Love?
She read that again.
I would like nothing more than to offer my support and love.
Was Drake saying that he loved her? How could he be so casual about it? Ashlyn read the line a third time. She wasn’t imagining things. The letter really did say “love.”
I know that no apology will be sufficient to mend the harm I have done you, but nevertheless, I must tell you that I am deeply sorry, Ashlyn. From the bottom of my heart, I apologize for the grief I have caused, for the inconsistency of my behavior, but most of all, for refusing to return the love that you have offered so selflessly.
Realizing that I might have lost you- and that you nearly died because I was not there to protect you, as I should have been- allowed me to experience true, paralyzing fear for the first time in my unlife. When I saw you in the Heavenly City, my first thought was that I could not survive losing you. I wouldn’t have wanted to. You have become my reason for living.
Ashlyn’s heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to jump up her throat and dance a victory jig on her tongue.
Their conversation by the waterfall, after he’d kissed her, had been stilted and awkward.
Tell me, he’d said. What do you want?
I want you, she had responded.
Why?
Because I love you, stupid.
He hadn’t replied to that- and somewhere in the far reaches of her heart, she’d wondered why, dreading that it might be because he didn’t feel the same.
Having to read his words in a letter, when he was on the other side of the ocean, hopelessly out of reach, was both titillating and infuriating. Ashlyn blew a stray lock of hair out of her eyes, and settled down to read the rest.
It is selfish of me to ask for forgiveness, I know, but I am begging for it now.
I love you, Ashlyn. I have tried to deny it, unwilling to risk my heart by caring for another. But my efforts were in vain. You alone can give me redemption. I have found my salvation in you, and I want nothing more than to remain by your side, in whatever capacity you feel is appropriate.
Whatever capacity she felt was appropriate? What exactly did that mean? The formality of his tone in the letter would have been hilarious, if only she hadn’t been so frustrated that he wasn’t here to deliver it in person.
FLD has secured all of the shift soldiers, and the stanes they were carrying. Kou has not been captured yet, but he has been defeated and can no longer claim lordship of Toryn, Drake wrote, changing the subject much too quickly for Ashlyn’s taste. I realize that this confession is poorly timed, and I apologize again. I have no wish to distract you from your responsibilities as Lady of Toryn.
I am leaving, but my heart, as always, remains with you. I know that we will be reunited again soon, and I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me for being such a complete and total idiot.
She burst out laughing at the last sentence. It sounded like something she would have called him- not like something Drake would say at all. He had signed his name at the bottom of the page with a flourish, along with a lopsided heart that was at once surprising and incredibly endearing.
Ashlyn pressed a hand to her cheek, smiling, shaking her head and knowing that she had to be flushed bright red.
He was right- she needed to focus on Toryn right now. There would be plenty of time for love later. But that didn’t mean she had to be happy about waiting.
She glanced down at the letter again, and couldn’t keep a grin from creeping back onto her face.
Chapter 3
Nine Thousand
“Home sweet home,” Ashlyn said without much enthusiasm, looking around the Cosmean library. She set the box of her dad’s journals down on the table with a loud thump.
“Good morning,” Aik said, jumping up onto a chair. He grinned at Ashlyn, a wide, toothy smile that looked almost comical on his furry wolf face.
The last time she’d been in this library, she’d been researching Toryn customs with Aik, intent on challenging Lord Devlyn to a Leadership Duel and completely oblivious to the fact that the Toryn ninja locked in the airship’s holding cells outside was the same man she was looking for. Ashlyn sat down and ran her fingers across the ancient wood of the table, shaking her head. Had it really been only a few weeks since that day? Everything felt so different now. She felt so different now.
When she’d last been sitting this table with Aik, Ashlyn hadn’t been interested in researching anything, much less becoming Lady of Toryn. The last few weeks had changed her. She’d faced death and survived. She’d found her father again, and lost him just a short time later.
She felt so old.
Vargo caught her eye as he sat down across from her, setting a mug of steaming coffee in front of her. She smiled at the Spartan, grateful for the comfort of his presence. The past several days had been difficult, but he’d helped just by being there.
“So…your old man’s diaries, huh?” Vargo said, picking up one leather-bound volume. “Pretty wordy guy.”
“Apparently so.” Ashlyn took a sip from her coffee and grimaced. This has got to be an acquired taste.
“Are you sure you want us here for this?” Vargo asked. He set the book back in the box, looking over what must have been years of writing in almost two dozen journals. “It might be kind of personal.”
“I don’t know. I mean, I guess I should read them by myself, but I…I don’t really want to do it alone. And there might be something in here that helps us find Kou.” And it might be my chance to finally get to know my dad, she thought but did not say.
The pause that followed her words was a little too long, and she knew they weren’t really buying her excuse. Ashlyn stared down at her hands, hoping that her friends would somehow understand that she needed help just to get through this. Reading her dad’s journals was much too scary to face alone.
Finally Aik placed his paws on the table and carefully picked up a journal in his jaws. He set it on the table, using his nose to flip it open to the first page. “The entries are dated,” he said, glancing at Ashlyn. “As we read, let’s make sure we arrange them by date so that we can keep them in chronological order afterwards.”
Vargo glanced over at the pages in Aik’s book and grimaced. “I don’t read Toryn,” he said. “I’m not gonna be much help.”
Ashlyn doubted very much that the Spartan was a recreational reader anyway. “No worries,” she answered. “Toryns use Angelic numerals for dates, and Spartans all read and write Angelic, right?” At the red-haired man’s nod, she continued, “Maybe- if you don’t mind- you can organize the books by date so Aik and I can go through them in the order they’re meant to be read.”
If Vargo was disappointed at being wrangled into a job, he didn’t show it. “Sure thing,” he said, reaching for the first book. Ashlyn followed suit, pulling out a worn journal and opening it to the first page.
The initial entry was dated in the spring, roughly twenty-five years prior. Ashlyn shifted uncomfortably in the hard wooden chair, and started reading.
***
Susyn is infatuated with me.
She has been since we were children, but I admit that I was expecting her feelings to fade by now. Her adoration is further instigated by my father, who insists that we marry as soon as possible and secure an heir to the pagoda.
It frustrates me that I am royalty, or as good as, and yet my future is being decided by those who have no idea of my true dreams or desires. Speaking to my father is an exercise in wasted breath. He would rather teach me humility and deference by the back of his hand than allow me to explore the world I have yet to see.
The cliffs in Cosmea are red. A deep, rich red that envelopes me in its warm embrace. It is impossible to set foot in the Cosmean territory and not be moved by a sense of oneness with nature. The history of these cliffs and caverns is extensive. I could study here for years and never hope to learn everything about this sacred place.
But I do not have years to s
pend in Cosmea. This is a diplomatic mission. I must soon return to Toryn, where my father will marry me off to Susyn, though I do not love her. He will force me to relinquish my name and become Lord Li of Toryn. Nameless for the cause. Existing only to serve my people.
When I entered Cosmea this afternoon, there were many wolves milling about among the Cosmeans. This is the wolves’ last haven, as mercenaries have taken it upon themselves to hunt wolves for their rather valuable pelts. I have only seen wolves in books and heard of them in stories, and you would think my first encounter with them would have been notable for their presence alone- if not for the sudden appearance of someone else entirely.
She is the daughter of the chief of Cosmea. Today she welcomed me warmly to her city, and showed me to the inn. I am the fortunate recipient of an invitation to dine with her father tonight, and I find myself at a loss as to how I should proceed. Is it, perhaps, her unusual appearance that fascinates me so? She does not look like a Toryn woman, nor does she act like a Toryn woman. She and Susyn are impossibly different.
I am a man who writes his emotions freely, and yet I feel helpless to describe my reaction when first I saw her. Her hair is the color of the setting sun beyond Na Michico- a deep, burnished gold that reaches nearly to her knees. She has told me that Cosmean women grow their hair long and generally keep it free of adornment. It is a source of pride for them.
Her eyes are fascinating- the color of bronze. You only have to glance at her to see that she is wholly Cosmean, a true daughter of Kresmir.
I fear my heart was lost the moment I saw her.
Is it possible that I only feel drawn to her because I know I cannot have her? I must return to Toryn, and we are diplomats, she and I, doomed to a political partnership and nothing more. Even if, by some chance, she consented to return to Toryn with me, the Elder Lord is forbidden from marrying a non-Toryn. But of course, I am being horribly presumptuous, because I have only just met the poor girl, and she has no idea of my…oh, this is ironic, considering my situation with Susan.
She has no idea of my infatuation.
***
Ashlyn wrinkled her nose. She still wasn’t clear on the definition of ironic, and she wasn’t all that keen on the way her dad kept referring to her mom’s love for him as infatuation. Apparently her parents’ love didn’t become mutual until much, much later.
The short first entry was pretty intriguing, though. Ashlyn flipped through the journal briefly, noting that most of the later entries were much longer. She glanced up at Aik and Vargo. The wolf was reading intently, but Vargo caught her eye and quirked one corner of his mouth in a half-smile. Ashlyn mimicked the expression, feeling rather un-smiley. A thin ribbon of dread was unfolding in her stomach. She’d gone straight to the journal that would answer the questions she’d asked Aik on the way to North Camp- reading this would tell her what happened immediately before her father ascended the pagoda. If Drake was right and destiny was unavoidable, then perhaps fate had guided her hand to this journal.
Did she have the courage to keep reading?
Chewing on her lower lip, Ashlyn reluctantly turned the page.
***
I AM SITTING IN BED, WRITING BY CANDLELIGHT.
I am certain that everyone else in the inn must be asleep by now. I have not heard a noise in several hours. My room is situated directly above the kitchen, and tonight I could hear the sounds of the innkeeper and his wife cleaning after the tavern closed. But even those sounds stopped some time ago.
I am embarrassed to say that my mastery of the Cosmean language is not as fluent as I had thought it to be. Occasionally there is a word that still escapes me. To make matters worse, the chief’s grasp of Angelic and Toryn is basic at best. Fortunately the chief’s daughter speaks Merchant Tongue, and is able to act as a translator on the rare occasion when communication becomes difficult. We were able to converse easily at dinner tonight. The chief’s name is Redhorse, and by all appearances seems to be a wise and gentle leader. He is of an advanced age, much older than my father even, who was already the age of most grandfathers when I was born.
I experienced some difficulty pronouncing the name of Redhorse’s daughter, but she reassured me that most foreigners have difficulty with the inflection, and asked simply that I call her “G.” Her name is derived from an Angelic word that means “beginning,” which I feel is strangely appropriate.
Nothing of much importance was said over dinner, but afterwards when we had retired to Chief Redhorse’s sitting room, his countenance became much more somber.
“Son,” he said, and his bronze eyes were solemn, “I understand you have been sent here as an ambassador of the Toryn people, but I must say that you seem very young for the job.”
“My father is the Elder Lord of Toryn, Chief Redhorse,” I responded politely. “I believe he hoped to show honorable intentions by sending the Elder Heir for negotiations.”
“I am not averse to an alliance with Toryn. Your father has been a noble lord in a time when honor and integrity are in short supply. However,” he continued, frowning, “I had hoped for an ambassador who was proven in battle. Perhaps that was unrealistic. I am aware that diplomats rarely engage in combat.”
I should not have looked at G when her father called me a “diplomat,” but I could not help myself. Her eyes were downcast, the firelight glinting off the amber highlights of her hair. She was stunning, and I found myself disliking the diplomat label almost as much as I despised my title as Elder Heir.
“If I may, sir,” I said to Chief Redhorse, “although I claim no experience in battle, I certainly consider myself combat proficient. Toryn ninjas are acknowledged to be some of the most capable warriors in Kresmir.”
At those words, the chief brightened considerably. “Well then,” he said. “Perhaps you can help us after all.”
“Sir?”
He stood, and even with his slightly stooped shoulders, his silhouette was tall and imposing in the small sitting room. With purposeful steps, he went to the mantle and opened a small wooden box. From the box he withdrew a stane that glowed white. Unlike most stanes, which are often sanded and polished into rough circles, this stane was still in its natural form, with jagged edges and an uneven shape. Its gleaming white color was not like any stane I had seen before.
“This is the stane of Novem Milia,” he said. “Do you understand the name?”
“I believe it is Angelic, Chief Redhorse, for nine thousand.”
“Correct.” He offered the stane to me, and I took it, feeling the solid weight of the gem in my hand.
“What does it do?” I asked curiously.
“This is one of the most powerful magics in existence,” the chief said, with a gleam in his eye that belied his advanced age. “When used properly, the stane can, quite literally, freeze time.”
Perhaps I’d given the old man too much credit. “Freeze time?” I repeated, trying to hide my disbelief. “That would be a powerful magic, indeed.”
The chief, seeing my poor attempt at a fib, threw back his head and laughed. “I like you already, son,” he said, clapping a hand on my shoulder before he retreated to his chair again. “Clearly I was mistaken when I assumed you were a diplomat. You’ve no more talent at lying than my own daughter.”
I looked at G, who was trying to hide a smile behind her hand. “I apologize, Chief Redhorse,” I said, knowing that I’d caused no offense but somehow still feeling sheepish about it. “You must admit that it sounds rather unbelievable.”
“I had the same reaction when my father told me about this stane twenty-four years ago,” Redhorse admitted. “But I’ve seen firsthand how it works, and I know now that it is a rare and powerful magic.” He leaned back in his chair and stared at me for such a long time that I squirmed in my seat. The stane was uncomfortably warm in my hand.
Redhorse spoke at last. “More than two centuries ago, an army of Angels arrived in Cosmea and advised the reigning chief that a devastating evil would soon be emerging
from the Cosmean Caverns. The natural magic of Kresmir had kept the evil at bay since the beginning of time, but with the increasing drain on the planet’s resources and growing population, Kresmir’s holds on this evil were weakening. The Angels revealed that this evil is wholly indestructible. It cannot die. It can only be contained.
“The Angels also brought with them a stane of Novem Milia. This stane had the power to trap the evil for nine thousand days, and it was Cosmea’s only hope. The Angels fought alongside the Cosmeans and the chief, and managed to activate the magic deep in the Cosmean Caverns. The stane, which was very much like the one in your hand, literally froze time in its surroundings, trapping the evil in a…a time bubble, if you will. It is called ‘the Stane of Nine Thousand’ because it can only freeze time for nine thousand days, or just under twenty-five years, before the stane’s magic is drained, and the evil is once again freed.”
My mind was racing to comprehend what this man was saying to me. An ancient evil? Why had I never heard of it? How had the Cosmeans kept such a unique magic a secret for this long? Most disturbing of all was that Redhorse had already stated that his father had first told him about the magic twenty-four years ago. I suddenly had a sinking feeling that I knew why he has asked about my combat experience.
“In less than four weeks, the stane that is currently keeping Kresmir safe will be completely drained of its power,” Chief Redhorse said, and nodded to the stane in my hand. “That stane will have to take its place. But the magic cannot be activated until the first stane has relinquished its hold on time in the Caverns. To enter the affected area would mean certain death for a mortal.”
“Would you not simply be frozen in time?” I asked, surprised that my voice was still working.
“It’s impossible for humans to be resuscitated after being frozen,” G spoke up from her place across the room. “Your heart will stop beating permanently. Spirits and the undead may survive, and Angels can as well, but not humans.”
The Lady of Toryn Anthology (Lady of Toryn trilogy) Page 40
