by Frank Morin
Alyth curtsied, then stood calmly, as if ready to wait all day.
Shona glanced down at Aifric’s body, then placed a comforting hand on Connor’s arm. “I’m sorry. I know she was a good friend.”
“We’re kind of busy,” he told her, not wanting to discuss his complicated feelings about the loss of Aifric. Shona was not someone they could trust on a good day. Meeting her in Donleavy opened whole new realms of doubt as to her trustworthiness.
“You have time for this. Come.” Shona led them down a side passage and into a long room with an arched ceiling and walls covered in beautiful paintings, with marble statues of lords and ladies interspersed between them. A small table piled with bread, fruits, and roasted beef stood in the center of the otherwise empty room.
Shona closed the door behind them and gestured at the table. “Eat something.”
Connor and Ivor settled Aifric to the ground. Ivor crossed his arms and stared at Shona. “You’re assuming we’re hungry, and that we’re foolish enough to take food prepared by your hand.”
Shona gave him a disgusted look, hands on her hips. “Don’t be daft, Ivor. I don’t want you dead. Even if I did, I wouldn’t be stupid enough to intercept someone the queen has ordered to leave. Countermanding any of her orders is tantamount to execution or mind wiping.”
She held herself regally as she always did, but Connor knew her well enough to spot the signs of tension in her face and the undertone of fear in her voice. He still felt deeply shaken by their recent beating from the queen and by Aifric’s death. He didn’t have the emotional strength to withstand Shona’s manipulations again.
He did have chert though, something he’d never enjoyed around her before. So he embraced the affinity, and thankfully it opened readily to his mind. When he focused on Shona, he felt fear rolling off her like a chill wind. She was holding a good facade of control over it, but he clearly sensed her terror. He hated how that still triggered a desire to help her, despite all she’d done to him.
“How long have you been here?” he asked, his voice a bit more brusque than he’d intended.
She gestured them again toward the table. “Eat something. Please. I told Alyth I was feeding you, so I need to. Otherwise the queen might glean that I lied.”
“I’m not hungry,” Ivor said flatly. “You saw Alyth.”
Her expression turned pained and she placed a comforting hand on his arm. “Oh, Ivor, I wish you hadn’t seen that, but you need to understand that almost everyone has suffered similar tragedies among their families or friends. Or worse. Please, I know it’s hard, but please eat. Even just a bite.”
Connor felt moved by her fear. With the aid of chert, he did not doubt her words. She was taking a real risk in speaking with them. So he led the way to the table and picked up an apple and managed to eat a few bites. Still scowling, Ivor sampled a piece of sliced ham.
Shona sighed with relief, then said, “You realize you’re idiots, right?”
“I had to try to save her,” Ivor said, glaring at her, as if eager to fight someone that he knew he could hurt.
She sighed again. “If you had arrived yesterday you might have managed it. The queen insists that everyone present themselves immediately. Not nearly enough of us survive the initial interview.”
“How did you?” Connor could not imagine the queen did not recognize Shona’s ambition and ruthlessness. Had she just caught the queen on a good day, or did the queen approve?
“Your aunt Ailsa helped me.”
The idea of his aunt anywhere near the queen terrified him. “We need to get her out of here.”
Shona shook her head. “I wouldn’t worry about your aunt, Connor. She’s even more clever than people at the Carraig ever knew. She taught me how to protect myself by filling my mind with thoughts the queen would approve of. If she has no reason to dig further, that’s sometimes enough.”
“So the queen interviewed Ailsa?”
“Ailsa is one of her favorite advisers now and she alone supplies the queen with all her power stone. The queen insists that Ailsa and I attend her every afternoon.”
Shona shuddered, her expression reflecting her horror. The pulsing of her emotions grew colder. Connor could only imagine what it must be like to stand near the insane queen, watching her kill or brain wipe people that Shona might have known all her life. He did not believe he had the strength to handle that. Shona was many things, but weak was not one of them.
Ivor pressed his hands against his temples, for a second looking nearly overwhelmed by grief. “It’s worse than I imagined. Is no one standing up to her?”
Shona barked a harsh laugh and Connor easily read the hopelessness in her eyes without needing chert. “Who could? At the first hint of a rebellious thought, she wipes peoples’ minds or destroys them and casts them down into the waterfall.”
“There has to be a way,” Connor said. Sure, she’d just beaten them both with terrifying ease, but if he accepted that they had no chance against her, he’d lose all ability to act.
She shook her head vigorously and gripped his hands. “You can’t think that, Connor. Not here, not now. You have to get away.”
Her hands were warm on his, and as usual he caught the scent of roses wafting around her. Part of him wished he could comfort her, but he did not dare encourage her at all.
As if the same thought occurred to her, she leaned closer and lifted an arm to embrace him.
Connor hated to do it, but he stepped back and pushed her hand away, shaking his head. For a moment she looked utterly crushed, and he clearly felt her despair through the conduit of chert before he severed the connection. Her anguish almost made him relent.
“You don’t know what it would mean to feel the touch of a true friend here,” she whispered. She met his gaze, her big, hazel eyes wide and vulnerable. It was a look she had used on him more than once, and he hated that it still affected him so much.
“You know I can’t, Shona.”
She sighed, and turned to Ivor. “Do you hate me now too?”
“I hate that hat,” he said with forced levity.
She chuckled, pulled it off, and grimaced at it. “It is hideous.”
“What’s with all the feathers?” Connor asked.
“One of the more ridiculous edicts from . . .” Shona’s voice broke and she raised one quivering hand to her mouth. Connor had never seen her look so distraught, not even through the most intense fighting or Carraig intrigue. He was glad he had dropped chert. With that emotional connection in place, he doubted he could have held his ground against such an onslaught of her need.
Ivor wrapped her in his strong arms. She clung to him, and her shoulders vibrated a little as if she was suppressing sobs. Ivor held her, his eyes closed, his head resting on hers. For a moment they stood silent, simply taking comfort from each other.
Connor watched, torn. In a way it should have been him comforting Shona, but he could not. Not ever. She had made that impossible. He had to wonder if there was any way they could simply be friends, without all the layers of tension and all the baggage from the past.
Probably not.
After a moment the two released each other and Shona wiped at her eyes, even though no tears had actually slipped free. She kissed Ivor on the cheek. “Thank you. I needed that.”
He sighed. “I did too. Did the queen destroy your father’s mind too?”
She shook her head. “She needs him. He’s her chief adviser. He knows too much about the kingdom, the politics, the economy, and everything else for her to waste.”
High Lord Dougal was alive. The thought instantly triggered a wave of intense hunger that roared through Connor and made him groan. Dougal knew where he could get porphyry.
Before consciously deciding to, Connor grabbed Shona’s arm. “You have to get me some more porphyry. He’ll give it to you.”
She looked shocked, and Ivor pulled Connor’s arm from Shona’s. “Get control of yourself, Connor. We’re not out of danger yet. We h
ave to leave.”
“But I need some.” Connor struggled against a mindless rage that urged him to attack Ivor. Every muscle quivered as he fought to maintain control.
“What’s the matter with you?” Shona demanded.
Ivor said, “It’s the porphyry. It’s got a grip on his soul.”
Connor begged, “Please, Shona. Get me some.”
Shona shook her head. “He’d never give me any, and you know it. Even if he did, I don’t think you can risk ever taking it again.”
Connor spun away and swept an arm across the table, upending it and scattering food across the beautiful gallery. “If I don’t get any, it’ll kill me!”
Shona came to him and placed both hands on his shoulders, forcing him to look into her eyes. She spoke gently. “Connor, listen to me. The only way I could ever get my father to help you gain control over this would be if you came back to me, and you know it.”
Ivor laughed. “You never give up, Shona. I like that about you.”
Her closeness helped calm Connor, and that enraged him in a different way. Verena should be his protection against the rage of porphyry, not Shona.
He spoke with calm, deliberate words. “Shona, I have to make a choice. The choice I make will be final. I need you to respect that.”
She hesitated, sliding her hands off his shoulder, a flicker of worry in her eyes. “Connor, I don’t think you’re in a position—”
Connor cut her off. “I am. And it’s good that I can tell you directly. Shona, I choose Verena. I have to. If she wakes up, I will do everything in my power to make her happy.”
She impressed him by not crying, not shouting, not trying to manipulate him in any way. She only nodded. “I do respect you, Connor. And more than respect you.” She hesitated before adding, “If for any reason things don’t work out—”
He interrupted her again. “They will.”
“Okay. But know I’m here,” she said softly, an intimate whisper that conveyed the intense emotion reflected in her eyes. Her expression was a mixture of sorrow and obstinate hope.
He couldn’t help it. He tapped chert again. She was far too good an actress for him to read her with any confidence. The conduit snapped into place between them, stronger than before, almost as if she was knowingly opening herself to it. His skin warmed from the connection and her emotions encircled him like an invisible caress.
She really did care. If she was faking that, she was fooling herself too because waves of intense emotion rose off of her like steam. Connor stumbled a step back from her and severed the connection to chert. He now wished he hadn’t used it. Now he knew she did love him, or at least loved the idea of being with him. Hating her was so much easier when he’d convinced himself that she saw him only as a pawn to her plans. He’d thought that once he told her to her face that he chose Verena things would get simpler.
Nothing was ever simple with Shona.
She raised one eyebrow, studying his expression far too closely. He felt himself flushing, but couldn’t afford to give her any false hope. He had to focus all his energy on Verena. So he said, “I know I promised to kiss you, and I’ve never gone back on my word before, but this time I have to.”
That angered her, and she gave him that look that used a cow him. “You promised.”
“And now I’m unpromising. Neither one of us can afford any weakness right now, and I cannot let anything stand between me and Verena.”
Shona tapped granite, her body shifting into the perfect lines of a sculpted goddess, clearly visible even under the layers of her gorgeous dress. For a moment Connor thought she would strike him, but she only stomped away, muttering to herself.
He knew he shouldn’t, but Connor tapped a bit of serpentinite. He snatched the little whispers that clung around her like mist and pulled them to him. They were so weak that several expired before he could listen, but he picked up a few words.
Some of the more colorful ones included, “Vixen. Wench. Inferior breeding. Eat her heart.”
Ivor returned to Aifric’s litter. “Thanks for the food and the chat, Shona. Don’t lose hope. We’ll find a way.”
She released granite and turned back to them, not hiding her despair. “I can’t see how.”
Connor and Ivor lifted the stretcher. Ivor said, “There’s always hope.”
Shona’s eyes shifted to Connor, her expression angry and sad at the same time. He should turn his back on her, sever all ties, but he simply couldn’t leave her with that final insult. He would never submit to her again, but she too was caught in a horrible position and he couldn’t leave her without a little encouragement.
“Stay close to Ailsa. She’ll help.”
23
When Fighting Is the Only Way to Get Along
Flying never felt so good.
Hamish couldn’t stop grinning as he soared over the snowy Grandurian landscape in his new battle suit. The long flight down from Faulenrost toward Emmerich passed far too quickly as he flew through the bright blue winter sky, passed snow-capped mountains and wide, white valleys blanketed by evergreens.
The slightly bulkier design didn’t impede movement as much as he had feared, and it fit him like a glove. The new helmet sealed better over the collar, blocking out the annoying, cold wind. Jean had augmented the face shield to improve his field of view and reduce fogging. She’d anticipated so many of the improvements he’d wanted to make, then added more that he never would have considered. She was simply amazing.
The bitter cold of the heights didn’t bother him much. Jean and Dierk had designed ingenious, tiny leather tubes, treated with a new form of Althin waterproofing, and inserted them through all the limbs of his suit. When he flew, he could activate marble to heat the water between the layers of his armor and use a bit of quickened soapstone to pump the heated water through the suit. It kept him toasty warm.
Hamish flew over a final row of long hills and spotted the Emmerich township spread out in its flat plain, near the quarry. He tipped back into a reverse spin, exulting in the maneuverability of the suit. The multi-thruster design gave him so much more control, allowed him to turn tighter circles, and improved speed and efficiency. He was tempted to stay in the air until dark to play.
But when he came out of his fast loop, he activated the long-vision aspect of his visor and focused on the town, then frowned. Most of the townsfolk had gathered in the square, with the Alasdair refugees on one side of the enormous, intricate central fountain and the Emmerich locals on the other. The fountain was built with one wide lower bowl and several graceful, arcing posts rising to support nearly a dozen smaller bowls. In warmer weather, water shot in graceful arcs between them, but they all looked frozen now. The way the two groups were facing off did not look friendly.
As Hamish tipped forward into a fast dive, he wondered what could have gone wrong. When he’d left just a few days before, the two groups had been making great progress in integrating. If the two groups started fighting, they could unravel all their hard work.
He spotted Lord Wenzel and his family, along with Merten, the Emmerich Quader and his wife, Karola, in the center near the fountain, arguing with Hendry and Lilias. Nearby stood Stuart, thick arms crossed, looking determined. With growing dread, Hamish increased speed. The situation between Stuart and Stefanie had progressed faster than he’d feared. A common Obrioner showing interest in a noble Grandurian girl seemed so ridiculous most people would laugh it off.
Then again, Connor was linn, and Verena was nobility.
Hamish swooped down on the courtyard, triggering bursts of multi-colored fire to draw attention from the confrontation in the center of the square. At the last possible moment, he flipped in mid-air and slowed just in time to land close to Hendry.
With all eyes on him, Hamish pulled off his helmet and waved. “Hi! Thanks for assembling to welcome me back. What’s for lunch?”
Hendry and Lilias looked amused, Wenzel and Karola looked amazed, Lady Theda smiled at Hamish in that mother
ly way she always did, and Lord Wenzel looked relieved by the interruption.
His son Torben looked annoyed. The burly cutter was dressed in a sleeveless leather vest, despite the cold, and he turned his scowl from Stuart to Hamish and said in Grandurian, “Don’t interrupt, Builder.”
“But you haven’t started eating yet,” Hamish pointed out.
“It’s not lunch time,” Torben snapped.
“Of course it is.” Hamish pointed up at the sun standing directly overhead. He had timed his return perfectly to ensure he didn’t miss a meal. “No wonder you look so grumpy. You must be starving.”
With amusement in her voice, Lady Theda said, “Lunch will be served after we complete the business of the honor duel.”
Hendry’s expression turned annoyed. “With all due respect, your ladyship, we don’t approve of our people fighting for fun.”
“Is not fun,” Torben said in barely-discernible Obrioner. “Is honor. Must fight for sister.”
Hendry looked ready to argue further, but Hamish held up a hand to forestall him. “Have they explained what an honor duel means?”
“Not in any way that makes sense,” Lilias said, then added, “No offense.”
“It makes sense to us, and this is our town.” Lord Wenzel looked irritated, and that was not good.
The union of the two groups was so new and so fragile, it could snap over any little misunderstanding. Honor duels were no little thing, and if the argument grew hot enough, Lord Wenzel might just kick out the refugees.
Hamish could not allow that to happen, so he raised calming hands. “Everyone please take a deep breath and relax for a second. This is a difference in culture. Lord Wenzel, will you allow me to try straightening out the misunderstanding?”
“If you can.”
Hamish turned to Stuart, who hadn’t seemed to pay much attention to the conversation at all, but stared at Stefanie with a look of stupid adoration on his face.
“Stuart!” Hamish called. “What is your intention toward Stefanie?”
“I don’t answer to you,” Stuart said defiantly.
