The Silent Tempest (Book 2) (30 page)

The combination of attacks was bewildering.
Layla was squinting beside Kate, as if scrunching up her eyes would somehow
help her magesight to better discern what was happening.

“What’s going on?” asked Kate.

“Your sister is losing,” said Layla
uncertainly. “No one could survive that.”

Tyrion was holding the hilt of his sheathed
sword, his knuckles white as he concentrated on the battle, his emotions
indiscernible. “She’s still fighting,” was all he said. Within the storm of
wind and dirt he could see Brigid’s skillful defense.

Kate’s dark haired sister hadn’t yet learned
to use the wind and soil as a weapon the way Haley had, but she had practiced
for more than two weeks now with the most accomplished survivor of the arena in
its entire history. Brigid met each attack with unbelievable precision,
deflecting them with the minimum angle necessary to avoid taking the full brunt
of them. She conserved her waning strength with careful efficiency.

That was why Haley had chosen to add the
windstorm. The area attack tore at Brigid whenever she shifted her defense to
deflect one of her sister’s powerful blows. Brigid had stopped using a
personal shield entirely, relying on reflexes and balanced precision to divert
only Haley’s most deadly strikes.

Brigid’s body was covered with tiny cuts
and tears. She bled from more than a dozen wounds, but none of them were
serious. Even as Tyrion watched, she deflected a flying stone that threatened
to decapitate her, while ignoring several smaller ones that battered her
thighs.

Unable to see through the gale, Kate
watched Tyrion’s face instead. Strangely, he was smiling even as a tear made a
slow track down one cheek.

“Daniel?” she asked worriedly.

“They’re beautiful, Cat,” he answered, his
voice thick with pride. “My daughters are beautiful. Trained and untrained,
they’re the most incredible things I have ever seen, on or off of the arena
field.”

The wind was dying now, as Haley began to
pay the price for her overzealous use of aythar. The dirt began to settle, and
as the air cleared, Brigid walked toward her half-sister, her childhood
friend. She still had some strength left in her, but she didn’t waste it on a
shield.

Haley watched her approach with sad eyes.
She still had her shield, and her face was unmarked by the wind and grit that
had scoured the area, unlike Brigid, who was covered in blood and grime.

“I’m sorry Briddy,” she told the wounded
girl, using an old familiar name. “I wanted to let you win, but I just
couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t let you have it that easy.”

“I haven’t won, Haley,” replied the raven
haired girl, blinking as blood dripped into her right eye. A cut in her scalp
had covered her right cheek in a crimson wash.

“I saw the tattoos from the very start,”
said Haley. “I’ve seen them before.”

Brigid shook her head, taking another
step, “I don’t think I’ve got enough strength left to even activate them.”

Haley smiled sadly, “Liar. I know you
better than that.”

“I can’t even make a shield,” replied
Brigid. “You’ve got more than enough to finish me.”

Haley took the final step, bringing them
face to face, less than a foot and a half apart, her shield still shining
vibrantly. “Show me his gift, Brigid. I want to see it before we finish
this.”

“I’m tired, Haley. I don’t think I can,”
said Kate’s sister. “Just make it quick—please.”

“Show me, Briddy,” said Haley, calling her
by her nickname again.

Brigid nodded her head weakly. “I might
be able to manage, just the hand, though.” Frowning, she concentrated, and the
enchanted blade sputtered to life, sheathing her open palm and fingers in
knife-like force.

In the space of a heartbeat, Haley
released her shield and stepped in, grabbing her sister’s arm by the elbow.
Brigid’s hand sank deep into her abdomen, and the brown haired girl let out a
painful gasp.

Brigid shrieked in denial of what her eyes
were showing her, what her hand was feeling. Her power exhausted, the
enchantment flickered out, and her hand came away covered in warm blood and
bile. Her cry rose, growing louder as it changed pitch and then slowly lowered
into a sorrowful wail.

“Damn,” said Haley, sinking to her knees.
“That hurt more than I thought.”

“Why, Haley? Why?!” cried Brigid,
dropping down beside her friend.

“I couldn’t do it anymore—not after
Gabriel. I never wanted to be a killer. I wanted to let you win at the start,
but I just couldn’t do it. Not until I had worn myself down, not until I had
seen what I had done to you. I was never as strong as you Briddy.”

Haley’s face grew pale, and she used one
arm to ease herself down, wincing as the tear in her stomach pulled.

“No, no, no, no, no,” moaned Brigid. “I
don’t want this Haley. They can stop this, we can heal your wound. Maybe I
can close it…”

“Don’t be stupid, Briddy. One of us has
to die, and I’m already mostly there. Let me be a hero this time, you always
made me play the bad guy when we were kids,” said Haley, her voice growing
weaker.

Desperate, Brigid knelt, bringing her head
closer and speaking earnestly into Haley’s ear. “He’s going to pay for this
Haley. I swear it.”

Haley’s eyes were closed now, but she was
still listening. “You’ll get revenge for us, Briddy, but not him. Don’t hurt
him. He loves us. I knew it when I saw your tattoos. Kill them…”

“Who?” asked Brigid, confused. “What are
you talking about?”

“I had a dream, Briddy, but it wasn’t
sweet. It was terrible…”

“What dream, Haley?” said Brigid. “What
dream?”

But Haley didn’t answer again. Her
consciousness had slipped away, leaving Brigid to watch her sister’s breathing
gradually slow, until it seemed to stop altogether. Her heart still beat though,
and death was not kind. Haley’s body gasped again and again, waiting longer
between each desperate draw of air. It was minutes before it was done, and her
aythar faded away at last.

Brigid was alone, and she sat and cried
until Tyrion came, dragging her to her feet before lifting her into his arms to
carry her away.

She felt light in his arms. Brigid had
gone still and quiet as he lifted her. She buried her face against his
shoulder to shut out the sights around her, although he knew her magesight
would not be so easily stopped. He was certain her focus was on the same place
his eyes were staring—Haley’s motionless form.

She had been beautiful, but only rapidly
cooling flesh remained, his throat tightened, and he turned away.
She
deserved better.

The clear sky began to cloud as he walked
back, but he had expected that. The voices in the air were filled with sorrow,
though whether it was of their own accord, or because of his feelings, he
couldn’t be sure.

The sight of the others waiting for them
as he stepped outside the arena made his chest hurt, but he took solace in the
slow beat of the earth beneath his feet.
I feel nothing.

Kate and Layla were watching him closely,
but it was Byovar who spoke first, “There is one more match coming.”

Tyrion’s face grew worried, “Surely they
are done with us?”

“Not us, it’s a Prathion match with
Gaelyn, two long time veterans. The winner may be retired and made a warden,”
explained the She’Har. “We can’t take them out until it’s over,” he added,
indicating the holding cells.

“I need to take her back. She needs
tending,” said Tyrion, glancing down at his daughter.

He looked at the others. He had been
speaking to Byovar in Erollith, so only Layla had understood their
conversation. Kate’s eyes were full of worry and questions.

“I’m going to take her back and clean her
up,” he said to her, hoping it would be enough to satisfy her.

Kate nodded, “I’ll come with you.”

He shook his head, “No, I want you to stay
here with Layla. She’ll bring you back in a little while.”

“Bring me back?” asked Kate. “I still
have legs. Let me help you.”

“I’m sorry, Cat,” he told her.

She frowned, “What are you sorry for this
time?”

He showed his teeth, but the smile didn’t
quite reach his eyes, “Take your pick.”

Kate studied his face, and what she saw
there worried her. There was something deeper, something behind the casual
words. “What are you thin…”

Tyrion’s will wrapped itself around her
mind, smoothing out the turbulence of her thoughts and pressing her awareness
down, into the darkness. She felt his lips touch her forehead once, just
before oblivion took her away. “Sleep…,” he murmured softly.

Layla caught her as she sagged and began
to fall. She looked at Tyrion, “What was that for?”

“I didn’t feel like arguing with her,” he
said simply. “Will you obey me, Layla?”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Even in death?”

The female warden frowned, “Yours or
mine? I cannot obey anyone if I am dead.”

Her practicality made him smile faintly.
Trust a warden to ask such a question. “Mine.”

“I do not think there is anyone alive who
could kill you, my lord,” she replied proudly before lowering her voice, “but
death aside, I think I have become a ‘fool’ for you.”

Her statement was the last thing he had
expected to hear. It was probably the closest a warden could come to
professing love or friendship. It was also the sort of thing they despised
admitting, since such feelings were considered a sign of weakness among the
slaves of the She’Har.

He looked away, unable to respond for a
moment. Kate would have understood his emotion as gratitude, but Layla would
take it as embarrassment. The warden was already turning red as she realized
what she had said. “When you return, I want you to take care of Kate for me,”
he told her. “She will be understandably upset. You may also need to protect
Brigid from her, or the others. Make sure none of them hurt one another.”

Layla’s voice turned serious, “What are
you planning?”

“I will be going away for a while,” he
said, as drops of rain began to fall. Fat drops that seemed swollen with all
the regrets that even something as large as the sky could no longer contain.

“Where will you go?” asked the warden, but
he ignored her question.

Carrying his daughter carefully, he made
his way through to the trees of the Illeniel Grove, for they bordered the
Prathion Grove near the arena, and from there he began the hour long trek back
toward Albamarl.

Once they were among the massive god-trees,
the rain seemed to vanish, for it would take a while before the great limbs and
leaves above them had taken on enough water to begin to drop the excess to the
ground below.

“I can walk,” said Brigid, stirring in his
arms.

“I know,” he returned, reluctant to let
her go. He wanted to pretend, if only for a short while longer.

“Let me down,” she added.

They walked together in silence, separated
by only a few feet. A few feet that represented an impossible gulf between
them. The rain found them again as they emerged from the forest and began to
cross the rocky field that led to Albamarl.

He warmed the rain and funneled more of it
toward her as they went, using it to wash the blood and dirt from her skin.

Brigid looked a question at him.

“You have to clean the cuts before sealing
them. Even so, you may develop a fever over the next few days,” he told her.
“Don’t push yourself before you finish recovering.”

“Has this happened to you before?” she
asked.

He nodded, “Similar things.”

“Is this your kindness?” suggested Brigid.

Tyrion shrugged, “I have been among the
She’Har too long. I am not sure I know the meaning of that word anymore.”

“I won’t forgive you,” she told him. “I
know the She’Har are to blame for today, and for so much more, but I can’t
forgive you. The hurt runs too deeply.”

“I would never ask for that,” he replied
before stopping. They stood outside the house now, in the empty yard near what
had become a permanent fire pit after Ryan had worked on it. He reached out to
her, but she flinched away at his touch now, suddenly shy of contact.

“Don’t.”

“Let me close the wound,” he said.
Touching her scalp, he used his magic to draw the torn edges together, sealing
them shut.

She hissed at the pain, and fresh tears
began to roll down her cheeks, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he reached down,
tracing the ripped skin along her ribs, the cut on her hip, and then her thigh,
closing each in turn. Those were the worst of her lacerations, and after that
he drew back.

Brigid looked up at him with wet, swollen
eyes that seemed to mirror completely the rage and agony that had filled his
heart over the years.

He knelt in front of her.

“I don’t think I have enough strength
left,” she lied, holding up her tattooed arm.

He could see quite well how much she had
recovered already, but instead he told her, “I wouldn’t make you do that.”
Reaching across his body, he drew the wooden sword before handing it to her,
hilt first. “Use this.”

The sword shook in her grasp, but it
wasn’t just her arm that was shaking, it was her entire body that had begun
trembling. “I’m too tired,” she told him. “If you changed your mind, I
couldn’t hope to kill you right now.”

“I want you to do it, Brigid. I want your
face to be the last I see. You deserve this more than anyone,” he replied,
taking the point of the blade and setting it to his chest so that it rested
against the ‘x’ scar he had created there previously. In the distance he
sensed the others. They had come within the range of his magesight. They
would reach them within minutes.

“We don’t have much time,” he added,
creating a shield around the two of them to prevent interference.

Brigid looked straight into his eyes. “I
hate you Daniel Tennick,” she said, using his birth name. “I hate what you did
to my mother, what you did to the people of Colne. I hate you for what you did
to so many women. I curse you for bringing me here!” As she spoke, her voice
rose, gaining volume and vehemence.

She was pressing forward now, leaning
against the sword, its tip cutting through the skin of his chest. Razor sharp,
it would only take a bit more pressure to drive it home, to slip betwixt his
ribs and pierce his beating heart. Brigid’s voice was ragged now as she yelled
the last, “Most of all I hate you for choosing
me
to kill Haley! Damn
you!”

Kate, Layla, and the others were running
toward the house now. They could see the scene in the yard, and while none of
them understood what was happening, Kate knew they needed to stop it. Her
voice split the air as she ran, but whatever she was saying was
incomprehensible.

Brigid took another breath and gave forth
a deep guttural growl that rose from the depths of her belly and echoed the
frustration that ran to her very core. Her hands gripped the sword tightly as the
sound climbed in pitch and turned into a wretched sob, her belly clenching so
hard, she could scarcely draw breath.

She wept tears of anger as blood ran from
the cut in his chest, but she found herself unable to thrust the blade home.
Staring into her father’s mournful, cerulean eyes she saw herself there, a soul
ravaged by anger and fury.

In the back of her mind, she could still
hear Haley’s words,
“Don’t hurt him. He loves us.”

Her hands opened, and the weapon fell from
her nerveless fingers. Furious with her own weakness, she struck him hard in
the chest, her fist slipping across the blood there. “I hate you so much,” she
sobbed, dropping to her knees in front of him. “I hate you, I hate the
She’Har, I hate everyone!”

Tyrion’s arms went out, pulling her toward
him while she fought, twisting and clawing. “It’s too late for that. You
should have killed me when you had the chance,” he whispered, drawing her in
against her will.

“I hate you…,” she said again, and then
with a wracking cry she added, “…and I hate Mother! She lied to me.”

He said nothing to that. There was
nothing he could say.

“She lied! Didn’t she?”

He held her close against his bleeding
chest, skin to skin, and the blood from their mutual wounds mingled while she
cried. The rain ran down them, carrying away their tears in sanguine rivulets.
He had released the shield around them, but the others didn’t approach, they
stood around the two in a silent circle, heads down as they joined in their
sorrow.

“You are my true daughter,” he said
softly, just loudly enough for all of them to hear, “my daughter in flesh and
spirit.” Raising his head, he looked at the others, “And this is my family;
sons and daughters born of misery and forged in the fires of our shared pain.
I bear the sin that made you, and I can offer only one consolation.”

His aythar flashed in time with the angry
beat of his heart. “Together we will have our vengeance, for Gabriel, for
Jack, and for Haley. Together we will destroy the She’Har.”

The youths gathered around him nodded,
murmuring, “…for Haley.” Even Ian joined in their response.

Kate found herself alone, surrounded by
them, like a tiny spark of sanity adrift in a sea of madness.

Tyrion stood and slowly released her,
letting Emma pull Brigid away to console her. One by one, each of the others
passed by him, giving him a touch on the shoulder, or sometimes just a
meaningful look. Eventually they moved away, into the recently roofed, though
still unfinished, dormitory.

Layla had already gone inside the main
house, and he found himself standing in the waning light, staring at Kate. She
met his gaze evenly.

“And what am I?” she asked. “I am no mage
or fighter, and I am not your kin.” She rubbed her shoulders, warming them
against a cool breeze.

He walked toward her, closing the distance,
“You are my wife.”

Kate was stunned. “I’m married alr…,” she
began to protest.

“No,” he interrupted. “That was another
world, another life. That life is done. You belong to me. I am your husband,
and this is your family now.”

“But Seth…”

“…is divorced,” he concluded for her.

“I have a son.”

He paused at that, “Do you want him to
live here?” He gestured toward the great trees of the Illeniel Grove.

“No.”

He took her by the hand, leading her
toward the house.

“There hasn’t been a ceremony. Daniel,
people can’t just say something like that and make it true.”

“I can.”

“Where are we going?” she asked, but she
already knew. She could sense it so strongly she wondered why she bothered to
say the words.

“To consummate our marriage.”

Kate’s heart was pounding as he pulled her
inexorably along. His rough hand was like a force of nature, and the heat from
it seemed to radiate up her arm.
I should stop this,
she thought, but
the words floated through her mind like tissue on the wind, all form and no
substance.