Spirit Binder

by Meghan Ciana Doidge

  In fact, the entire army seemed to be stumbling from their tent-raising and fire-building to stare at her.

  Tension poured off Hugh and Georges. The gate was almost open enough for them to pass through.

  “Who?” she murmured, not placing the flag.

  “Dougal, Chief of the Cascadian Guards, Chancellor of the Midlands,” Hugh ground out through clenched teeth.

  Dougal … her uncle.

  One of the trio around the flag raised his hand in greeting, and Theo realized what a spectacle she must have presented racing around the side of the mountain with her hair streaming out behind her and Hugh and Georges chasing her …

  Ignoring the warning ache she now felt in her head, and the fact that the sun suddenly felt way too hot on her skin, she raised her hand in return greeting.

  In unison that couldn’t have been choreographed more perfectly, every soldier in the encampment raised his or her hand in response.

  “Fuck,” Hugh swore, and actually grabbed the back of her saddle in an effort to get closer to her. “Through the gate now,” he urged.

  Except their way was blocked by about twenty mounted guards. These guards surged forward as soon as they could clear the gate, and quickly formed a protective layer, three men deep, around her, Hugh and Georges.

  As one, the guard pulled them through the gates and into the keep. Hugh had some trouble keeping the Beast calm, and once inside, the guard wouldn’t let her dismount despite Hugh’s curses and orders; he still held tight to her saddle. The guard circled around them until they were all facing, with swords drawn, the slowly closing gate.

  “He’s here for me,” she whispered to Hugh.

  “Yes. Looks like the game is about to change.” Hugh nodded toward the grand entrance of the castle where Jamin, Peony’s father and her own mother’s counselor, stood waiting.

  ∞

  The gates finally closed and the bulk of the guard dispersed. She and Hugh dismounted. Their horses were whisked away by practically unseen stablehands, though Hugh’s horse didn’t go gently.

  As a pair, they strode to stop before Jamin, who bowed before Theo formally. He’d been silvered-haired even when she was truly sixteen, though his face was only lightly lined. For the first time, she wondered if his hair color was a result of being able to see a person’s spirit significantly enough to understand their gifts and talents before they developed.

  “Your mother requests your presence in her library, after you have had a moment to tidy up from your ride. I understand you are without a lady’s maid, and have asked your mother’s servant to attend you.”

  Theo gathered that messy hair was not the accepted dress for this afternoon’s audience. Swallowing a sarcastic comment, she nodded and stepped forward to the entrance with Hugh at her side. Jamin continued, but this time addressed Hugh. “The Apex wishes you to excuse yourself from the library gathering, but to remain closely on hand. A message has been sent to your father.”

  Hugh didn’t even bother to nod as he stepped by Jamin to follow Theo inside along with two new guards. Georges had seemingly been relieved.

  “Peony,” she pitched her voice low, and hoped only Hugh could hear her.

  “I’ll send a messenger through the fields. It is perhaps best she stay the evening at the farm, though Jamin will be wondering where his daughter has gotten to. No, I’ll send a guard and have him lead her through the forest paths. It will take longer, but is perhaps a safer route.”

  “Thank you.”

  As they mounted the grand stairs, the servants, who had been bustling nervously around, stopped to gape at them.

  “It will be well,” she murmured as she passed. They relaxed at her assurances.

  She and Hugh moved through the upper halls, and as they approached her suite, the guards backed off from a pointed look from Hugh.

  “I don’t like the requested separation. I believe we are stronger together,” Hugh murmured to her, and she had to tamp down at the surprise she felt in the change of his behavior. As if they’d come to some understanding in the race to the castle. She remembered his fingers brushing through her hair, and knew that she had to trust someone. There had to be someone … she hoped it was him.

  “You mean I am stronger when you are around. More grounded. You’ve noticed.”

  Hugh didn’t answer right away. Not as if he was hesitant, though, but like his head was in too many places at once.

  “Yes, a … connection, perhaps best discussed soon but later.”

  She agreed and then added, “Mother never makes requests lightly. There must be some reason she thinks it is best.”

  “Yes, but is it a good reason or more game playing?”

  “It is game playing, needless to say, but that doesn’t mean it’s not the right play. Perhaps it is simply that you are an unknown, and Mother likes to keep power she thinks is in her control, close but secret.” Theo reached for her door handle and Hugh stopped her with a light touch on her shoulder.

  She turned back to him and momentarily struggled to not just stare into his eyes, which were very, very close to her own. This was a moment to be serious. He was so.

  “Theo, can you feel who is here in the castle? Is anyone in the library?”

  She closed her eyes, not that she needed to, but to avoid further distractions. She immediately sensed her mother’s presence in the library. “Mother is in the library, she’s deliberately dropped her shield so I can —”

  Her mother’s mental shields snapped into place, but not before Theo felt a little burst of reassurance, such as she’d given the servants, from her mother.

  “And?” Hugh prompted.

  “One other, who I can only sense because he feels familiar, not because I can touch him in any way.”

  “Right. I’m going to send my own message to my father, but I will not leave the castle. And you’ll call me if it goes badly, whether or not your mother wants me on the board.”

  She smiled at his continuation of the game metaphor, and even though it embarrassed her — magic could be an intimate thing — she broached the subject of his baffling personal shields, which continually kept her guessing at his meanings and feelings. “Hugh, I can’t … I don’t feel. Your shields. I could probably rip through them if …”

  Hugh raised an eyebrow. “My shields?”

  “Yes.”

  “You can’t hear my thoughts?” He was surprised, and maybe a little relieved. She tried to gain access to his thoughts once again and came up with nothing.

  “I can feel you. Feel your presence. Feel if you are near.”

  “Oh, yes?” He grinned suggestively, and she couldn’t, didn’t, bother not to return the grin. Obviously things were not so dire.

  “Yes, but I can’t read your mind.”

  He turned serious again. “Interesting. But I’m not wearing a shield, not one that would remotely register for anyone with your strength. What would be the point with your mother around? Though I suppose it would bother her.”

  “And you do enjoy bothering her.”

  “True.” Hugh gifted her with another grin; she could get used to looking at him. “I must have a natural resistance to you, which makes sense.”

  “How?”

  “Given the prophecy.” His eyes shifted away from her for a moment. He meant his prophecy, not her own. The one that somehow bound him to her since before she was born, though she didn’t know the details or wording. “It should be our secret. Theo?”

  She’d been staring at his neck, specifically at the part that joined his shoulder, which had been slightly exposed underneath his collar when he’d turned his head. She tore her eyes away. “I hear you.”

  “You should still be able to call me. It wouldn’t make sense, again given my prophecy, if you couldn’t.”

  Hugh, she thought in the direction of his so, so bright spirit.

  “I hear you,” he responded aloud. “You call me for any reason if yo
u need me.” He brushed a piece of hair from her cheek and then immediately yanked his hand away as if it had moved without his permission. So she wasn’t the only one who’d noticed the layer of comfort and intimacy that had slowly gathered around them as they stood whispering by her bedroom door.

  “Excuse me,” he murmured, and started to move away.

  “I do …” she stuttered, and he halted his retreat. “I do feel more grounded when you are around.”

  He looked pleased at her admission, so pleased that she felt like maybe … she dropped her eyes to his lips, part of her wondering how far this feeling could be stretched. Not wanting the joy of the ride to be just stripped away into the vast uncertainty that had plagued her since she’d woken. Part of her was vaguely aware that she shouldn’t be making commitments when she wasn’t completely sure, but part of her also wanted …

  He closed the gap between them, angling his body to block her from the view of the guards, though their backs were toward them.

  “Hugh,” she felt her own whisper brush against his skin, as she dragged her eyes up to his.

  “Yes?”

  “I was wondering if you would kiss —”

  He swept her toward him. His hands on her hips, then on the small of her back, and then in her hair, as his lips so, so gently pressed against hers.

  Pleasure akin to the horse race, but far more concentrated, flooded through her, and she parted her lips in a sigh and wrapped her hand around his neck, claiming the spot that had fascinated her earlier.

  She tentatively touched her tongue to his. He groaned and flexed his hands around her waist to pull her firmly toward him. She felt his energy wrap around her, more intensely wherever their skin touched. Heat bloomed between them, and for one fleeting moment, she imagined reaching back, opening the door to her bedroom, and inviting him inside.

  Then a bolt of pain lanced though her arm, over her shoulder, and up the back of her skull, so intensely that it tore completely through the protective cocoon they’d been building around them. She raised a hand to the back of her head, and swayed away from Hugh.

  “What is it?”

  She opened her eyes and found her vision momentarily unfocused. Hugh’s hands were so hot they felt like they were burning through the fabric that covered her shoulders. She pressed back against the wood door, and was suddenly very grateful for the coolness it provided.

  “My head. A pain.”

  “I’ll get Peony back right away.”

  “No. I think it is one of those things that is beyond her healing. It has seemed to have eased now.”

  He dropped his hands from her shoulders and ran one of them through his hair. “That got a little —”

  “I cannot bring myself to feel at all regretful about it.”

  He grinned, but the smooth coolness of the door seemed like a much calmer place, so instead of moving forward into his arms, Theo chose to step back into her room. She looked at Hugh, who was so serious once again.

  “You will call me,” he insisted.

  “I am certain all will be well.”

  “But you will call.”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded and turned away to stride down the hall, and she found she was a little disappointed that he’d walked away so easily.

  CHAPTER NINE

  There were more than the two people she’d expected in her mother’s library.

  He was there, slumped against the far window, gazing out while her mother and uncle bickered quietly but fiercely by the desk. Suddenly, she was inexplicably pleased she’d allowed her mother’s maid to comb her hair until it shined and fell in soft waves down her back.

  He’d straightened his rather long frame when she entered, and a grin overwhelmed the cold chisel of his features. He stepped toward her, but faltered when she didn’t return his smile. If she hadn’t been looking at him with her own two eyes, she wouldn’t have known he was in the room. He didn’t register magically … not that he was a void or even very well shielded. He, according to her magical senses, just didn’t exist.

  She glanced over to her mother for confirmation, who was actually watching her rather intently. Her mother nodded and cast a sidelong look at him. “Disconcerting, isn’t it?” She continued to stare at him, even when her mother and uncle began to quietly argue once again.

  Ren.

  The man from her dreams was currently standing in her mother’s library. His smile had eased off, but there was still a hint of it around his eyes.

  “You’re taller in person.”

  “Am I? Perhaps my physical presence is just overwhelming,” he teased.

  “No. I don’t feel you at all,” she replied, and unintentionally wiped the smile right off his face.

  “You know this man, Theodora?” Her mother didn’t like surprises.

  “He’s been visiting my dreams.”

  “What!” Her mother turned on her uncle. “You’ve been sending a dreamwalker through my wards? With the boy here as an anchor? Do you know how dreadfully dangerous that could have been? I would have thought you’d compromised Theodora enough for one lifetime.”

  “There is a soft spot in the wards around the ballroom windows,” her uncle shrugged in her peripheral vision; she hadn’t looked at him directly yet, and was somewhat reluctant to do so. “The dreamwalker is talented. She would have to be to use Ren, given his obvious gifts, but he was our best chance to find Theodora. We didn’t know if she was alive or not.”

  “There is only a soft spot in the wards because you damaged them while snatching my child, my heir, from her sixteenth birthday party. And you wouldn’t have needed to worry for Theodora’s safety if you hadn’t have sent her to attack me.”

  “It was a training exercise, a reconnaissance mission. And snatched isn’t quite the right word, is it, Theodora?”

  She slowly looked at her uncle. A thousand questions tumbled around her head, most of which centered around Ren, and why he would be the best chance of finding her.

  Her uncle stood broad-shouldered and impossibly strong next to his twin sister, her mother. The resemblance between them was almost chilling, even though Dougal towered over her mother by a head, and his naturally pale skin was reddened and weathered from a life spent outdoors while her mother’s was creamy and smooth. It was the hair, more sun streaked, rather like her own actually, that declared them all related.

  Her mother lifted a hand and, as if nervous, touched the large ruby that never left her neck. Dougal wore a matching stone on his ring. Theo had never noticed the connection before.

  “Greet your uncle,” her mother stiffly insisted, as if the formality in which she usually delighted, chafed her.

  “You are looking well, Theodora.”

  “Compared to how you evidently treated her,” Rhea snapped.

  “Everything was just a lesson,” Dougal mildly replied.

  She locked eyes with her uncle and offered him her bare hand and forearm. “Shall we arm clasp, Uncle?”

  He almost, as if she’d triggered some instinct, reached for her. Almost allowed her access to his impressive shielding. She almost caught him out. But he paused mid-stride and stared at her. She felt the false smile she’d presented settle onto her face as if she now claimed it. He was assessing her.

  “You’ve given her the mind mage powers back.”

  “Evidently,” her mother sniffed.

  “All at once! You could have killed her. Ten years of power? I’m surprised her mind hasn’t melted. What were you thinking?” Dougal thundered.

  “Mind mage?” Ren whispered behind her, as if it was news to him.

  “I had no idea you’d blocked them in the first place!” Rhea yelled back, and her mother never yelled. “The ward conflicted with your shoddy magic and stripped her back!”

  “And you haven’t bothered restoring those ten years,” Dougal’s tone was mild once more.

  Her mother didn’t answer.

 
“She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t know Ren. I can tell just by looking at her she has limited or no access to her wielder powers.”

  Halfway through Dougal’s speech, she shifted her gaze to her mother, who stared impassively back at her. Wielder powers? Like the ability to rip a wooden arm off a chair? “What wielder powers, Mother?”

  Her mother swallowed — once, and then blinked — once, and Theo knew, knew that she’d lost more than ten years of memories.

  “Like the telekinesis?” She pursued the subject beyond the ache of betrayal that was now attempting to settle into her chest right above her heart.

  “Telekinesis?” Dougal’s interest was very piqued.

  Her mother closed her eyes. “I … I … cannot.” She didn’t continue the thought, and Theo felt the betrayal slowly curling into anger, just minute wisps of it …

  “I offered you a choice that afternoon in the ballroom,” Dougal said.

  “The wielder powers,” she guessed.

  “Yes. If you’d stayed here, Rhea would have never trained you in The Ways of the Sword. You would have never known you were meant to be more than some false spiritual figurehead.”

  Rhea pursed her lips so tightly that the skin of her face pulled tautly over her jaw and cheekbones. It looked painful, this attempt to conceal the truth. Or perhaps it was just that her mother was too angry to speak.

  Ren stepped forward, which caused Theo to flinch when she hadn’t felt his approach. Tension rippled through him; she could see that at least and he was careful to step around her the rest of the way to the desk, where he laid a black velvet-wrapped package.

  Dougal reached forward and flipped the edges of the fabric open to reveal a short sword. Theo didn’t know weapons, but even she could tell this was a fine one; it bore a ruby in the shoulder just above the cross-guard that matched the ones Rhea and Dougal wore. It was a thin, double-edged blade, perhaps the length of her forearm. Its guard and blade were unadorned, though the hilt was twined with runes.

  “Rowen’s sword,” her mother breathed reverently.

  “Who better to wield it, Rhea?” Dougal asked, almost gently, and Rhea looked away from the sword.