“And do you think there is even the slightest chance you might consider me in a more friendly light?”
She let herself hesitate. “A chance, yes.” She dropped her eyes. “I am not yet comfortable with all you propose, but I can see the merits of a partnership. I would like to search for my father. I would be happy to know that my new friends need not fear for their lives because of their magic. But…”
“It is enough to know that you are willing to consider me,” Rowan said, sounding pleased and stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. “This is only the second day. I have faith that you are wise enough not to reject what I can offer without giving me a chance to show you what we could accomplish.”
“Of course.” Zara pulled her hand away. She wondered whether he would notice if she went straight to the kitchen and washed it.
Bent over his workbench, Alexei scarcely noticed the passage of time. There were no windows, so he could not tell whether it was day or night. It had been night, he thought, when Zara spoke to him, so perhaps it was night again.
There was still so much to do. Nar may have shown him the way, but he couldn’t simply snap his fingers and produce a talisman, especially not one of such power as the pieces of the Crystal Rose had potential to be.
He had determined the purpose of the largest piece almost immediately. Its task was near enough to that of the original that the pathways had felt familiar and comfortable, and it had taken only a few small adjustments to stop the breaks and make the stone sing once more. It still looked jagged and broken, lying to one side of the bench, but he could hear the note of its power resonating whenever he dropped the barriers in his mind.
Alexei could understand why Nar had chosen to designate that piece in such a way, but the other two confounded him. One’s purpose he knew and did not understand the reason, and the other’s he had been unable to decipher. Yet it wasn’t as though the phantom enchanter had given him a choice. How much had been seen, those hundreds of years ago, that led his ancestor to sabotage his greatest work in preparation?
Alexei would never know. And in his not knowing, he could only move forward blindly, trusting that what had been seen had been interpreted correctly.
Trust. Oh, how he hated the word. The person he had trusted most in the world had betrayed him most deeply, and even if her motives had proven true, he could not simply wipe away the guilt from a moment that had haunted him for twenty-six years. Porfiry had betrayed him as well, betrayed them all, but it did not sting as Beatra’s had. And now Athven. He had not even realized how deeply he had trusted her until she, too, had turned on him.
So why did he now step forward into darkness, with no guide but a vision from the past, and the word of a man so long dead he was more byword than memory?
Alexei had no answer for that. Only the conviction that if his ability to trust was broken beyond repair, if he could find no faith amongst the broken remnants of his soul, he would end up no better than his bitter, shriveled cousin. He had lived for years granting no trust but what had been earned, and so few were capable of earning such a gift. Now he was given a choice between despair and offering his trust blindly, with little in the way of evidence, and without any promise except hope.
Better, he thought, to risk what remained of his optimism, to throw himself wholly into this final gamble to save his people, than to walk away having lost everything and everyone that mattered to him.
His honor. His duty. His self-respect. And her. Because Zara now mattered to him so immensely that his honor and his duty seemed tiny by comparison. Alexei could not explain it, even to himself, but the lack of logic didn’t really bother him anymore. If all his efforts, all his striving came down to one chance to keep her safe, he would count his life well spent.
He had hoped, when he began the work, that one of the pieces might be intended to protect her. That if Nar had foreseen this day, he might also have foreseen the need to save Athven’s guardian. But that did not seem to be the case.
The second of the two pieces, medium in size, was yet a mystery. The enchantment was so complex, it surpassed anything Alexei had seen or learned and the notes it sang were unfamiliar. And yet, he could feel where it was broken and sense when it was made right. There was some hint of form, of shaping, and of dreams come to life. Whatever its purpose, this piece demanded polishing, a shaving of rough edges, until it sat smoothly in his palms, winking at him in the firelight. Only a few more hours, and he would be finished, even if it chose not to reveal its secrets until the time was right.
Trust, again. Nar must have seen a purpose for the stone that he had not chosen to share.
The third piece still awaited him, bearing a simple enchantment of preservation, but time grew short. The second day could be over already, and the third underway. One more sunrise, and then he would have to face the others and whatever consequences had befallen them while he labored over the Rose.
He almost missed the gentle pressure against his leg, and the rumble of a purr vibrating the surface of the table. Shadow watched him intently from the darkness under the bench, her green eyes reflecting the glow of the furnace.
“You have done well, Son of Nar,” Athven said, her gaze as sharp as it had ever been. “I was right to trust that you would find and restore the Rose.”
“I did not restore it for you,” he told her baldly. “And I will never permit it to fall into the hands of an enemy.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” Athven responded tartly. “Do not imagine me a fool. I have seen how you look at him, and I have heard what lies between you. So long as you do not permit your feelings to interfere with your purpose, it matters little what you feel for my chosen one.”
“And if he is your chosen one, what about Zara?” Alexei wrapped his arms around his chest and reminded himself this was a vision, nothing more. His rage would accomplish nothing but betraying his feelings and he was not ready for Athven to know that Zara could be used against him.
“She is vital to my survival,” Athven answered, “but she is too weak and fragile to be depended on alone. I will always keep her safe, but it is the Bright One who will restore me fully and make it possible for me to protect my people.”
“That is not his intention, Athven,” Alexei reminded her. “He cares nothing for your people. Only for his own power.”
“Again, do not make the mistake of believing that I am blind!” she snapped. “I know well what he intends, but he has no concept of the depths to which I will go to achieve my ends. He would use and manipulate me? He will learn once he is bonded that his power and experience are tiny next to mine and think twice before he attempts to use me again.”
“And where do the rest of us fit into this grand plan of yours?” Alexei asked. “You have decided how to use me and Zara and even Prince Rowan to your benefit, but what then? Have you determined the future once you have achieved your immediate desire? Once you have punished the Betrayer as you see fit? Who will oversee the rebuilding of Erath? Who will care for our people? Do our lives and dreams hold value for you or do you blindly pursue your ends without care for the cost?”
The avatar reached across the table and slapped him. Real or imagined, the blow stung.
“Respect me or do not speak, Son of Nar,” she said coldly. “I represent the collective blood and sacrifice of your ancestors, wrought in stone for the purpose of safeguarding your future. I will do as their sacrifice demands, and not according to the paltry judgments of a boy too sentimental and broken to see what must be done.”
“Yes,” Alexei said softly. “I can see that you will.” Oddly, her accusations did not wound him. With a clarity newly granted, he saw Athven for what she was—frightened, child-like, and entirely out of her depth. “Perhaps then you should permit me to return to my work. I will not be finished within the required time if I am much distracted.”
“Tell me this,” Athven demanded, eyes narrowed. “Will the Rose be renewed according to its purpose? Will Nar’
s work be fully restored?”
“Yes,” he answered, without hesitation. “The Rose will be exactly as Nar intended it to be.”
“Then all will be well.” Athven appeared satisfied, and rubbed her hands together. “Only trust me a little longer, and you will see.”
“As you say,” Alexei agreed. “I will trust a little longer.”
Wilder’s mum had cried when she learned that her daughter shared her prescience. The knowledge had been too heavy for her to bear, and the need to travel a burden she had refused to acknowledge since Wilder was small.
In the end, that denial had killed her, bit by bit, robbing her of energy and life until she could not fight even the mildest fever. Wilder could no more deny the urge to be where she was needed than she could have sprouted wings. Which was why she dangled at the end of a rope at the bottom of a long unused garderobe. At least, she hoped no one had been using it. But it was the only way out of the castle that could not be locked or denied by the watchful avatar, and Wilder had somewhere to be.
Somewhere close, she was sure. She would know when she got there, and when she found the person she needed. It was a strange business, walking perpetually into the dark, trusting the prompting of a gift she did not fully understand. But it was freeing too, a truth her mother had not been able to accept.
Letting go the rope, Wilder dropped to the ground with a grunt. It had been farther than she’d anticipated, but no harm done besides the wind being knocked out of her. No idea how she might get back in now. She wasn’t tall enough to shimmy up the walls as she’d done in the well.
But that would come later. Wherever she was meant to be, a way would present itself. Shivering a bit in the damp night air, she turned in a quick circle until the pull of need reasserted itself, then set off in the right direction, back towards the front of the castle, where an army presumably waited. Perhaps she was meant to stop them. From doing what, she couldn’t imagine, but imagination was no barrier to her gift.
True to her expectations, the soft glow of banked fires soon came into view. The men of the Bright One’s army were encamped on the ruins of the former gardens, their tents spread throughout the cleared space before the front door. A few of the braver souls had even remained on the cobblestones, apparently intending to seize the opportunity should the doors open once more.
Curious as to what might motivate so many men to follow a penniless stranger, Wilder crept closer to one of the fires. A full half-dozen men reclined there, several apparently asleep, but the others conversing in low tones.
“…don’t understand why we don’t just leave. There’s nothing here.”
“And where is here, I’d like to know? If we leave, we’ve got no job and no pay. No notion how far till we find another willing to hire.”
“Don’t it bother you to be sitting in a forsaken hole next to an empty castle, without any idea how we got here?”
A shrug in the darkness. “We’ve got orders. What else matters?”
“My life for one, you witless fool. If we don’t know how we got here, how do we know what we’re here for?”
“We’re here to fight, thick-head. What else?”
“Oh, I can imagine a lot else. Being eaten, for one.” There was real fear in the voice. “I’ve heard tales of this land, even if you haven’t. My mum said there were creatures that could suck out your soul and eat it in front of you, and dragons that could burn a man to cinders.”
Wilder almost laughed. True to Silvay’s assumption, the Andari prince had ensorcelled the men into following him. Effective enough, until the enchantment wore off. Perhaps the army would not be much of a danger after all.
The pull of need rose again, stronger, urging her towards the edge of the encampment, where a single tent lay almost touching the edge of the encroaching forest. It seemed quiet, but Wilder watched and waited until she heard a groan from within, not of waking despair, but of a man in the grip of a nightmare.
Her gift eased, satisfied. This, then, was her target. The tent of a mercenary who could slip a dagger between her ribs without so much as a thought. With a brief shrug in the dark, Wilder eased inside the tent flap and sat silently on the end of a pile of blankets. A single man tossed beneath them, caught in the horror of a night’s imaginings.
She slipped a hand into her pocket and brought out the crystal she had not bothered to return after climbing out of the cistern. It still gave off a faint glow, enough to see that the sleeping man was bulky, but not strongly muscular. Older than she anticipated.
Ah, well, no putting it off. She picked up the waterskin lying nearby and tossed it onto his chest.
With a gasp, the mercenary sat straight up and threw off the waterskin, looking around rapidly for the source of the threat. He made a brief sound of surprise when he spotted her sitting at the foot of his blankets, but did not immediately reach for a weapon, hardly the reaction of a hardened man of war.
“You’re not actually a mercenary, are you?” Wilder asked curiously. She held the crystal higher to show the frightened man that he had little reason to fear. All he would see was a scrawny boy with shaggy hair and dirt on his face.
“Who are you?” the man asked hoarsely, shielding his eyes from the glow. “What do you want? Did the prince send you?”
“No,” Wilder answered truthfully. “The prince has no idea I’m here. My name is Wilder. And I’m here because you need me.” Now that her eyes had adjusted, she could see that the man was old enough to be her grandfather, gray-haired and weathered but not unhandsome in his way. He was just a bit too clean for a man who supposedly made his living by the sword, and his clothing lacked the utilitarian appearance usually favored by paid soldiers. It was worn, but had been elegant in its day.
“What would I need you for?” the man asked suspiciously. “All I want is to rescue my daughter, and then I can leave. All this business with magic is making my skin crawl.”
Wilder’s eyes widened. His daughter?
“So that’s why you need me!” She clapped a hand over her mouth so none of the men sleeping nearby would be awakened by her laughter. “You’re Zara’s father.”
The man grew still and intent. “How do you know her name?”
“I came from inside,” Wilder told him. “She is well, but she can’t leave.”
“Why not?” he demanded. “You got out. Couldn’t you show her the way?”
“It’s not that easy,” Wilder told him, knowing that an explanation would do no good. “The castle won’t let her leave.” She half expected the man to call her a liar, but he seemed oddly willing to believe that such a thing was possible.
“Then what can I do?” he begged. “My Dezarae probably believes I’ve abandoned her. I left the valley, looking for help, until I found this wretched Rowan fellow and his fool army. They’re mad, the lot of them, but there was no one else, so I followed them, pretended I was as befuddled as the rest. My daughter is all I have. Can you at least tell her that I came back? That I won’t leave until I find a way to free her?”
Was that Wilder’s purpose here? To give Zara the gift of knowing that her father loved her?
“No.” Wilder shook her head. “That’s not it. I think I’m supposed to show you the way in.”
“There’s a way in?” Zara’s father scrambled out of his blankets and grabbed her hand. “Let’s go. I don’t care where it is.”
“No.” Wilder pulled her hand out of his grasp. “It isn’t time. Tomorrow night, that’s when you’ll be needed.”
“How do you know? Why can’t I go now?”
Wilder closed her eyes and tried to remember that it was harder for mundane folk to deal well with the demands of trust.
“Just follow me,” she said, not opening her eyes. “I’ll show you where to go, and how to get in. But promise you won’t try before tomorrow night. It’s important.”
The man nodded hastily. “Just show me.”
Wilder led him back the way she had come. There were no sentries to
avoid, so even his heavy tread and occasional swearing did not give them away.
When they reached the garderobe, Wilder peered up at the rope. It appeared to be just the right height. “Lift me up,” she said. “I’ll climb up and leave the rope here for you tomorrow.”
“Why not now?” he begged. “What difference would it make?”
“Trust me,” Wilder told him sternly. “Magic might make your skin crawl, but it can also save your life.”
After she had secured his agreement, she made her way back up, a harder task than the descent had been. Once at the top, her gift tugged at her again, and she pulled the rope in after her, only to be greeted by a flurry of curses from below.
She sighed. It was never wrong. He had not intended to listen to her warnings.
“I’ll drop the rope again tomorrow,” she called down. “Go back to your camp.”
It wasn’t as though he had a choice. After he departed, still muttering, Wilder coiled the rope and laid it beside the wooden bench. Later she would bring back tools to dismantle the seat so Zara’s father could fit through—his shoulders were considerably wider than hers.
Her task completed, her gift satisfied, Wilder yawned hugely and crept back to the kitchen to attempt a few hours of sleep before the third day dawned.
Chapter 16
On the third day, it rained—torrents and buckets of rain with howling wind and flashes of lightning that flickered briefly through the high windows. Restlessness seemed to consume the party trapped within the castle, and it demanded all of Zara’s attention to keep Rowan from wandering too far afield in his search for “artifacts.” Wilder disappeared on several occasions, but always reappeared wearing an innocent expression that fooled no one.
Having given up on containing their guest for the moment, Zara was just finishing a meager luncheon alongside Silvay and Gulver when Rowan burst into the kitchen, his face glowing and his eyes bright.
“You must come see this,” he told her, holding out his hand as if to take her by force should she not choose to go.
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