Mist Rising

by Eve Langlais

  “If I had, do you think we would have reached the same outcome?”

  No, because he’d have woken her from the trance. “Was it alone?”

  “No idea. Logically, there shouldn’t have been one Vhampir this deep in the valley, so I guess it’s possible there could be another. Probably some human slaves, too, I’d wager.”

  “Wouldn’t the influence die with it?”

  “Maybe.”

  She made a moue. “You’re just full of annoying non-answers tonight.”

  “I’m not an encyclopedia.”

  “As if there are any that discuss the Vhampirs,” she disparaged.

  “There are at the Citadel.”

  The reply stunned. “Actual books? With real information about the Vhampirs?”

  “And other monsters.”

  That quickly, her irritation evaporated. “I want to read them. And any other books you have on our history before the mist or during the early years of it.”

  “You do realize those history texts have been studied. You won’t find anything we’ve not already discovered.”

  “Says you. But it would be sheer arrogance to ignore possible other interpretations of events. Perhaps a fresh outlook is needed.”

  “Perhaps. However, the books you seek to study aren’t available to the general populace. They don’t leave the Citadel.”

  “How does one get permission to visit the library?” Agathe asked, the night looking up as she finally got a glimmer of hope that her trip might not be in vain.

  “Only the King can grant it. Which is where you’ll fail. We both know you’ll never be able to ask him nicely.” Maric wore the kind of smirk that begged for a slap.

  Instead, she turned on her heel and marched off.

  “Was it something I said?” he mocked, easily catching her long stride.

  She whirled on him. “How can you find this amusing? People are dying.”

  “I know, and I am one of those putting his life on the line to make a difference.”

  “Making a difference would be fighting the monsters before they make it past the rim rather than babysitting the Blessed.”

  “Fighting the Abyss’s creations instead of protecting the Blessed is why the situation has gotten so dire. But then again, how would you know? Hiding away in your Abbae, criticizing without even knowing the basics. Must be nice living so ignorantly.” With that bitten-off retort, he left her behind.

  For a second, she almost reached out to apologize. She’d been unreasonably rude, and in truth, he was right. Apparently, she didn’t know everything she should about the situation. The only way to expand her knowledge was by getting inside that Citadel, and she’d once more annoyed the one man who might be able to grant her access. She should make amends. She took one step in his direction.

  Paused.

  A sixth sense made her duck just in time. The person slashing at her missed, and she whirled, drawing a dagger.

  Before she could throw it, she paused in surprise. “Fjior?”

  His expression blank, Fjior slashed at her again.

  “What are you doing?” She slapped at his hand, using the flat of the blade instead of the edge to knock it aside. “Wake up.”

  His stare remained blank. Before she could haul off and punch him like Maric had, arms snared her from behind. They lifted her from the ground, drawing a surprised shout. “Put me down.” A glimpse of silver at the wrists and she realized Pol held her.

  A flat-faced Fjior reeled his axe back for a swing.

  She struggled in Pol’s grip; her feet didn’t connect with the ground. “Let. Me. Go.” A snap of her head and Pol grunted, loosening his hold enough that she rolled out of the way of Fjior’s descending axe.

  Thunk. As she scrabbled from the body, Fjior pulled the axe free with a wet, sucking noise that didn’t bode well for Pol. Before he could bring it down on her, she stabbed him in the gut.

  It had no effect. His arm began descending again, and it might have ended badly if it wasn’t suddenly lopped off. The severed limb flopped to the ground.

  His head joined it next.

  As the body dropped, Maric appeared, grim-faced.

  While she welcomed his timely arrival, she couldn’t help saying, “Stop trying to be my hero.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The expression on Maric’s face shifted between disbelief, sorrow, and rage. “I didn’t do this to be heroic.” His lips twisted as he glanced at the bodies at his feet.

  Pity filled her heart as she saw him deal with the betrayal from two people he trusted, Fjior and Pol. Likely, they had been controlled by a Vhampir, and now they were dead because of it.

  “It would seem we’ve uncovered and dealt with the rebels in our midst.” It might have been cruel to remind him of his words. Traitors died.

  His expression hardened, slipping back into his usual grimness. “Should have dealt with Fjior the last time he got compromised.”

  Maric headed back to the camp. She stuck close to his side, not because she needed him. He needed her. He tried to hide it. His pain. His sorrow. Hid it under cold determination and anger. But she felt it, nonetheless.

  As they reached the fire, she noticed the camp no longer slept. The Soraers huddled close to the flames with the remaining soldiers, forming a ring.

  “Fjior and Pol are missing,” Xaav announced when they got close enough.

  “They’re dead.” At Maric’s words, a rustle went through the group then shock as he explained what happened.

  The resulting sorrow hung in an almost palpable miasma that quickly turned to suspicion as they eyed each other as if wondering if any more traitors were in their midst. Possible. How terrifying. There must be a way to stop it. To clean the taint.

  Am I now vulnerable? Are my fellow Soraers? Having had her own mind captured, she understood how quickly and insidiously it could happen.

  Maric knew she’d been affected; yet he hadn’t killed her. Would he? What if the Vhampir had planted a bomb in her head? A suggestion she couldn’t resist that would result in grave consequence?

  Given no one wanted to rest anymore, they quickly readied and continued their trip. The lack of sleep left her irritable for most of the day, especially since Belle looked fresh and bright as she beamed at Maric when they finally stopped to stretch their legs and freshen up.

  The young woman batted her lashes and smiled. “I’m so excited. We’ll arrive soon at the Citadel.”

  “Tomorrow,” Maric said, not sparing the girl a glance. He checked his horse instead.

  Bend over—

  Agathe turned her head and cursed herself. He turned her inside out. One more day, and then she would be rid of him. She’d wash her hands of Belle, and if things worked out, she’d face the King. Only she no longer knew what she’d say.

  Maric had given her much to think about. A different perspective on things. What if the King truly cared about his people? What if he didn’t have a choice when it came to the Blessed? What if his orders all those years ago weren’t about hurting her but doing something for the greater good? What if Baree hadn’t killed on the King’s orders?

  Maybe instead of a dagger to the heart, she should listen to the King first. If she didn’t like his answer, then she’d remove him and find a better way.

  As the rest period ended, she noted Maric by the stream, watering his steed, shoulders rounded, head down. How hard it must be to lead. Having to kill men he’d known. Men he’d thought he could trust. She wanted to offer him comfort and, at the same time, knew he wouldn’t welcome it. He’d hate her seeing him weak. She turned away, and there was Xaav, always watching.

  It led to her asking, “Has he ever had to…?” She hesitated. What word could she use? Because what he’d done had saved her life.

  Xaav understood. “He always does the right thing even if it slices him up inside.”

  “You’ve served together a long time.”

  “We were taken into the King’s service at the same
festival.”

  “Which was how many years ago?”

  “More than two decades now. So, I know him, possibly better than he knows himself.”

  “He’s mad at me,” she stated, for some reason bothered by it.

  “Not you. At himself for having missed the danger.”

  “He saved me.”

  “In his mind, you shouldn’t have needed saving, because he should have removed the threat earlier.”

  “So, he’s playing the martyr.” Spoken with a disparaging glance at Maric still apart from the group.

  “Hardly.”

  “Still say he’s mad. He didn’t talk to me all morning.”

  “The general needs a moment to himself. Perhaps it would be best if you rode with me for the next leg of our journey,” Xaav offered.

  Her first impulse was to decline. She enjoyed being pressed against Maric, their bodies rolling with the horse’s gait. The reminder changed her mind. “Sounds like a good idea.”

  She grabbed the hand Xaav held out and was prepared to swing her leg over the saddle when hooves thundered toward them. One guess who it was.

  She sighed and slid back to the ground before turning to glower at Maric, who drew up at the last moment and barked, “She rides with me.”

  Xaav actually argued. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  “Leave her and scout ahead.”

  “Being an idiot,” Xaav muttered as he galloped off.

  It left Maric holding out a hand to an irritated Agathe.

  “What was that?”

  “You ride with me.”

  “What if I don’t want to ride with you?”

  “Did I give the impression you had a choice in the matter?”

  A part of her wanted to offer a rude gesture and tell him where he could go with his arrogance. What were the chances that he’d leave her behind, especially in this mood?

  “You could ask nicely,” she grumbled as she grabbed his hand.

  Maric hauled her up behind him and took off quickly enough that she squeezed him tight in startlement. He didn’t slow down until they’d gotten well ahead of the others.

  The horse slowed its pace, but Maric remained silent. Since she had no idea what to say, she kept her lips clamped. Until the long quiet drove her to say, “I am sorry you had to act as you did to save me.”

  To which he growled, “It’s I who should apologize. I should have known they’d been infected.”

  “You can hardly take the blame for it. It’s not like they each had a sign on their forehead saying, a Vhampir bespelled me.”

  “Fjior did. Knowing he was susceptible, I should have shed him the moment it happened. Instead, I set Pol to keep an eye on him. That turned out to be a mistake.” Maric turned quiet.

  “Is there no way to spot those with the taint and remove it?”

  “There is. But it’s at the Citadel. Most of the time, the infected show no signs until they act in a fashion that requires lethal force to counter.”

  “The Vhampir you killed… He shouldn’t have been this far out here.”

  “No, he shouldn’t.”

  “He appeared sickly compared to the others I’ve seen.”

  “I noticed that, too. Probably because he strayed too far from the Abyss.”

  “Do they need the mist to survive?”

  He shrugged. The motion carried through their tight proximity. “Some say yes. Some don’t know. We’ve not had a chance to capture one for study.”

  The idea of dissecting one, looking for a weakness, sent a shiver through her. “Given how many I’ve seen, it surprises me you’ve not taken one prisoner.”

  “They require certain conditions to be met to survive.”

  Meaning they’d tried and failed.

  He kept talking. “I wonder why it went after you.”

  It was strange given nothing about her was special. Hadn’t been in a long time. “Its interest is weird, given I am so ordinary.”

  “There is nothing ordinary about you,” Maric muttered.

  “That almost sounded like a compliment.” It shouldn’t have mattered, and yet it warmed her.

  “I meant it as one. Your other Soraers are easier to manage.”

  So much for the warm feeling lasting. “Sorry about not being obedient chattel,” she snapped.

  “You should be. You’re making my job more difficult.”

  “How? I haven’t gotten in your way. I’ve done nothing but try and help.”

  “Your presence is distracting,” he muttered.

  “How is that my fault? You’re the one who insisted I ride with you.”

  “To ensure you don’t start conversations you shouldn’t have with the others.”

  She digested it before saying, “You do realize that I talk to them already. Not that they say much.”

  “You do realize they’ve been reporting your chats to me.”

  “How boring, given I’ve yet to have a truly interesting one.” The only person who ever told her things was Maric.

  “There are a few who believe you’re a rebel.”

  “What do you think?”

  “That you’re just naturally bossy and annoying.”

  Ouch. “I could say the same about you.”

  “I am perfect.” Spoken deadpan.

  It made her laugh. “Not even close.”

  “What’s wrong with me?”

  “Too much to list.”

  “Name one thing.”

  A single thing wrong with him? Easy. “You are ridiculously arrogant.”

  “So are you.”

  She might have taken offense, but around him, it was true. “You’re the King’s man.”

  “And? You’re a Soraer of the Shield. We both have roles to play.”

  “You asked why I don’t like you. It’s hard to pin it on one thing. You’re just not appealing to me.” Holy freaking lie. She said it to convince herself. Failed. And in the process, he stiffened.

  “I’d beg to differ. You find me attractive.”

  “You’re okay. Blonds are more to my taste.” More fibbing. She had a thing for swarthy men.

  “You don’t like my hair?” There was a hint of incredulity in his tone.

  “Maybe if you dyed it?”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Only if you want me to like you. If you’d prefer I didn’t, then leave it. Don’t really care.” She screwed with him mostly for the entertainment, and yet he sounded so offended.

  “Perhaps you should judge a man by the content of his character and not his outward appearance.”

  “It helps if he’s pretty. Then again, a person can always close their eyes and pretend.”

  “And who would you imagine?” he rumbled.

  Him, actually. Mostly because he was the first man in a long time who’d made her want something carnal. Apparently, she wasn’t dead yet.

  “We are not discussing this,” she said, suddenly prim.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it is none of your business. You don’t see me asking who your fantasy woman is.”

  “Would you like me to tell you?”

  A part of her almost said yes. Who was his ideal lady? Certainly not someone like her, a woman with a body past its prime, bearing some gray. Attractive and fit despite her age, but not the right choice for a virile man who was certainly younger than her, and probably still wanted to father children.

  She changed the subject. “When do you think they became infected?”

  He tensed. “My guess would be sometime during our trip up and down the cliffs. Perhaps that night we spent on the rim. The Vhampir probably couldn’t resist ensnaring some soldiers who had access to the Citadel.”

  “Has that ever happened before? People mesmerized into doing things?”

  “Not in the city, no. But there’ve been incidences in the rim towns.”

  “How did those incidents end?”

  “Not well. In one, a father killed his whole family, and when
his senses returned to him, he was so horrified he begged for execution.”

  “It must be hard doing the right thing all the time.”

  He slumped. “Am I doing the right thing? Because I wonder at times.” An admission that showed that the strength he projected hid a vulnerability that he crushed with his next words. “It would be easier if people just did as they were told without arguing.”

  Sarcasm soured her words. “Excuse us for having minds and thoughts of our own.”

  He found this amusing and chuckled. “At least your mind is sharp enough to grasp the finer points of situations.”

  “Some. Not all. I’m still not convinced of the necessity of acquiring the Blessed.”

  “You will have to trust me when I say they are crucial.”

  “I know you said we’d arrive at the King’s City tomorrow. Given the need for haste, why not ride all night and get there sooner?”

  “Because the horses need to rest, as do the people.”

  “You have a secure location in mind, I assume?”

  “I don’t think there is any such place anymore.”

  Ominous, and yet it rang true. “Has the Citadel been compromised?”

  “No serious issues yet, but it’s only a matter of time before the wrong sort makes it past the gates. So be careful.”

  “What are you implying?” she asked.

  “That, until now, you’ve been fairly outspoken about your dislike of the King’s policies. That might not go over well in the city. They take a hard line with rebels.”

  “Duly noted.”

  “What is your plan once we get there?” he asked a little too casually.

  Now was her chance to ask him. “Do you think I could get an audience with the King?”

  He didn’t laugh. A good sign, she hoped.

  “It could be arranged, if you promise not to try and kill him.”

  “Who, me?”

  Laughter rolled through him. “It’s become clear that you are one of the Shield Maidens of old, the kind spoken of in legends. A true fighter.”

  “Does that praise mean you’ll introduce me to the King?”

  “Hardly praise. I was outlining the dangers you pose. What’s so important you wish to speak with him face-to-face?”

  “When I first began this journey, I wanted to harangue him over his policies.” Especially the one that led to her having those blood-filled nightmares. The King had sent Baree on the quest years ago that’d changed the course of her life.