Awaken

by Tanya Schofield

  Bashara nodded with false conviction. “Of course, my Lady.” But would it?

  Orrin's plan to free the ranger was terribly flawed and beyond dangerous, but he had seen no other way. The Duke’s upcoming visit to Valenar meant half the soldiers would be gone with him. It was the only time they would be able to act. Days of subtle maneuvering before Korith’s departure ensured Orrin had been assigned the watch shift for the secret prisoner in his absence. There had been mere days to determine the best way to free Calder, and decide where to hide him.

  “Is everything ready?” Bethcelamin continued to pace.

  “Orrin swore he would bring him at full dark, my Lady.” Bashara checked the door to her adjoining chamber, unlocked in anticipation of Calder’s arrival. “It is fortunate your husband’s campaign called him away,” she said.

  Bethcelamin fidgeted with her skirts to keep her hands from shaking. “Fortunate he did not insist on my company in Valenar, you mean.”

  The land of her childhood was several days’ travel away and held no interest for Bethcelamin. Jayden would be meeting with yet another council there, he had told her. Many nobles, even those in the Midlands, were in favor of naming him King. He needed to convince the other Dukes to make it official, though. The loudest voice against him was Duke Thordike in the East, but if Jayden could sway this council, pressure on Thordike would increase.

  “I confess I do not feel I am much help this night, my Bashara.”

  “Lady, it is your letter that will keep my Orrin alive when he leaves here, how can you say you are no help?”

  The Duke, when he learned of Calder’s escape, would certainly order Orrin’s execution. The soldier had no choice but to flee the keep this very night. He could never return to Epidii— he may never be able to see Bashara again. So Lady Korith had crafted a letter.

  Addressed to the Captain of the Paltos Guard, the letter explained that she had sent Orrin to assist in the search for her son’s killer. No one in Paltos would suspect he was a fugitive, she reasoned. In a few days, before her husband returned from Valenar, Bethcelamin would send another letter to the Guard Captain, requesting the soldier’s return. Orrin would leave Paltos as directed, but he would not return to Epidii. He’d stay in hiding until Lady Korith had ensured his safety.

  When her husband returned, Bethcelamin thought, she could explain what happened. Orrin’s departure from his post would be her doing, and the Paltos Guard Captain would be her witness. Jayden would be angry, of course, but he would never harm her. She would plead with her husband on the soldier’s behalf, claiming ignorance of any prisoner.

  It seemed plausible enough to her when she conceived the idea. She chose Orrin because he was beloved of her ladies’ maid, she would say. She had no idea he was posted anywhere, he was a simple soldier, not one of the Hunters. Bethcelamin felt sure she could convince her husband of these things, and that Orrin could eventually return to the keep, and Bashara.

  The letter lay on her nightstand, painstakingly copied until she could write it without the shaking of her hand sending showers of ink across the page. It bore her personal seal.

  “I only pray it is enough, Bashara. He risks his life for us.”

  Attilus – Angus, to them – lifted his head and stared at the door, his ears perked. Bethcelamin froze, her heart pounding. Both of the women, not daring to breathe, watched the hound stand at attention. His tail was wagging furiously, but he made no sound.

  “He’s coming.” Bethcelamin opened the door to the hallway with one hand on the anxious dog’s collar to keep him from bolting. It had begun.

  Orrin, with the unconscious prisoner draped over his shoulders, followed his love to her small chamber and laid the man down on the neatly made bed. Bethcelamin crowded behind, and between all of their legs came Attilus, snuffling madly. Orrin took Bashara’s hand in his, and pulled her back into the main room. Suddenly, she was in the circle of his arms, and he was kissing her forehead.

  “Orrin…” She didn’t want to let him go. She blinked back tears.

  “There is little time,” he told her. “I must ask you—"

  “Don’t forget the letter,” Bashara interrupted him, remembering. “It’s there, on the nightstand.”

  “Of course.” Orrin nodded, unconcerned. He harbored no illusions about Lady Korith’s plan. He’d freed the ranger because Bashara had asked it of him, knowing full well there would be no pardon for the crime, whatever the women believed. His only real hope lay in an early escape. “Basha, I—”

  “Thank you,” she whispered against his chest, breathing deeply so she could smell him all through her. It was a poor substitute for everything she wanted to say, but he was right, there was no time left. He had to go, or risk being caught.

  “When I return…” Orrin’s voice was tense and urgent, but his grip around her waist was still gentle. “Will you— I mean—" He fumbled behind her back with his hands for a moment before awkwardly presenting her with his signet ring. “Marry me?” His words tumbled over each other. “I will come back for you, Basha. You must believe that, whatever happens. I’ve never loved anyone but you, I won’t lose you again …”

  She was nodding, smiling, and weeping all at the same time, kissing his face as he worked the ring onto her finger. “Yes, of course yes, I love you—" He silenced her with another kiss, pulling her towards the door and groping blindly for the handle. “You did a good thing,” she whispered as he finally relinquished his grip on her.

  “I will marry you,” he whispered in her ear, and then he was gone. Bashara stayed there against the doorframe, dizzily praying that he would be safe, feeling the weight of his ring on her finger with a nervous shiver of excitement.

  Bethcelamin shoved the dog out of the way to get a better look at her husband’s prisoner. She barely recognized him. The hair at his temples was fully gray where it wasn’t matted with blood, and his shirtless torso was mottled with angry, swollen bruises. His skin was clammy and gray, and his breath came in shallow, reluctant gasps. He was obviously dying.

  “Calder?” Her voice trembled almost as much as her hand as she laid it on the tight skin of his stomach, probing the bruises there. He gasped in pain at her touch, his eyes flying open but clearly not seeing.

  “She is … beyond … you.”

  Bethcelamin blinked back tears as the weakly uttered words reached her ears. It was Calder, there was no doubt, and he was protecting her daughter with every beat of his heart. Whatever her husband had done to him, Calder had not given him what he wanted.

  Attilus whined, shoving his head up under his master’s limp, dangling hand. The ranger blinked, returning slowly to his senses.

  “Calder.” She spoke again, but she did not think he heard. He licked his lips, once, but there was no moisture to spread. Bethcelamin was worried. The bruises were so dark, and her lightest touch caused him obvious pain.

  “Attilus?” At the sound of his weakly whispered name, the dog huffed loudly, nuzzling at his master’s hand. Bethcelamin gave the animal a brief smile, then shooed him away.

  “Out, dog, whatever your name. Let me tend to him.”

  Attilus licked Calder’s hand once, then padded to the door where he sat with a watchful eye on the both of them. Bethcelamin continued to probe the swellings.

  Calder winced at her ministrations; beads of sweat appearing on his brow as he endured the torture.

  “B'yond you,” he insisted. The eye closest to his tormenter was nearly swollen shut, and the view from the other was inexplicably blurred. In a brief moment of confusion, he thought perhaps the tender hands causing him such pain were familiar. “M-Melody?”

  Beth cupped his unshaven cheeks in her palms, turning his head towards her gently. She knew in her heart that the name he had spoken was that of her daughter, but her desperate need to find out about her lost daughter would have to wait.

  “No, Calder. It’s Bethcelamin, I’m Beth. You’re going to be well again. Hush now.”

 
Calder wrinkled his brow, knowing the name but somehow unable to recall any of his memories. There was only the feel of her hands on him, and the consuming pain.

  Beth fought her fear. She could help him, she knew she could, but— she had not reached for the magic within her since her father had caught her using it when she was a child. He’d beaten her so badly she had been bedridden for a month. Only her mother's screams had stayed her father's hand that day. She had never used her talents again; never spoke of them, never acknowledged them even to her own self.

  She had almost convinced herself over the years that the incident was just a nightmare, it hadn’t really happened – but here, with her hands on the terrible injuries of her love’s best friend, she remembered it all. She knew what she had to do, but oh, she was afraid.

  “Lady Korith?” Bashara stepped over the dog and entered the crowded chamber. “Are you all right?”

  “He’s dying. I think I can— But father said—” Tears spilled down Lady Korith's cheeks.

  Bashara looked at the man on her bed, and wondered briefly if he hadn’t already died, so still was his breathing. She knelt at her Lady's side, offering her what comfort she could.

  “It’s all right, Lady. Do what you must. You're safe.”

  Calder groaned and tossed his head, struggling to breathe, in obvious pain. Bethcelamin placed both of her hands on the man’s chest, trying to remember what to do while Bashara watched in silence. And then the wife of the man who had sworn to eliminate magic from the land took a long, deep breath. She exhaled slowly, and moved her hands across the ranger’s bruised skin – which seemed to heal before Bashara’s very eyes.

  Bashara was stunned. Lady Korith had magical abilities? Did the Duke know? She shook her head. Of course not. If he had known, if he had even suspected, her Lady would be dead like the others.

  “Beth?” Calder’s voice was stronger, and when he spoke her name it was clear he knew who she was. Bethcelamin knew he was still not well, her talents were not so considerable that she could erase all of his injuries – but he was out of immediate danger.

  “It’s all I can do,” she whispered, weakly. The magic had been distant and slow to respond, and the effort had exhausted her. “I’m sorry.”

  Calder patted her fingers. He showed no surprise at her ability, as if he had known all along – but of course that wasn’t possible.

  “Thank you,” he managed, opening his eyes and examining both of the women in turn. Bashara stood and began to back out of the room, feeling out of place, but Lady Korith caught her skirt with her free hand, and pulled her closer.

  “Bashara, this is Calder. Calder, this is my friend, Bashara. It was she who found Angus, that’s how we knew you were here. It was her soldier love that freed you tonight.”

  The maid blushed, and dropped an awkward curtsey. The man gave her a tired smile, his pale hazel eyes crinkling at the corners.

  “The honor is mine, lady.” He looked over to the dog, holding out his fingers. “But his name is Attilus. Isn’t it, boy? Angus died many years ago.” Attilus wagged his tail and approached the bed, sniffing at the ranger contentedly. The smell of death had departed.

  “Calder, I hate to ask so soon, but … what of my baby? Have you news of her?”

  His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he looked around the small room as he tried to sit up, brushing aside Bethcelamin’s hand. “Where is he?” His voice was harsh.

  Attilus barked sharply at his master’s unexpected change. Bashara jumped at the sudden sound, backing away nervously.

  “Who? Calder, be careful, you’re not well– Angus, hush, you’ll draw the guards!”

  The ranger paused. He was not so far gone that he didn’t hear the real fear in her voice. “Where is your husband?” he repeated, allowing Bethcelemin to press him back to the soft mattress.

  “He is on his way to Valenar, he knows nothing of this, I swear.”

  Calder closed his eyes, feeling old and tired. He wanted to believe her, but after so many years… Jayden Korith was not beyond trickery, or treachery. He could be using his own wife to get the information that days of torture hadn’t produced.

  “Basha, would you make him some tea? He is still so weak.”

  Bashara left without a word, still slightly afraid of the wild looking man on her bed.

  Bethcelamin laid a cool hand on Calder’s forehead. “What has he done to you?” she wondered, barely audible.

  “She is beyond either of you,” Calder said, setting his jaw. “That is all I will say.”

  Bethcelamin remained silent. As difficult as it was, she understood. How was Calder to know where her loyalties lay? She had, after all, married Korith. But what else was there for her? Her only love had been murdered and their infant daughter hidden away—abandoned to ensure both of their safety. Beth’s parents had begged Jayden to honor the betrothal, insisting she’d been bewitched.

  Korith could have told them the truth, exposing her relationship with Solus. He could have told them of the forbidden child, the shame would have ruined them— but he didn’t. Instead, he offered her the life of a Duchess. She could keep her pride and the love of her parents, he would forgive the unforgivable… if she never spoke of it again. There was no way she could refuse him.

  Perhaps with time, Bethcelamin could reassure Calder of her sincerity, but fresh from whatever hell her husband had put him through? She could not fault him for his distrust.

  “Thank you for protecting her, Calder. I am in your debt.” He did not reply, and soon his breathing was deep and even. Bethcelamin bid him sleep well. She met Bashara at the door, taking the tea from her maid’s trembling hands. “He sleeps,” she whispered, setting the tray on the small table beside the bed. She covered him with an embroidered quilt and left Attilus at his side, drawing Bashara into her chamber.

  “Did he tell you anything, Lady?”

  Bethcelamin shook her head. “My husband has hurt him too deeply, he fears deceit. In time, perhaps.”

  Bashara looked worried. “Lady, there may not be much time! What of when he is discovered missing?”

  “There is nothing I can do, Bashara. However urgent my need, he will see it only as impatience, a sure sign that I do my husband’s work. I must be patient. Orrin is gone?”

  Bashara’s face fell, but she could not hide her joy. “Yes, and Lady …” She paused, her smile transforming into something brighter and more beautiful. “He asked for my hand.” She showed Bethcelamin the signet ring, and her hand was shaking – this time from excitement, not fear.

  Bethcelamin pulled her maid into a happy embrace. “That is wonderful, Bashara! You have repaired your younger love, then?”

  Bashara nodded, twirling the ring on her finger. “He is a good man in his heart. And I do love him, Lady, so much.”

  Bethcelamin saw in Bashara’s eyes the same light she had seen in the mirror whenever she thought of Solus. “You have my blessing, Bashara. I know the two of you will be very happy. I only hope you will not have long to wait before—” But Bashara’s face had gone white, and she looked as though she might faint. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

  Bashara pointed, and Bethcelamin turned to see. The color drained from her own face. She squeezed Bashara’s hand tightly. The letter she had written to ensure Orrin’s safe passage remained where she had set it— on the stand beside her bed.

  23

  Melody couldn’t breathe. What strength and confidence she thought she’d found in the Haven was no match for the city Jovan and Kaeliph were leading her into. The merchant who had offered them a ride to the Midlands border had told them of the tournament, and the prize, and of course Jovan’s eyes had lit up at the news. So they had come the rest of the way, taking their leave of the man at the main gate.

  Cabinsport had been overwhelming for Melody, but Foley… the city sprawled behind the gate, full of looming buildings and more people than she could count, all watched over by a stone keep perched on a distant hill like some f
at vulture waiting for a meal.

  She had frozen, paralyzed with panic when she’d climbed out of the wagon and seen where they were going. Jovan had stood before her and spoken in that calm voice that made everything reasonable, and now they were here – through the gate, into the crush of the crowd. The brothers flanked her protectively, and Jovan’s hand felt huge on the small of her back as it both reassured her and kept her going into the nightmare.

  “What coin do we have for supplies?” Jovan’s voice was quiet.

  “Not much, brother. We should get a room first, and see what’s left.”

  A man was nailing a rough parchment notice to the door of the Inn when they approached.

  “Tournament’s in three days,” Kaeliph read. “We’ve arrived just in time.”

  Melody’s knees threatened to buckle. Three days? She fought for breath, suddenly hot in the chill air, pushing Jovan’s borrowed cloak back over her shoulders. She wanted to warn him that she was going to faint, but now he was pulling her into the building that smelled of freshly cut wood and too many people.

  It was magic that saved her. The wide room was bursting at the seams with shouting, laughing people, and Melody’s vision was rapidly dimming as she stumbled beside Jovan, but then— The rare, pale blue aura of magic drew her eye to a man in the back of the room. Her vision steadied, and the sounds of the crowd seemed to fade as she examined him. His hair was black, longer than Jovan’s, and lay in curls on his simple green cloak. He had a mustache, and wore a ring on his smallest finger. The man returned her curious stare with an unreadable smile.

  “Melody? Is that acceptable?” She tore her gaze away to meet Kaeliph’s concerned eyes and nodded agreement, though she didn’t know to what. When she looked back, the only sign of the man was his drink left on the table where he had been.

  “That wasn’t bad,” Jovan said, leading them out again into the cooler air. “But clothes and shoes for her, plus supplies … It won’t leave us much.” He could feel Melody’s barely restrained panic, but there was still more to be done before he could bring her to the relative quiet of their room.