Captive

by A. D. Robertson

  “He is not your enemy.” Sarah glared at Patrice. “If it weren’t for Tristan, I would be dead.”

  “Sarah, don’t.” Tristan carefully extricated himself from her grasp and stood. He addressed Patrice, offering his hands as if waiting for them to be bound. “I understand, and I turn myself over to you.”

  Sarah moved to step between Tristan and the Searcher who approached with manacles. “No.”

  “Sarah,” Tristan said quietly, “this has to happen. You know that.”

  Gritting her teeth, Sarah nodded, but before Tristan could be taken Sarah suddenly pulled him close, kissing him. Tristan’s arms came around her, pressing her body against his. Sarah heard Anika gasp, but she ignored the sound, unwilling to break the kiss until she absolutely had to.

  “Sarah.” Patrice didn’t have to say anything else.

  Releasing Tristan, Sarah whispered, “I love you.”

  Tristan nodded, and after his wrists were shackled, two Searchers led him away and two others followed with Moira.

  Sarah whirled, glaring at Patrice. “If anything happens to them—”

  Patrice held up her hand. “Keep in mind who you’re speaking to, Sarah. I’m still your commander, and I think it’s obvious we need to find out what exactly happened to you.”

  Still vacillating between outrage and fear, Sarah said, “I’ll tell you everything. Just promise me that no harm will come to them. They’re . . . I can’t begin to explain how important they are to me.”

  “Sarah,” Patrice said gently, “have you forgotten who we are? Who you are? You know we won’t hurt him without cause.”

  Sarah wanted to object, desperate for some further reassurance that Tristan would be safe and that she’d soon be with him again.

  “Obviously you’ve been through some transformative events,” Patrice continued. “And we’ll take everything you’ve done and seen into account as we put pieces together. But, Sarah, you must keep in mind that there are greater things at stake right now. We can’t be reckless.”

  Knowing any further arguments would be futile, Sarah’s shoulders slumped as she said, “I understand.”

  Patrice’s expression was grim when she said, “Let’s get out of here.”

  Anika took Sarah’s arm as they entered the back door of a building, which turned out to be the fishmonger’s shop.

  “You made it out.” Ian stared at Sarah in disbelief. He was standing beside the fishmonger at the shop’s counter. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

  “It came close to that,” Sarah told him. “Without Tristan—” Her chest cramped. She wanted to be with him.

  “Is he the one who summoned the Morrígna?” Ian’s eyebrows shot up. “The few villagers awake at this hour will speak of these things for years to come. The night they saw the Morrígna in the sky.”

  Sarah met Ian’s curious gaze and her mind flashed to the dungeon and the dead woman. Averting her eyes, Sarah dismissed the idea of telling Ian what she’d seen. He knew his wife was gone, and the truth could only cause him more pain.

  “A village isn’t a village without some good lore to call its own.” The fishmonger chortled. “Perhaps it’ll bring in the tourists.”

  “Thank you both for all you’ve done,” Patrice interrupted. “But we can’t linger here. You’ll send reports of any activity on or related to the island.”

  “Yes,” the fishmonger answered with a respectful nod.

  Ian did likewise and said, “I’ll take you downstairs.”

  They descended into the cellar and through the passage that led to the back room that Ian had once described to Sarah.

  “Sarah!” Jeremy was waiting for them and he ran to Sarah, wrapping her in a bear hug. “I wouldn’t let myself believe it until I saw you.”

  With more than a twinge of guilt, Sarah returned Jeremy’s embrace. At some point an uncomfortable conversation awaited them, but Sarah would initiate it without hesitation or regret. Whatever she and Jeremy had shared had been snuffed out by Sarah’s love for Tristan. There was no going back. Sarah hoped Jeremy would understand that and accept it without feeling too wounded.

  “It’s good to be seen.” Sarah wished she could muster more enthusiasm in her voice, but her mind was with Tristan and Moira. She was too aware that she wouldn’t be at ease until she saw them again.

  “Get us home, Jeremy,” Patrice told the Weaver.

  Sarah watched as the portal opened and couldn’t help but be unsettled by her own detachment. She was free and returning to the Academy—to her friends and companions. Yet she couldn’t shake the hollow feeling in her chest.

  Yes, she’d escaped. But without Tristan, Sarah realized, it meant nothing.

  33

  CONSIDERING THEY COULD view him as little other than a mortal enemy, Tristan found the Searchers to be the most civilized warriors imaginable. He’d been raised to view his adversaries as brutish and near-mad with misguided convictions. Instead, he found his captors to be compassionate and patient.

  Tristan’s “cell” was a sparsely furnished, but comfortable, room. His meals were not only satisfying but delicious. He had daily visits from Patrice and Micah, whom Tristan had come to understand was the current leader of the Searchers. But unlike the unquestioned and permanent rule of Bosque over the Keepers, the role of Arrow, which Micah occupied, rotated among the most skilled and wise of the Searchers.

  The Searchers’ questions always focused on the same areas: Tristan’s past, his ancestry, and what he knew about Bosque Mar. Tristan held nothing back when he answered, so it surprised him that Micah and Patrice revisited questions he’d already addressed time and time again. Tristan worried that they either thought he was lying, or that what Tristan was telling them contradicted other intelligence the Searchers had.

  If the latter were the case, Tristan feared he’d remain a prisoner forever. He couldn’t offer any information other than what he had, but if what he knew of himself and his world had been a fabrication, manipulated by Bosque, then Tristan would remain perpetually trapped by those lies without any means of escape.

  A week had passed when the first change in his daily routine occurred. His door opened, but instead of Micah and Patrice, a Searcher with braided, wheat-blond hair entered the room accompanied by a young girl.

  “Moira!” Tristan stood up. In truth, he barely knew the girl but the sight of a familiar face gave him hope in a way nothing else had since he’d arrived.

  “Master Tristan.” Moira smiled and, out of habit, dropped into a curtsy. It was a bizarre sight, given that Moira no longer wore her servant’s uniform but instead was dressed in the leather trousers, shirt, and vest that so many Searchers wore.

  The blond Searcher’s eyebrows went up and Tristan flinched.

  Moira caught Tristan’s distressed expression and blushed. “I’m sorry. I’m still getting used to all these changes.”

  “Don’t apologize, Moira,” Tristan said quickly. “But please don’t call me master. I’m no one’s master, nor do I want to be.”

  The Searcher gave him a wry smile. Moira glanced at her and the woman nodded.

  “I asked to visit you because I wanted to tell you that I’m well,” Moira said to Tristan.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Tristan replied. And he was, but a burr of resentment scratched at Tristan upon knowing that Moira had been freed while he remained imprisoned.

  Moira beamed at him. “I’m attending classes.”

  That surprised him. “Are you? Does that mean you’re going to become a Searcher?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” Moira replied, a nervous edge creeping into her voice.

  “It’s all right, Moira,” Tristan said. “You don’t have to tell me. I’m sure the Searchers would prefer to keep their training methods to themselves.”

 
; With a dry laugh, the Searcher said, “You fancy yourself a clever one, don’t you?”

  Tristan shrugged and went to sit on the edge of his bed. “I don’t think stating the obvious makes me particularly clever.”

  “And funny,” the Searcher added. “Clever and funny. No wonder Sarah is so smitten with you.”

  Tristan gave the Searcher a sharp look as his heart lurched in his chest. “Sarah?”

  “I also came to tell you that Sarah is well,” Moira piped up. “But she misses you terribly.”

  Tristan’s jaw clenched, but he managed to reply, “I miss her, too. Will you tell her?”

  “Of course.” Moira nodded eagerly.

  “Why don’t you go do that now, Moira.” The Searcher ushered Moira to the door. “I need a few minutes with Master Tristan.”

  Moira ducked her head and complied, though she turned to flash a quick smile at Tristan before she disappeared out the door.

  When the door was closed, Tristan leveled a steady gaze at the Searcher. “Are you going to tell me your name?”

  “I’m Anika,” she answered.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Anika,” Tristan said. “I assume there’s a particular reason for your visit, given that I haven’t seen you before.”

  “You’ve seen me before,” Anika replied, folding her arms across her chest. “But you were too focused on Sarah to notice who else was around you.”

  “Ah.” Tristan rested his arms on his elbows. “So you aren’t here to ask about me. You’re here about Sarah.”

  Anika grabbed the back of a chair and turned it to face the bed. She sat down.

  “Like I said before,” Anika said with a smile, “you fancy yourself a clever one.”

  Tristan returned her stare, waiting.

  With an abrupt laugh, Anika said, “Okay then, Keeper, let’s get to it.”

  “Go ahead.” Tristan gestured for her to continue.

  “Sarah is my best friend,” Anika told him. “And she seems to believe you’re some kind of wonderful man. I think you’re a Keeper.”

  “And in your mind those two descriptions are mutually exclusive,” Tristan said.

  “Of course they are,” Anika replied. “So the question remains: can you be a good man and a Keeper?”

  “I think that’s what your bosses have been trying to figure out as well.” Tristan sighed. Ever since Anika had mentioned Sarah’s name, a burning ache had settled in his chest. Suddenly it was making him irritable.

  “You’re wrong about that.” Anika’s smug reply irked Tristan further. “They’re after something else and they think they’ve found it. That’s part of the reason I’m here.”

  Tristan straightened. He hadn’t gotten the sense that Micah and Patrice had been satisfied by any answers he’d given them.

  His surprise made Anika’s smile widen with pleasure. “They may be right,” she continued, “but that doesn’t change what matters to me.”

  “And that is?” Tristan asked.

  “What your intentions are toward Sarah.”

  Tristan stared at her, then he began to laugh. Anika stood up, her hands going to the dagger hilts at her belt.

  “You might think it’s a laughing matter,” Anika snarled at him. “But it’s not to me. I will make you bleed before I let you hurt her.”

  Struggling to keep his laughter in check, Tristan waved his hands, trying to calm Anika. “That’s not . . . that’s not why . . . I’m sorry.”

  Catching his breath, Tristan said, “I just never expected to be asked by a Searcher about my romantic intentions toward someone. It’s the most bizarre experience I think I’ve ever had. And considering my history, that’s saying something.”

  Still regarding him warily, Anika sank back onto the chair. “Bizarre or not, I still want to know.”

  Tristan’s irritation with the Searcher was rapidly transforming into respect. Anika’s posturing wasn’t due to haughtiness or malice. She was protecting Sarah. That was an instinct Tristan not only could relate to, but also admired.

  “I love her,” he said.

  Anika wasn’t satisfied. “I don’t know what that means to a Keeper.”

  Taken aback, Tristan hesitated before he spoke again. “It means that my being a Keeper no longer has any bearing on who I am or what I do with my life. Sarah is all that matters.”

  Anika watched his face closely and then she nodded. “Not bad. We’ll see if it sticks.”

  “It will stick,” Tristan felt anger bubbling beneath his skin. He’d never felt anything like what he felt for Sarah and he was finding that being questioned about his love didn’t sit well with him.

  Anika smiled at Tristan’s obvious irritation. “I believe you mean that. But there’s something you don’t know. Something I’ve been asked to tell you, and after that . . . Well, let’s just say I have reason to doubt you. I don’t know how strong you are.”

  “What are you talking about?” Tristan frowned at her.

  “Later today, Micah is going to release you,” Anika said calmly, startling Tristan to his feet.

  Anika didn’t move; she watched him pace beside the bed. “And he’s going to send you to Sarah. Everyone assumes that’s the first place you’ll want to go.”

  “Of course it is,” Tristan snapped.

  “I’m sure that Sarah will be over the moon,” Anika told him. “You’re all she talks about. Well, except for that S&M bitch you had at the castle. She talks about her sometimes too.”

  Tristan cringed at Anika’s sharp look. “It wasn’t my idea to have the succubus there.”

  Anika shook her head. “Look, I’m maybe starting to like you. Just maybe—so don’t get too excited, but let’s not talk about things that will erode your progress.”

  “Agreed.” Tristan forced himself to sit again.

  “Do you know anything about the Scion?” Anika’s expression changed, becoming less calculating and more inquisitive.

  “I know what the word means,” Tristan said. “It refers to an heir.”

  Anika nodded. “That’s the definition, but I’m talking proper noun here. A specific Scion from a particular prophecy.”

  “What prophecy?” Tristan asked. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.

  “Cian’s prophecy.”

  “Cian,” Tristan said slowly. “As in, Eira’s sister.”

  “As in, your great-aunt,” Anika answered. “Or so I’m given to understand.”

  Tristan drew a long breath. “I’ve never been told about such a prophecy.”

  “We’ve kind of figured that out.” Anika smiled, but this time Tristan saw genuine kindness in her face. “Let me get you up to speed. Right before Eira killed Cian, Cian invoked old magic. Elemental magic. Her body became a weapon. The only weapon that could banish the Harbinger from this world.”

  “Banish Bosque?” Tristan stared at her in disbelief. He’d never heard of such a weapon.

  “What do you think your sacred sites are for?” Anika said. “Pilgrimages?”

  Tristan shrugged lamely. “The sites are the responsibility of other Keepers. Anytime I inquired about them, I was told they aren’t important.”

  “Interesting.” Anika pursed her lips. “They really were keeping you in the dark. I suppose that’s just further confirmation of what we suspect.”

  “And you’re going to tell me what that is at some point?” Tristan had lost his patience. Not only were Anika’s revelations confusing, but Tristan couldn’t understand what they had to do with him and Sarah.

  “You’re the Traitor,” Anika said curtly.

  Tristan made a low, frustrated sound. “Of course I’m a traitor, and it’s fine if you feel the need to point that out, but doesn’t it count for anything that I betrayed your enemies?”
>
  “You’re not a traitor,” Anika replied. “You’re the Traitor. The one named in Cian’s prophecy.”

  “I don’t understand,” Tristan said, though an icy thread coursed through his veins. The Traitor.

  “I didn’t think you would.” Anika nodded. “Or rather, Micah didn’t think you would, and asked me to tell you.”

  “Interesting choice,” Tristan murmured.

  Anika laughed. “I like you more all the time. Anyway, Micah wanted me to tell you because I’m Sarah’s best friend and the fact that you’re the Traitor has bearing on her, too.”

  “How so?” Tristan was suddenly fearful. Did his role in some medieval prophecy put Sarah at risk?

  “It has to do with the nature of your relationship.” Anika coughed delicately. “Which neither of you has shown qualms about revealing.”

  “We’re in love,” Tristan said.

  “That’s my point.” Anika stood up and walked around her chair, resting her hands on its back. “You’re in love. And the Traitor is the father of the Scion. The only person who can wield the Elemental Cross and rid the Earth of Bosque Mar and the nefarious influence of his nether realm.”

  Anika watched Tristan as her words sunk in.

  “The father?” he whispered.

  She nodded.

  Tristan frowned at her. “How can you be sure?”

  “Your bloodline,” Anika answered. “The Traitor has to be a direct descendant of Eira. That’s you.”

  “It could be Marise Bane,” Tristan argued. “She betrayed Bosque by marrying against his will.”

  “That’s pettiness, not treachery,” Anika told him.

  Tristan wanted to disagree, but found he couldn’t. “Does Sarah know?”

  “Micah is speaking with her now.”

  “You didn’t think it would be better for us to hear about this together?” Tristan asked, his temper flaring.