Beyond the Boundary Stones (The Chronicles of Tevenar Book 3)

by Holder, Angela

  Vigorre scowled at the reminder of the way Kabos sought to control her. “Still, to see a man ripped to pieces before your eyes, even a complete stranger—I can’t imagine how awful it must have been for you. The demons are ruthless. Our only hope is to be equally ruthless fighting them.”

  Blast it if she was going to let him use her fictional pain to goad himself into ruining Elder Davon’s plan. “That would make us as bad as they are. There’s got to be a better way.”

  “But what if there’s not?” The anguish in his voice tore at her heart. “I’ll do anything I must to keep you safe.”

  She hardened her resolve. If she couldn’t dissuade him with appeals to his conscience, she was the one who’d have to be ruthless. “Vigorre Rothen, you listen to me. Josiah and Master Elkan are my friends. They’re innocent victims of the demons just like the rest of us. If either one of them dies tonight, it’s over between us. I will never have anything to do with you ever again. Understand?”

  He gaped at her. “Nirel, I—”

  “Over!” She had to get away from him. All this digging into her story was far too dangerous. The carriage had just passed out the far side of the Dualist Quarter. She had to warn Elder Davon as quickly as possible. By the time she rode the three long miles out to the village and walked all the way back, it might be too late. Even if her threat prevented Vigorre from taking part in the plot to kill the wizards, that wouldn’t stop the rest of Yoran Lirolla’s underlings from finding another way. “Stop the carriage and let me out. I’ll walk home from here.”

  “Nirel, no! It’s too dangerous.”

  She glared at him and raised a fist to bang on the ceiling of the carriage. “I’ve done it hundreds of times. I think I can manage.” She leaned out the window and shouted for the driver to stop. As soon as the horses slowed she lurched to her feet and got the door open. “Don’t you dare try to stop me.” She slapped his hand when he grabbed her arm.

  He let go, but didn’t back off. “Please, Nirel. I promise, I’ll do whatever you want. Just let me take you home.”

  “No.” She jumped to the ground as the carriage rolled to a halt. Her skirts tangled around her legs, but she kept her balance. Vigorre was right behind her; she whirled to face him. “If Master Elkan and Josiah are still alive in the morning, you may come for me at the usual time. Otherwise—don’t bother.”

  He gulped and nodded. “I’m scheduled to officiate with my father at the Temple.”

  “Then you may send a carriage and I’ll go with your stepmother like I did last week.” She narrowed her eyes. “Assuming Lady Nathenarre is well enough to attend.”

  He inclined his head in acknowledgment of her jab. “We can talk again after the service and decide what we’re going to do.”

  “All right.” She pointed to the carriage. “Go. If you’re going to warn Master Elkan what Yoran Lirolla is up to before his men proceed without your help, you’d better hurry.” She gulped. “And if you’re going to decide that your oath to obey him is more important than your promises to me, you’d better hurry and get out of my sight.”

  He didn’t move. “I love you, Nirel. No matter what happens, I want you to know that.”

  Her emotions were such a snarled tangle she didn’t even try to unravel them. “I love you, too, Vigorre. I hope I can still say that tomorrow.”

  He swallowed. She thought for a moment he was going to step forward and kiss her, but he didn’t. He jerked around and climbed heavily into the carriage.

  Nirel stepped off the road and watched as the driver maneuvered the carriage in a tight circle and headed back toward the gate into the city. Only after it was rolling quickly enough she was sure Vigorre couldn’t jump out did she turn and start walking toward the village. To be absolutely sure, she walked almost a quarter mile before reversing course. She studied the road as far as she could see in both directions, but it was deserted, the carriage long gone. The signs advertising Ozor’s healers stood at regular intervals in the moonlight, like silent sentinels.

  She set out toward the gate with long, anxious strides. She had to tell Elder Davon everything that had happened and find out what he wanted her to do. He would know how she could best serve the Lord of Justice.

  Twenty-Five

  Vigorre crouched behind the sign, holding his breath. When he dared peek out, Nirel had finally quit looking up and down the road. But instead of continuing toward her home as he’d expected, she was walking purposefully back toward the city.

  What in the Mother’s name? Vigorre stared at her for a long moment before ducking into the shadows barely in time to keep her from spotting him. He waited until she was well past to hurry as quickly and silently as he could to the shelter of the next sign.

  It had been a long time since he’d used the trick he’d perfected to escape watchful nannies, but he’d pulled it off as smoothly as he could when he was twelve and eager for a few hours of independent adventure. Luckily he hadn’t grown too big to squeeze through the window on the far side of the carriage, or too heavy to cling to the decorative scrollwork until he could drop off at the precise spot in the turn where the wheels blocked the view of his feet. He was lucky Ozor had littered every ten paces of the road with signs, or he’d have been forced to throw himself flat in the shallow ditch that lined the road.

  He would have, though, without a second thought. He couldn’t allow Nirel to walk so far through the dark night alone. If she wouldn’t allow him to accompany her openly, he’d have to do it secretly.

  He was still reeling from the shock of her ultimatum. But in a strange way, he welcomed it. It had put an end to his tormented dithering over whether or not to obey Keeper Yoran’s command. He’d wanted desperately to find some excuse to break his oath to the Mother. He was convinced Nirel was right and that neither Elkan nor Josiah had any idea of the true nature of the animals they were bonded to. But the threat of the demons loomed over Ramunna like the shadow of an approaching storm, and the need to stop them had seemed paramount. Perhaps the wizards’ deaths weren’t too high a price to pay.

  Losing Nirel was. His commitment to her might not be as formal as his oath to Yoran, but it bound him far more deeply. The Mother couldn’t fault him for giving it the higher priority. The fact that Nirel had demanded he do what he’d wanted to do anyway was a welcome bonus.

  His choice had been made for him. He was committed now to finding a way to destroy the demons while sparing their human slaves. The enormous relief he felt told him it was the right course.

  Where was she going? He had to stay back far enough she wouldn’t notice him, but she was moving so fast he had to hurry to avoid losing sight of her. He darted from sign to sign. She looked back just as he was about to venture out of shelter. He froze until she once again fixed her gaze forward, then rushed to make up the ground he’d lost.

  Dear Mother, she didn’t trust him. She must have decided he would choose the Purifiers over her and was going to the palace to warn Elkan and Josiah herself.

  He hung back as she spoke to the guard at the city wall. The man admitted her and she vanished as the heavy gate crashed shut. It was all he could do to restrain himself for a few minutes. Finally he could wait no longer.

  The guard eyed him suspiciously. “What business do you have in the Dualist Quarter at this time of night?”

  He was about to draw himself up and intimidate the man with Keeper authority when a better idea struck him. Instead, he looked furtively around and kept his voice soft. “The woman who just came through here. You know her?”

  The guard narrowed his eyes. “Of course. Lady Nirel, one of the foreigners. She comes this way most days. You’d better think twice about accosting her; she’s under the Matriarch’s protection.” He loosened his sword in its sheath with a seemingly casual motion.

  “I’m her betrothed,” Vigorre hastened to reassure him. “Well, not formally her betrothed yet. Keeper Vigorre Rothen, Keeper Emirre Rothen’s son.”

  The guard seemed only
slightly less suspicious. “So what are you doing out here? Wasn’t that your carriage that went through a little while back?”

  “Yes. Nirel insisted I let her out and told me to go home. It seemed strange, so I slipped out of the carriage to follow her.”

  The guard gave a coarse laugh. “She’s running around on you already? Get out while you’ve got the chance, son, and thank the Mother you found out before she trapped you into a lifetime of misery.”

  Vigorre clenched his fists, aching to make the man pay for slandering Nirel. But he forced himself to nod conspiratorially. “Exactly. I have to see where she goes so I have proof.”

  The man shook his head, but he was already swinging the gate open. “It’s not worth your time, son. You already know she’s playing you false.”

  “She might have a legitimate errand.” Vigorre slipped through the narrow crack, and the guard eased the gate closed behind him. The clang as it caught was far quieter than the previous one, but it still rang in Vigorre’s ears.

  The man rolled his eyes. “Suit yourself.” As Vigorre set off down the main road through the Quarter, he cleared his throat. “Son, she went that way.” He pointed down a cross street. “I’ve seen her take that route before.”

  Vigorre halted, confused, and looked the way the man indicated. Far down the street he caught a glimpse of a slim dark figure. He retained just enough presence of mind to stay in character. He swore under his breath, then pulled a coin from his purse and tossed it to the guard. “Thanks for your trouble, friend. Keep this quiet, will you?”

  “Keep what quiet?” the man asked with a knowing grin.

  Vigorre raced down the side street, managing to make up a little ground before Nirel turned onto another road. She led him through a maze of twisty narrow lanes. He had to draw closer than he liked, but she must have stopped worrying about being followed, because she kept her face forward, focused on whatever goal she rushed toward so urgently.

  Without warning she turned and ducked into a doorway. The door clicked shut behind her. Vigorre halted, panting to catch his breath. This was crazy. What purpose could have brought Nirel here, deep in the heart of the Dualist Quarter? She seemed perfectly familiar with the place, though Vigorre was thoroughly lost. He’d never been here before in his life.

  Wait. That wasn’t true. His heart went cold as he studied the doorway and realized he recognized the faded symbol painted over the lintel. This was the place they’d traced Tharan to that morning. Behind that door was the shrine where the Dualist Elder Davon had ordered the assassin to kill whoever he must to prevent a wizard from coming to Tevenar.

  Had Nirel taken it into her head to confront the Elder herself? Why? Did she fear he might order attacks on the wizards she’d decided for some reason to protect? Vigorre’s head swam. If only he could open a window and watch what was happening inside the building.

  He dared to go right up to the door and press his ear against the wood, but he could hear nothing. The only window was covered by tightly closed shutters. No sound penetrated them.

  Vigorre backed across the street, staring all the time at the nondescript building. He was positive it was the one Kevessa had traced Tharan to. He clearly remembered peering into the window that hovered over her hand, noting the location so he could inform Keeper Yoran, thinking about how Nirel would react when she saw—

  Vigorre put his back against the wall behind him and slid down with a hard thump. His heart thundered against his ribs. He couldn’t catch his breath.

  Nirel hadn’t seen the shrine through Kevessa’s window. He and Kevessa had watched Tharan on the trip out to the village. After they’d picked Nirel up, Kevessa hadn’t opened a window again. Nirel had argued that further observation of Elder Davon might be against the Law, which made Nina refuse to cooperate. He’d thought she was protecting his secret.

  Now he realized she’d been protecting her own.

  Nirel was in there speaking with Elder Davon. There were no raised voices to indicate an angry confrontation. She had walked here with swift, certain steps, never pausing to consider the route. The guard at the gate had said she’d come this way before.

  The conclusion was obvious, but it was several long minutes before Vigorre could entertain it. Nirel, in league with the Dualists? Impossible.

  But… there had been that Dualist woman injured in the fire. Vigorre had been too busy bandaging burns to pay much attention, but he’d heard Nirel’s voice raised as she confronted the wizards. She’d demanded that they respect the woman’s beliefs and refrain from healing her, even if she would die without the Mother’s power.

  And there was the way her father treated her, almost as if she was his property, expecting absolute obedience. Dualists were notorious for controlling their women that way. When she wasn’t wearing Tevenaran breeches, she favored dresses far more modest than was fashionable, though not quite as high-necked and drab as the iconic Dualist garb.

  He’d had to give her a detailed description of what to expect at his ordination ceremony, because she’d never attended a Restday service before. He’d assumed it was because of her isolated upbringing in Tevenar, but she’d been in Ramunna for months before he invited her. She hadn’t wanted to practice the litany responses aloud, but had asked for a written copy to study. She’d been nearly as tense as he had that morning. Maybe her reaction had been due to more than just the discomfort of taking part in an unfamiliar ceremony. Maybe she’d felt the way he would have in a Dualist shrine, raising his voice in blasphemous praise to the Lord of Justice.

  The more he thought about it, the more little mysteries made sense. Ozor hadn’t sent her to the wizards. Elder Davon had, to spy on them for the Dualists the way Vigorre did for the Purifiers. The Dualists wanted something. They’d sent Tharan to Tevenar to prevent a wizard from coming to Ramunna. When he’d failed, they must have formulated a new scheme, and Nirel was part of it.

  Vigorre jerked his head up and stared at the door of the shrine. They were using her. And through her, they were using him. How much of what Nirel had told him was true, and how much was designed to manipulate him into doing what the Dualists wanted? Had she been honest with him about anything? Or was everything, including her affection for him, an elaborate act?

  His face burned. His love for her, the way his body reacted when they touched, the surge of desire every time they kissed that had him counting the days until they could be wed—was it all based on a lie? He would have sworn she felt the same way. But then he would have sworn she’d never been in a Dualist shrine, and he was obviously wrong about that.

  She felt something, though. He had to believe that. Some things couldn’t be faked. There had been undeniable sparks between them from the moment they’d first met.

  Hot shame transmuted to cold fear. Their meeting at that ball had been no accident, he realized. She’d sought him out. She’d gotten him alone, and before she’d had any real reason to trust him she’d confessed a dangerous secret. Had it been the truth, that her Dualist masters sought to use to their advantage? Or had it been just another lie?

  Nirel’s word was the only real proof he had that the wizards’ familiars were demons. Everything else boiled down to hunches, feelings, extrapolations. And an old scrap of paper, as Kevessa had called the Purifiers’ secret document. What credence would he have given Keeper Yoran’s claims if he’d never heard Nirel’s story? Would he have believed Kevessa when she swore Nina had faked the blazing red eyes that had convinced so many she was a demon?

  Would he have doubted for a moment that it was truly the Mother who’d spoken to him?

  …you’ve been lied to by those you trust, in such a way that it’s become difficult for you to discern truth from falsehood…Think of what you’ve seen my power do, Vigorre. With your own eyes, not what others have told you. You’ve watched it heal, and help, and show truth…

  He groaned and clutched his head. He had. For a whole week he’d watched the wizards pour out power unstintingly, unselfish
ly, gloriously. Only his love for Nirel and his conviction that she’d witnessed the truth behind the facade had kept him from joyfully embracing that power.

  Instead, he’d agreed to help destroy its source. Right now he was supposed to be leading the wizards and familiars to their doom. What if—

  Vigorre jumped to his feet. He had to know the truth. He strode across the street and ripped the door of the shrine open.

  Inside, it was dark. Faint lamplight seeped between curtains at the end of a narrow hall. He stormed down it and tore the curtains aside. In the circular space he’d seen through a window that morning, Nirel and Elder Davon knelt side by side, conversing in low, intent voices.

  Nirel looked up, and her face went through a swift gamut of emotions—shock, horror, fear, panic. She scrambled to her feet, eyes darting frantically from side to side. “Vigorre. I—I—What are you doing here? You’re going to ruin everything! I—I couldn’t tell you, but I’ve been secretly infiltrating the F—I mean, the Dualists, so I could trick them into… into…” She faltered under his cold stare.

  Elder Davon rose and put a calm hand on her shoulder. “Peace, daughter. I fear it’s useless to deceive Keeper Vigorre any longer.”

  Vigorre clenched his fists and fought the urge to slam one into the man’s serene face. “You’re right. I want to hear the truth, all of it, right now. Or I’ll call the Matriarch’s guards and have you both arrested.” He took a threatening step forward. “When she learns how you sent an assassin to keep the wizards out of Ramunna you’ll be lucky if you face the dungeon and not the gallows. I wonder what other crimes a window would reveal?” He shifted his glower to Nirel. “It’s illegal for Dualists to live outside the Quarter. And to lie about who they are.”

  She lifted her chin and met his eyes defiantly. “I’m one of the Faithful. I serve the Lord of Justice. Turn me over to the Matriarch if you want. I don’t care.”