin blood was the reason Cera had pulled away from his kiss. Though she’d never treated him differently because of it, maybe she couldn’t stomach being
more
than just friends with someone who was not
all
human.

He cursed and shook his head.

Just forget it. Focus. Pay attention.

Keep her safe.

How was he going to get through the night?

Chapter Four

When Cera awoke much later than usual, the sun’s rays crept across the camp. She stretched and rubbed her eyes, turning toward the whispering voices of Jorrin and Avery.

Their sleeping furs sat neatly folded and rolled. The morning was brisk and the fire aglow, looking welcoming.

Trikser, who’d always been quite taken with Avery, lay at his feet. He rose when he saw his mistress had awakened and came to her, tail wagging. She scratched him behind the ears and patted his head, managing a small smile.

Jorrin immediately rose and handed her a mug of steaming liquid.

With a nod of thanks, and not quite meeting his eyes, Cera felt heat rush her cheeks as she took a seat next to Avery. She couldn’t look at Jorrin and not think of their kiss. It—and he—had haunted her dreams.

“Morning, cousin,” Avery said, his smile grim. “Thanks for looking after Valor last night.” He blushed, his embarrassment about passing out palpable.

She nodded; her face must be as red as her cousin’s. Sipping from the mug, Cera was pleasantly surprised that it was a spiced herbal tea Avery knew she had an affinity for. She met his eyes, her worries about his parents rushing her thoughts.

Almost as though he’d read her mind, he shook his head. “They’re fine for now. Mother knew. She sent me to find you three days ago, said you’d be along this road. I left as he and the shades got there. Don’t worry, he didn’t know I got out, and he won’t kill them. He needs a Ryhan, remember?”

Cera’s heart skipped a beat. “So, it is true? He can’t touch the sword?”

Avery nodded as he rose and dug in his saddlebags, handing her a small scroll. “She told me to give this to you. It’s all you ever need to know about it. Uncle Falor wrote it himself.”

She took the parchment with shaking hands, eyes watering at the first mention of her father’s name. She recognized her father’s hand before the paper blurred. “He killed them.”

Avery’s mouth was a hard line, his own eyes welling up. “Aunt Ev, Uncle Falor, little Kait . . . Mother knew when it happened. I’m . . . I’m sorry, Cera.”

Her cousin threw his arm around her shoulders.

She buried her face against his neck and let him hold her as tears flowed.

Trikser whined and paced. She sent him reassurance, but it didn’t work. He pawed at her boots. Their minds were linked, and he didn’t understand her fluctuating emotions.

She’d had to run as soon as she’d heard about her family. She’d barely processed it, let alone taken time to grieve.

Sorrow threatened to swallow her whole as Avery rubbed her back, squeezing her against his thin chest, but she had to pull herself together. They didn’t have time for this. Besides, she was upsetting her bondmate.

Cera pulled away gently, pressing a kiss to her cousin’s cheek and wiping her tears away. “Me, too.” She buried a hand in Trik’s mane until he calmed.

“Hold it.
What
are you talking about?” Jorrin’s sharp tone took her attention.

“You didn’t tell him?” she exclaimed.

“No. I was waiting for you . . .” With an impatient wave of his hand, Avery glared.

“Never mind about that. Just tell me what’s going on, and I suggest you start with that sword.”

At the mention of her weapon, Cera rose to retrieve it. She unsheathed it and laid it on her lap, turning it over and over.

Jorrin’s eyes were locked onto her weapon, his face pale. Brow drawn tight, he looked a bit green. He swallowed hard, as if he might retch. The sword’s magic was bothering him.

She stopped flipping it, whispering an apology as she gathered the courage she needed to tell him everything.

He tore his eyes away, glancing at her cousin.

Avery nodded. “I feel it, Jorrin. I always have. Cera will explain.”

Taking a breath, she sent thoughts of love to her wolf when he whined and leaned into her leg. She set a hand on his head and borrowed some strength from him. She needed it. “This sword was my great-great-grandfather’s. On my father’s side . . .” She forced the words out.

“Who just happened to meet our great-great-grandfather, on our mothers’ side,” Avery said, “but that’s another story. Our mothers are . . . were . . . twins.”

“There’s a family legend about how he received it, and I don’t know how much relevance it has now, but maybe you should hear it anyway.”

Jorrin’s eyes were glued to her.

She cleared her throat. “His name was Montilagro. Montilagro Ryhan. He was known as Monty. Grandfa Monty wasn’t the type of guy who was content with farming at the old cottage . . .”

“We weren’t nobles then . . .” Avery said.

Cera threw him a glare. Heat rose in her cheeks. She hadn’t told Jorrin she came from a noble family and truthfully, she wished she wasn’t highborn.

Maybe then her family wouldn’t be dead.

“To continue, Monty decided to leave home and go adventuring. So, he asked his father for a loan to buy a reliable steed . . .”

“Evidently, he’d previously owned a nag . . .” Avery interrupted again with a grin.

She tried to ignore her cousin, but when Jorrin laughed, she found herself smiling. “Do you want to finish the story?”

Avery grinned even more. “No, no. You’re doing so well.” He gestured with his hand.

“Then by all means,
let
me.” Cera paused, but her cousin didn’t cut in. “Monty bought his steed, and rode all over the countryside looking for adventure, thinking himself the proper knight. Well, one day Grandfa Monty got his wish. He happened upon a carriage being robbed by bandits. Grandfa Monty had no proper sword. He took on four bandits with nothing but a dagger and his bare hands. He overcame them, a bit wounded, but overall in one piece. Unfortunately, the carriage driver and footman were killed, but Grandfa Monty was what he always wanted to be . . . a hero.”

“Get to the good part.” Avery’s gray eyes danced.

She glared again. “The courtier he thought he’d rescued turned out to be the princess and one of her ladies-in-waiting.”

“And the king was so grateful that he rewarded old Monty with the title of duke, gave him lands and the gift of the magic sword,” Avery finished, a triumphant look on his face.

Cera rolled her eyes. Since he was long dead by the time they’d both been born, they hadn’t even known the man.

“Your great-great-grandfather was a duke?” Jorrin asked.

“Of course, how do you think she’d be the heir to Greenwald if he hadn’t been?”

“Avery!” She scrambled to her feet, face hot. She couldn’t meet Jorrin’s eyes.

“What?” Avery shrugged. Gray eyes wide, his expression shouted he had no idea what he’d just revealed to Jorrin.

And he doesn’t have a clue.

Cera threw her hands up and stomped away, leaving the camp and the warmth of the fire, leaning on a tree with her back to the two men.

Trikser wuffed, sending her puzzled thoughts at her change in mood yet again.

“Cera,” Jorrin called.

She didn’t acknowledge him.

Why did it please her that he’d come after her?

Her heart thundered.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jorrin’s tone was soft and held none of the accusation Cera deserved. She’d put
his
life in danger, after all.

“‘Last time I checked, the roads were free to travel. That’s one thing the lord has yet to tax,’” she bit at him. “I think it went something like that.”

“Ouch.” He winced.

Although it wasn’t the reason she hadn’t told him; it was convenient, wasn’t it?

He rested a hand on her shoulder. “That’s your anger talking.”

The warmth of his touch seeped into her body. Her cheeks heated even more and her stomach fluttered.

“You’re right. I didn’t tell you because I was running.” Their eyes locked. Cera sucked in a breath. “I hid in the Lower Greenwald slums for a fortnight. That bartender, the one who initiated the fight . . . I was staying in his extra room. And don’t get any ideas, I wasn’t sleeping with him.”

His jaw clenched, dark brows drawn tight. “
Friend
of yours?”

“He had a slight fancy for my mother in turns past; I just used it to my advantage. I knew of his prejudice against . . . those of mixed blood. That’s why I sat next to you at the bar.”

Jorrin’s face paled, his shoulders tight, expression hard . . .
like she’d slapped him or something.

Cera pushed off the tree. “I didn’t mean anything bad by that, and you know it. If I felt the same way, I could have let Gordo kill you.”

And I would’ve never let you kiss me.

Her body warmed, but she planted her fists at her sides instead of reaching for him like she wanted to.

Jorrin’s expression didn’t soften, but his blue eyes were intense.

Cera couldn’t look away.

“Listen, I’m sorry if I upset you, Cera. Though I’ve no idea what I said.” Avery’s voice snapped her back into her own skin. He’d made his way over to them from their campsite.

Sucking in a breath, she swallowed and tore her eyes away from Jorrin. She met her cousin’s bewildered expression.

His gray eyes were wide, his cheeks pink. Her cousin had no idea why he’d upset her.

Her fault.

She’d been totally lost to Jorrin. Unaware of her surroundings in the wooded area.
Dangerous.
Cera forced a smile. “I’m not upset . . . don’t worry about it.” She hugged him.

Jorrin’s eyes burned her and when she met his gaze, she blushed at his intensity.

What’s he thinking?

“Cera, I don’t think the tale about how your sword came to your family is the whole story,” Jorrin said, his normal tone belying those sapphire orbs.

She and Avery exchanged a glance.

“I guess not,” Avery whispered.

Dread settled over her as they headed back to the campsite and the warm fire. How could she tell Jorrin the whole story?

He should’ve let her ditch him on the main road outside of Greenwald, but he had a right to know what he’d gotten himself into.

Her chest ached.

Would Jorrin leave her?

Sucking in a deep breath, Cera cleared her throat, wringing her hands on her lap. “I suppose this story is just about as exciting as the family legend, but this one doesn’t have a happy ending.”

Talking about it didn’t hurt as much as she’d thought it would, but it wasn’t easy by any means. Swallowing back some tears, she took another breath.

“As you might imagine, the sword was passed down from Monty to his son, then to my grandfather, and to my father some turns ago.

“My father, Lord Falor Ryhan, the Duke of Greenwald, uncovered a plot to kill King Nathal. Unfortunately, an archduke was behind it. The king was quite close to the man and more than anything, was hurt by the betrayal of a friend. I guess that was the reason King Nathal didn’t order the man put to death, though by all rights he should have. Instead, he banished him from the continent and stripped him of his lands and title.

“During the exposure of the archduke, my father wielded his sword to protect the king. Varthan knew right away the sword wasn’t
just
a weapon. My father was a trained mage, so the sword’s magic was amplified, and the archduke was greedy enough to covet it.”

“What kind of magic does the sword have?” Jorrin asked.

“The sword was always able to sense the presence of magic, but my father added a spell allowing it to sense the nature of magic, and ward against its being used for evil. As long as the spell holds, and anyone of my father’s blood remains alive, he can’t touch it. No one not of my father’s line can. I don’t want to find out what would happen to anyone who tried.”

Because of his magic, her father was a warrior and a noble. He could do almost anything: move things with his mind, control fire and water, make almost any spell work.