“Jarrick wants the Lords of Mydren gone,” Eleanor continued doggedly. “He wants his father dead, and killing his brother won’t achieve this. Don’t get me wrong, I think he fully intended to inflict agonising pain on Conlan, but Jarrick has had a lot of practice at torture. He could quite easily take Conlan to breaking point, without actually killing him.”
“Eleanor, you are defending a monster who wants to rip apart the man you love – doesn’t that strike you as a little odd?” Amelia asked softly. Eleanor turned to look into Amelia’s pained grey eyes. Was she defending Jarrick?
“I’m not justifying his behaviour, Amelia, and if he ever hurts Conlan again I’ll kill him and he knows that, but I don’t think he was responsible for the men who attacked us. I don’t want us to think we have found a solution. I know it’s convenient and comforting to blame Jarrick, but if he was planning to kill us all, the waiting men would have reported back to him and he would have ambushed us himself on the road.”
“He’d have taken on four Avatars?” Freddie asked.
Eleanor nodded. “He saw the damage I caused and still yelled at me, still hit me. The man has courage.”
“Oh yeah, lots of courage. Hitting a small, unarmed, defenceless gi...” Freddie said loudly, stopping when he caught sight of Eleanor’s rapidly deepening scowl of indignation. A slow, cheeky grin eased itself onto Freddie’s face. Eleanor tried to keep her hard look, but it was too much effort to resist Freddie’s smile and she grinned back at him.
“So, we still have no idea who attacked us,” Amelia said quietly. The comment wiped away Eleanor’s smile. She turned back to look at Amelia, noticing the worry and fear before she answered.
“The men talked about having orders not to ‘kill the one with the scar’, so whoever it is wants us dead, but Conlan alive. I think we can assume this enemy knows Conlan.”
“We’re going to have to be more careful when we work out where the sword and crown are, as there could be more traps,” Freddie said quietly.
Amelia sighed. “Just what we need, more enemies…”
Eleanor smiled at her apologetically. Amelia’s eyelids began to drop, clearly the conversation had exhausted her. Will was at her side immediately, fussing with the pillows so she could lie back. He shooed Eleanor off the bed without looking at her.
“She can stay if she wants,” Amelia whispered weakly, eyes closed. One look at Will’s face told Eleanor everything she needed to know about his thoughts on the matter, and she carefully climbed off the bed.
“That’s OK, Amelia, you need to rest,” she reassured her quietly, but Amelia did not respond, her breathing already giving way to the slow, regular sound of sleep. Will tenderly brushed a stray hair from Amelia’s face and leaned to kiss her forehead. Then he returned to his position on the floor behind the door, back against the wall, his eyes watching Amelia’s face with an almost unnatural intensity. I need to talk to him. Eleanor did not relish the thought, as his attitude towards her had stripped her confidence. Would he want to talk to her? She loved him and did not like him being angry with her, so she was going to try.
She sat next to him. He ignored her. She pushed an energy string out to him. He ignored that, too. She knew she could have pushed into his head, but that did not seem the best way to start a reconciliation talk; besides, if he flung her out it would hurt. Will was too strong to fight.
“I just want to talk to you…” Eleanor whispered. She felt Will take her energy string.
OK, talk!
I’m worried about you. I want to make sure you’re OK. You look so unhappy all the time. Is there anything I can do to help? There was silence. She gave him some time, wondering what he was thinking.
You want to know if you can help me?
Well… yes. You’re my friend, I love you and you’ve just been through hell thinking Amelia might die, seeing her in pain. I know how much that hurts. I just thought you might want to talk about it. I know you’re angry with me, and I know it sounded like I was arguing for you to give Amelia’s life for Conlan’s, but I would never have done that – we would always have found a way to save them both, but you didn’t trust me. More silence followed Eleanor’s speech, and she cringed as Will’s disbelief crashed over her.
I emotionally blackmailed the man you love into handing himself over to be tortured, I refused to listen to reason, I hurt you… and you’re upset because you think I don’t trust you? Will asked incredulously.
Pretty much, Eleanor muttered. There was another long silence.
I have no idea where to start with this, Will whispered.
Sorry, I didn’t want to upset you again.
Conlan’s right, you say sorry far too much.
Well Conlan doesn’t say it at all, so I’m just making up for him, Eleanor reasoned, and relief filled her as Will chuckled.
Eleanor, are you interested in knowing why I didn’t want to talk to you?
I… yes, she stuttered, wondering if she was going to end up feeling hurt again.
I thought you were going to tear me apart for what I did to Conlan, for making it necessary for you to kill that man – you have every right to, but I don’t think I can take it just now.
Eleanor heard the misery and felt Will’s guilt and remorse.
You said you were sorry. I believed you. I understand why you did what you did, but I don’t understand why you didn’t trust me. I trust you.
Will sighed. I guess I just never thought anybody could love and care for Amelia as I do, and I assumed you would put Conlan first, as I was doing with Amelia. I thought this was the only course of action. I had some ill-conceived plan to rescue Conlan once I knew Amelia was going to be OK, but it never actually occurred to me to threaten Jarrick. It’s not that I didn’t trust you, I just underestimated you…
Good answer.
The truth usually is. I’m sorry, I won’t underestimate you again.
Eleanor giggled. Oh good! One down, three more to convince.
Eleanor…
Eleanor was shocked by the pain that accompanied Will’s soft utterance of her name.
Yes?
I nearly lost her, you know? If she hadn’t been an Avatar she’d have died. The voice in her head was a whimpering sob.
Yes, I know, Eleanor replied, gently taking Will’s trembling hand and squeezing it.
I was so full of pompous advice when Amelia was afraid of losing me. I told her one day of loving her was worth the risk, but I wouldn’t have wanted to survive her death.
Eleanor sighed. As with all things in life, Will, you have a choice. If Amelia’s death had driven you to suicide, that would have been your choice. But you’re stronger than that, I’ve felt it. Leaving us like that, just to escape your own pain, is selfish – and that’s not who you are. You gave Amelia good advice. Love with all your heart while you have the chance, as it’s the only armour you’ll have with which to face the darkness.
Once she was awake and able to eat and drink without a tube down her throat, Amelia’s recovery was rapid. In anticipation of their departure, Jarrick had returned their bags to them. Eleanor knew hers had been rifled through, which meant everybody else’s most likely had as well, but nothing seemed to be missing. She bathed, changed her clothes and strapped Remic’s knife back round her waist – the blade tapped against her thigh as she moved, a comfort she had missed. It was a bright, sunny morning when Kona arrived, followed by Jarrick, to give Amelia a clean bill of health and declare she was fit to leave. Will shook Kona’s hand and thanked him, then demanded Jarrick immediately bring their horses out and release Conlan so they could go. Jarrick agreed without hesitation. Eleanor had spent enough time with Jarrick to know there was more going on than his smiling face showed. The man had an air of malicious anticipation that set her nerves on edge, making her suspicious and fearful. Trying to work out what Jarrick might be planning, Eleanor brushed an energy string against Amelia.
Amelia, if we needed you to shield, do you think you could?<
br />
Yes, Amelia said cautiously, picking up on Eleanor’s fear and anxiety. Well, for a little while… this is too easy, isn’t it… Jarrick’s up to something.
Yes, he is.
It says a lot about our lives that the minute something good happens we immediately assume the worst.
Eleanor had no answer to that, as the thought left her feeling a little depressed and no less frightened. She pulled her energy free and followed the others into the courtyard. There were quite a few men present. Eleanor had never seen a woman the whole time they had been in Jarrick’s compound. Some of the men were holding their saddled, loaded horses, but most just seemed to be standing around. Jarrick wants an audience. Eleanor’s stomach tightened and she caught Will’s eye. He had reached the same conclusion and was moving to his horse so he was within grabbing distance of his sword; he looked at the men warily.
“Where is Conlan?” Eleanor asked, annoyed at the tremble she heard in her voice. Jarrick smiled and approached her, holding out his hand. As he moved closer, Eleanor realised that the small key to Conlan’s collar was in it. She took it off him, her apprehension moving up a level.
“I will fetch him,” he said, smiling cheerfully.
Eleanor watched Jarrick disappear through the door, back towards Conlan’s prison. When he emerged several minutes later he had Conlan’s shirt and jacket in one hand and his chain in the other. The bright daylight caused Conlan to wince and slow down, momentarily blinded. Jarrick grinned and yanked the chain, forcing him to stumble forward. There were sniggers from the surrounding men. He pulled Conlan to a stop like an unruly horse, in front of Eleanor.
“As you can see, no further damage,” Jarrick said. Eleanor ran her eyes over Conlan’s body, looking for signs of abuse. He was pale and significantly thinner, but the injuries on his side were mostly healed, no doubt thanks to Kona’s skill, and she saw no evidence of further torture. Yet the way he held himself gave the impression of a beaten man. He looked fragile, and he purposely turned his head so he would not have to look at her. Confused, Eleanor nodded at Jarrick, who then turned back to Conlan.
“Get down on your knees, you fool, she cannot reach if you are stood,” Jarrick ordered, yanking the chain sharply down to emphasise his command. Conlan sank to his knees; there was more laughter from Jarrick’s men. With shaking hands, Eleanor opened the padlock and pulled the collar off. The skin underneath was rubbed red raw and bleeding thinly in places. Guilt crashed over her and she fought the urge to cry; unthinking, she brushed gentle fingers against the damage.
“I’m sorry, Conlan,” she whispered in English. Still not looking at her, he angrily slapped her hand away. Hurt, Eleanor wrapped her arms around herself, staring at him.
“You should show your Avatar a little more respect,” Jarrick said softly. “She suffered a lot to protect you.”
Not understanding, Eleanor looked from Jarrick’s smug expression to Conlan’s bowed head and shaking body, his fists clenched at his side. What am I missing? Jarrick tossed Conlan his clothes, staring balefully while he dressed and saying nothing when he stood up again. As Conlan rose, his eyes found Amelia and relief filled his face. Two quick steps and he pulled her into his arms, resting his head on her shoulder. Amelia returned the gesture, looking surprised. The image stabbed at Eleanor’s heart – he had no problem hugging Amelia, but he would not even let her touch him.
“Are you OK?” Conlan asked Amelia, as he reluctantly released her. She nodded, running a hand down his face.
“Are you?” she asked. He nodded slowly. “Then let’s get out of here,” she whispered, looking anxiously at the men around them. They made for their horses, Conlan greeting Rand with a gentle rub along his neck. Still feeling hurt and bewildered, Eleanor did not move immediately, so from a distance she was able to see what Conlan did not. Rand was stood strangely. His legs were pushed out, like a cheap plastic chair with too much weight on it. His head hung down and his sides heaved. Slowly stroking Rand’s nose, Conlan sensed what Eleanor could see. Rand was ill. Feeling her anger grip her, Eleanor spun round to Jarrick.
“What did you do? What did you do to Rand?!” she demanded of him, voice echoing around the courtyard. No one was sniggering now. Jarrick gave her a smug, self-satisfied smile.
“Poisoned him.” He sounded exceptionally pleased with himself.
Eleanor was stunned, her body went numb and her mind reeled in blind rage. “Why?!” she screamed. “He is an innocent animal; he has done nothing to you. Surely you know I will kill you for this?” she spat, bile rising to her throat. The threat was one thing, but could she actually carry it out?
Jarrick still had the smug, satisfied look that made Eleanor want to rip at his face with her bare hands. “The deal you made ensured that the five of you would leave with not a hair on your heads damaged. You made no provision for Rand. Did you really think I would just let Conlan walk away? Besides, Rand was my horse – something else Conlan took from me – I am just reclaiming my property.”
Unable to deal with his calm, matter-of-fact tone, his utter lack of remorse over what he had done, Eleanor stepped away from him. Turning back to the stricken animal, she watched as Conlan removed Rand’s saddle and saddle bags and gently slipped the red bridle over the horse’s head. Rand shuddered. Wanting to comfort the ailing creature, Eleanor pushed into his head. Rand was dying and he knew it. She felt his pain as the poison slowly eroded away his internal organs. Through his agony, Eleanor felt his love and concern for Conlan. Rand had seen the men surrounding them and recognised the danger – how would Conlan escape if he was dead?
“Jarrick, help him, please help him,” Eleanor pleaded, tears falling, not able to take her eyes off Rand.
“Oh no, Eleanor, I have no intention of helping Rand. I want the pleasure of watching Conlan witness the death of the wretched beast. The poison is slow and Rand is a strong horse; it will take him many hours of agony to succumb.” Jarrick’s voice was vicious, all pretence at civility gone. Eleanor glanced at him and he smiled back gleefully. Eleanor took a deep breath and tried to reason with him.
“Jarrick, this is wrong. Move on, make a life free of the hate you are carrying. Conlan may have failed you, but it does not justify this course of action. You could have chosen to forgive him and been the bigger man, not a small, petty, pathetic child.”
A shadow passed over Jarrick’s face. It could have been remorse or perhaps regret, but whatever it was, it was not there long enough for Eleanor to decide before the gleeful grin returned once more.
“Why would I want to forgive him? This is much more fun!”
Sickened, Eleanor turned away from his smug grin and looked back towards Rand. Conlan stood at his side, forehead resting gently against Rand’s neck, his hand tenderly stroking his nose.
“Eleanor, I need Rand to lie down – tell him,” Conlan ordered in English.
Walking hesitantly towards them, Eleanor gave Rand the impression that he should get down on the floor. He resisted, again his worry for Conlan surging through him, as he knew he could not protect his master while lying down. Eleanor felt her heart twist.
“Conlan, he doesn’t want to, he wants to protect you – he can’t do that from the floor,” Eleanor managed to get out between sobs. Conlan wrapped an arm around Rand’s neck, gently scratching him behind the ears.
“You have done your best to protect me, old friend, and now it is time for me to help you,” Conlan said softly. Eleanor tried again to get Rand to lie down as another acid wave of agony flooded through him; he shuddered and complied, dropping clumsily to his knees, then lying on his side, body shaking. Conlan dropped with him, supporting his head and resting it across his lap, tenderly stroking Rand’s cheek.
“Eleanor, can you calm him, help him with the pain?” Conlan asked, his voice empty. He still had not looked at her.
“Yes.”
Closing her eyes so she could concentrate, Eleanor pushed back into Rand’s head, carefully taking his consciousne
ss and wrapping it in warm, comfortable love, insulating him from the pain, fear and worry. She heard him take a slow, relaxed breath.
“Eleanor, I want him to know how much he means to me,” Conlan whispered in English. Nodding, Eleanor pushed out her memories of Conlan’s love for his horse, the way the two of them had moved as one in the street in Drent, the trust Conlan had in Rand and how happy he was to see him when they had been separated, filling the dying animal’s mind. Rand sent back the love, devotion and adoration he had for Conlan, and countless memories flashing through Eleanor’s mind of simple kindnesses that meant so much – the affectionate pat, the gentle tone. Rand did not understand why he was in pain or why he was dying, but he trusted, absolutely, that Conlan would help him. His innocent faith tore at Eleanor’s soul.
“He trusts you to help him, Conlan” Eleanor managed before the sobs tore at her throat and made speech impossible.
“Will, I need my sword,” Conlan said quietly.
Eleanor knew what was coming. There was no hope for Rand, and the only way Conlan could help him was to end his pain. She did not argue, did not try to stop him. She could feel the damage the poison had already done, and she knew that Rand’s swift death would be a merciful act. Screwing her eyes tight and concentrating, she wrapped Rand’s mind in layer after layer of loving support, doing what small thing she could to help make the animal’s death easier for him. She heard the sword drawn from its scabbard, and the metallic swish made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
Eleanor felt Conlan thrust the sword into Rand’s chest to the hilt, angling it exactly so he forced the blade through the animal’s labouring heart. Rand noticed and for a moment was confused by the lack of pain. She felt his body relax and his consciousness fade, his last thought one of love for the master who had helped him. That feeling of love remained, even after Eleanor knew Rand’s body was dead. How could this feeling still exist? Slowly, confusion gave way to understanding. Her energy string was still wrapped around Rand’s energy; it had diminished to almost nothing with his death, almost. What remained had no thought, but it was where the love was coming from. His soul, Eleanor realised with shock. I’m holding Rand’s soul. She pulled back her string and released the small spark of energy, feeling it move away as if drifting on the wind. She wondered where it went.
Eleanor Page 40
