“She needed to know her legacy would survive,” Zara told him. “She chose you to restore what was left. She believed that you were the one best able to do so.”
“Then she chose badly,” Alexei told her bitterly. “She only threw out my brother with me so that I would feel compelled to keep him safe. She knew I would protect him. But I didn’t run for him, and it wasn’t his safety that mattered at the end. It was mine.”
Zara barely held back the impulse to reach out and offer comfort. Alexei would probably not welcome it, but his anguish begged for solace. For absolution. Which she could never grant. But it did give her startling new insight into his response to her.
What had looked like bitterness towards her had probably been at least as much self-loathing. An inescapable conviction that he deserved to be rejected. That he was no better than her father.
“You were sixteen,” she scolded gently. “And you had no experience with war or violence. Your cousin knew what she was doing and she gave you no choice.”
“There is always a choice,” Alexei said fiercely, angrily. “Always.”
“Then by all means, continue to hate yourself for your actions,” Zara said tartly. “Hate yourself for being safe. Hate yourself for being in a place to help save other lives. Just don’t ask me to agree with you.”
“You, of all people, should agree with me,” he argued. “Your father ran and left you to face this alone. He chose to save his own life over protecting the one person he should have put first. You cannot be angry with him and choose to absolve me.”
“Don’t tell me what to feel,” she shot back. “My father is a grown man who has spent a lifetime being a coward. He is weak and vain and so help me I love him anyway because he’s my father.”
She tried to soften her voice. “You were a boy and the person you respected the most, the person with the greatest responsibility for your life told you to run and placed you in an impossible position.” She walked over to stand in front of him and willed him to look at her. “You did the right thing. There was no value in staying merely to prove your courage. It is not always braver to die than to live. Sometimes, choosing life is both the harder course and the right one.”
He did look at her then. “Do you know how hard that is to accept?” he whispered.
“No,” she conceded. “I have not yet had to make that choice. But that does not mean I am wrong.”
He held her gaze and a sad smile ghosted across his lips. “I have never been more sure that Athven, and indeed all of Erath, is fortunate to have you. And I have never been more sure that I would sacrifice much to see you free of us.”
Not really thinking about the consequences, Zara reached out impulsively and grasped his hand. “I am still afraid, but I would not undo what was done. I would not go back to a time before I met you, and Silvay and Malichai and Wilder and Gulver. Better to face this together than to face yet another road, with another empty pile of stones at the end, or to face another day where I have nothing to lose but the hope that my father would ever notice my unhappiness.”
Alexei did not pull away, and his hand shifted to tighten around hers for a moment. “You may change your mind, before this is done.”
“Maybe,” she replied, forcing a light and cheerful tone to disguise the flood of emotions that accompanied his gesture.
She couldn’t have explained her feelings in words, anyway. What she felt in that moment was far deeper and more complicated than mere speech could convey. His fingers were warm and rough against hers, and that smallest of touches gave her a sense of belonging that all the words in the world could not have matched. It was such a tiny thing, her hand in his, but it shifted something between them that no reminders of their differences could shift back. Even if she wished it.
She smiled brightly, hoping it would hide the feelings that she was terrified might already be evident in her eyes, feelings she wasn’t even sure she could have identified for herself. “Still,” she said, pulling her hand from his, “you must not give me more credit than I deserve. I should probably ask you to marry me again, before you start thinking too well of me.”
Zara turned resolutely away, determined not to see or wonder what his face would show. She strode towards the window, forgetting that it was night and darkness would prevent her from even pretending an interest in the view.
“Zara…” Alexei’s voice sounded odd, but her fear of what he meant to say fell away an instant later.
It was not as dark outside as it should have been. From their position on the second floor of the castle, it was all too easy to make out the line of torches bobbing and waving as they entered the clearing.
“They’re here.”
Alexei joined her at the window, his shoulder brushing faintly against hers, and let out a sigh that matched his grim expression. “And we have no idea what Athven means to do?”
Zara bit her lip and fixed her eyes resolutely on the distant light of the torches. “She will let them in. After that…”
“We may be on our own.” He mistook her silence for ignorance and Zara almost slumped against the window in relief. Perhaps there would never be a need to burden him with the knowledge that Athven had rejected him in favor of his enemy. She would deal with that, and Athven, alone.
“We should wake the others.” She turned away from the window and would have simply walked away had Alexei not stopped her.
“I will not let him harm you.”
She saw the resolution in his steady gray eye, and answered with the honesty he deserved.
“I do not for a moment imagine that either you or I can control what he might choose to do,” she told him. “Whether he harms me or not, I will not let you lay his actions on your own conscience. That is burdened enough. But believe this: you do not stand alone this time. I will use whatever small power I may have to stand in his way if he attempts to hurt any of you again.”
His mouth opened and closed, soundless. Satisfied, Zara turned and left the chamber. The silly man would try to take everything on himself. It touched her deeply that he would even try to protect her, but she was not going to let him think that he could, or should, do so by himself.
They would wake the others, and await whatever was coming, together.
Chapter 12
They had only moments to prepare. Alexei readied torches of their own, while Zara woke the others. They assembled silently in the entry hall, all except Wilder, whom Silvay had ordered to stay out of sight. Zara had no doubt the irrepressible child was somewhere in the entry hall anyway.
Malichai had somehow found time to don his leather armor and spiked gauntlets, and twirled his staff almost cheerfully in the wavering shadows. Silvay appeared calm, but one hand rested on the hilts of the daggers beneath her cloak. And Gulver? Zara had learned to decipher Gulver’s mood by his mustache, and it appeared to be standing straight up like the bristles on a shaving brush.
Or the hair on Shadow’s back when she was angry. Zara couldn’t imagine Athven wouldn’t be observing the proceedings as nearly as possible, but it was too dark to see a gray cat that probably didn’t want to be seen.
Zara wondered belatedly if she ought to have thought to provide herself with a weapon. She fully expected to experience the strong desire to stab someone before this was over, so perhaps it was just as well she didn’t think to carry any sharp objects on her person.
Alexei, she thought, had no need for sharp objects. Even had he not possessed the ability to set himself on fire, the icy anger in his gray eye was sharp enough to skewer anything or anyone unwise enough to stand in his path. She ought to know. She had been on the receiving end of it often enough. Strangely, the memory held no terror for her now. Instead she found comfort in the crackling intensity of his mood as they stood together and waited for the doors to open.
Through the high windows, Zara could see the ink-dark sky give way to the barest hint of morning. The sounds of voices, barely audible through the solid wood of the door, rose a
nd fell. And when the faint rose of dawn colored the narrow ribbons of light that slashed across the floor, Shadow strolled out of nowhere and sat before the door. She looked at neither Zara nor Alexei, but fixed her green-eyed gaze on the iron-bound beams that swung inward with a groan of neglected hinges.
Zara stifled a chuckle. Either Athven had a bizarre tendency towards the theatrical, or the weather had changed for the worse. The door had not creaked on any of its prior openings.
The voices outside changed. Murmurings of fear and the shuffling of booted feet on stone grew momentarily louder and then died. Into that charged silence intruded the sound of a single set of footsteps. A head appeared, and though the light from outside prevented Zara from seeing it clearly, a chill shot through her chest and clenched her jaw.
“Hello?” said a cheerful male voice. “Is anyone here?”
The only response was a collective raising of their torches. Gulver may have shivered a bit harder.
The visitor stepped all the way inside, his demeanor midway between eager and downright sprightly. He was tall, nearly as tall as Malichai, and as he moved into the brighter light of their torches, Zara could see that his hair was gold and wavy, his eyes as blue and guileless as a babe’s.
He stopped before he reached them, and looked down on the scarred gray form of Shadow with a delighted smile before dropping to one knee in a courtly gesture of fealty.
“Athven,” he said smoothly, head bowed in respect. “I have so longed to meet you. It is an honor to finally step within your walls.”
Zara felt her brows climb up her forehead in dismay. So much for him not knowing who Athven was or what she could do. This ridiculous specimen could only be Rowan, the deposed prince of Andar, and unless she was mightily mistaken, he was presently flirting with a cat. If only Zara could feel certain that the cat wasn’t flirting back.
She expected one of her other companions to challenge the intruder, or to at least acknowledge his entry, but no one moved or spoke, and when Shadow likewise made no move, Zara felt as though the awkwardness had gone on long enough.
“How lovely to meet you,” she said flatly. “If only you’d waited for a proper invitation, we could have prepared a more appropriate welcome.”
“Oh, but I would not have wished you to trouble yourselves.” The visitor stood as smoothly as if he bowed his head to feline avatars every day, though Zara doubted he made a habit of owing allegiance to anyone but himself. “My companions and I are well able to see to our own comfort, though Athven did indicate that she intended to apprise you of our coming. She did not seem to approve of my suggestion that it remain a delightful surprise.”
Zara couldn’t help it. She darted a glance at Shadow, who was staring fixedly in the opposite direction. She had talked to him? How? And why had she not said anything?
“Athven is very much her own creature, as you are surely aware,” Zara replied acidly. “And she usually enjoys surprises, delightful and otherwise.”
“As I see,” the prince answered, exuberance pouring from every word. “Would you believe she did not even hint that there was an old friend waiting here to greet me?”
“As if you didn’t know already,” Zara retorted, resenting the pretense of friendship and familiarity. She would prefer that he stop pretending and announce his dastardly plan. Isn’t that what villains were supposed to do? “Didn’t your spy tell you everyone’s names after you rescued him from their tender care?”
And why didn’t Alexei speak up for himself? Why was he standing there as though glued to the floor?
“My former servant has been remarkably reticent,” the newcomer admitted, though without much concern. “But there is no need to stand on ceremony now. My name is Rowan. I am acquainted with your warrior friend Cherting, though our history is brief, and with the frozen fellow over there, though I suspect he does not remember me fondly. Might I gain an introduction to the rest of your party?”
“Why look at me?” Zara flipped the end of her braid. “I’m nobody and my name is Zara. If they want you to know their names it’s their own affair.”
“But are you not the chosen one?” Rowan affected startled confusion. “Athven informed me quite clearly that her latest guardian was a silver-haired woman of remarkable beauty and stature.”
A bubble of laughter escaped Zara in spite of her fear. “We both know Athven never said anything so ridiculous. As frustrating as she can be, cat or not, at least she is honest in her assessments. Stone may not be able to feel, but neither does it resort to flattery.”
“Perhaps it depends on one’s perspective.” Rowan’s cheerfulness did not abate. “I would not have considered either of those statements to be a lie. But, arguments about your appearance aside, I am certain you are Athven’s chosen one, and I believe we will find much to discuss. There is so much I want to learn. So much I am hoping she can teach me.”
“About what?” Zara blurted, taken aback by Rowan’s enthusiasm. Whatever happened to finding the Rose and leaving?
“About magic, of course.” Rowan’s eyes brightened with his answer. “I know so little and there are so few willing to teach. I would ask the horseman, but I believe he has too many grievances to consider me as a protégé.” He looked over at Alexei at last. “I assure you, I have nothing but the best intentions towards you all. There is no need to be concerned about my influence.”
Zara shot a look at Alexei, whose hands flexed minutely. She thought he knew rather too well what Rowan was capable of to relax at the younger man’s word.
“Forgive me if I lack confidence in your honor, Tremontaine,” Alexei rasped harshly. “Or don’t. What you think of me matters less than the contents of the kitchen refuse heap.”
“Then it is fortunate for us both that I care even less for your approval than you for mine,” Rowan returned, his angelic smile growing wider by the moment. “I think, however, that I have found one point on which we may be able to agree.” He turned towards the door. “Come, valet. Come and face your doom, if you have the courage.”
A man stepped through the doorway, reluctance weighing every motion and twisting his pinched features till he appeared to be in pain. Zara had never seen him before, but could guess from the foreign taste of fury coursing through her body that this was Porfiry. The Betrayer. Athven was making no effort to hide how she felt and her emotions echoed loudly through their bond.
“What do you mean, face his doom?” On the heels of her fury, Zara felt Athven’s satisfaction, as clearly as if it had been her own, but she could not decipher the reason. “What did you bring him for, if not to help you gain what you want?”
“But of course he will help me gain what I want.” Rowan’s smile faded as he looked at the hunched and terrified form of Porfiry. “In the past, he has proven very useful to me. Loyal, even. But now he has added another to his rather lengthy list of betrayals, and so I have made a bargain. That which is useless to me for that which is priceless.”
Zara looked from Rowan, to Alexei and back again. Something was happening, something they had not prepared for and it made no sense. “Just say what you mean,” she snapped irritably. “You prattle worse than anyone I ever met. Maybe you think it sounds cunning and mysterious, but honestly you’re just tiresome.”
A choking sound issued from behind Malichai’s beard, but on the outside his stoic demeanor did not waver.
Rowan’s smile slipped only for a moment. “Athven did warn me that you are refreshingly blunt. I am looking forward to getting to know you better in the future.”
“Look forward all you choose, Andari,” she snapped. “You will never know me any better than you do at this moment.”
“I hope you’re willing to be open minded about that,” he answered gently, “but if not there is plenty of time to persuade you otherwise.”
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you there’s nothing worse than a visitor who won’t take a hint when it’s time to leave?” Zara muttered. “I think I liked you better wh
en I believed you only wanted to steal the Rose and go. Now, are you going to explain yourself or not? I have the strangest feeling that you want to, but you’re waiting for the most suitably dramatic moment.”
“There is no need for rancor,” the former prince remonstrated. “I am happy to explain. Though perhaps that explanation ought to come from someone else. Porfiry? Perhaps you should be more forthcoming with these fine people.”
Porfiry shivered and hunched in on himself even further.
“No? Then I suppose it will have to be me.” Rowan shrugged. “It was, of course, my original intention to bestow whatever courtesies were required, retrieve the object of power I had heard so much about, and then disappear again. I have gone to the trouble of forming the foundations of my army and had hoped to reintroduce myself to my own people by this time next year. But fate, alas, had other plans. Didn’t she, my not-so-loyal subject?”
A whimper escaped the object of his attention.
“You see, Porfiry had been so anxious to gain my favor and approval, when he told me of the wondrous Crystal Rose and how he had so bravely stolen and hidden it, he failed to inform me of the most important fact.”
“Oh no,” Zara pouted sarcastically. “How could he have been so thoughtless?”
“That question has troubled me also,” Rowan said, with evident sincerity. “But once he lied, of course, he had to keep lying, because he valued his own skin. After I had gone to so much trouble to gain and provide for the protection of a valuable magical asset, he could hardly admit that the object I had come so far to find no longer existed.”
“What?” The shocked whisper from Alexei echoed through the hall.
But it did exist. It had to. Athven had said she could feel it. And without it, they had no plan. No defense against the army encamped outside.
“Poor Porfiry.” Rowan shook his head. “Everything he ever did was a failure. Even his greatest triumph. He stole his people’s most wondrous treasure and thought to hide it. Then, when their need was greatest, he would produce it again and claim the title of hero. Protector of Erath.”
Shadow and Thorn Page 20
