“I’m not sure.” It was one thing to have Lore know her secret, because he wasn’t afraid of her. But what about others? Like Aren? Or any of the other guards… people whom she now called family?
They passed beneath the second archway and found a stablehand ready to take their horses. Rowen dismounted and handed over her reins.
The courtyard was empty. Torches had been lit on either side of the castle’s double doors, providing ample light across the white staircase. The water fountain splashed nearby in the darkness. She began to climb the stairs, still pondering Lore’s question.
“Wait.”
Rowen stopped midway up and looked back.
“You may not like what I have to say.” Lore caught up to her. “But in a few minutes you will likely be questioned by Lady Astrea and perhaps her council as well.”
“Why?” Rowen asked before she could stop herself. Her insides gave a hard twist at the thought.
“Because Lady Astrea will want to know what happened on the beach. She will want to know who and what you really are.”
Rowen wrapped her arms around her middle and turned away. Lady Astrea wanted an inquiry. And what would she decide once she knew Rowen really was an Eldaran?
“However—” Lore came around to face Rowen—“Lady Astrea may give you a choice: to continue to live as you have the last few months, hiding your mark under a glove and hoping nothing happens. Or, to reveal what you are, with no repercussions. She has the power now as High Lady to protect you from those who might be afraid of your…abilities.”
“But what if she is afraid?”
Lore nodded. “She might be. But she owes you her life. Besides, from watching both of you together and her witnessing how you healed me, I believe Lady Astrea understands that you would use your power to help others. Not to terrorize or threaten.”
“Never,” Rowen murmured.
“So which do you want? Hide who you are, or embrace who you are?” Lore searched her face. “And more importantly, how you think the Word would have you live?”
Rowen looked away from Lore. She watched the torches flicker in their brackets next to the castle doors. The human part of her wanted to retreat back behind a glove and go on with life. But her Eldaran part said it was time to fully become who she was, that it was time to follow the Word in the way He had made her: by exposing the darkness in others.
“Isn’t it better to tell the truth?” Lore said, his words breaking through her thoughts.
Rowen took a deep breath. “Yes.” She looked back toward Lore. Her insides coiled with fear, but she knew her time of hiding was over. “I can’t hide forever. And your right, that’s not how the Word would have me live. But,” she took another shaky breath, “it doesn’t mean I won’t be rejected again.”
Lore faded away. Rowen saw her life spread out before her, a long narrow road barely visible in the darkness, lined by dark jagged cliffs and even darker crevices. But at the end of that road blazed a light so radiant it stood in sharp contrast to the lonely black road that represented her life below. Her heart gasped at the sight. She desired the light at the end, but the path to it terrified her.
“You won’t be alone.”
Rowen was brought abruptly back to the present.
“Even if people do turn on you,” she heard Lore say, “there is at least one person who won’t…”
Rowen turned and looked up into Lore’s eyes.
“Me,” he said softly. “And the Word will never leave you either.” He reached up and pushed back a strand of hair that had come loose behind her ear. “And for that reason alone, there is nothing to fear.”
I won’t be alone. Rowen mentally looked down that dark road again and suddenly saw small flickers of light nestled within the darkness. The Word would be with her. And others…others like Lore.
Lore glanced at the the main doors. “We should head in now. But think about what I said.”
Rowen nodded and followed Lore up the rest of the stairs.
She already had.
22
Nierne stumbled toward the sound of water, her water skin firmly gripped in hand. The sun shone through Anwin Forest with the heat of a summer afternoon. Wild berry bushes grabbed at her with prickly branches, blocking her way to the stream.
She plowed through the bushes, ignoring the stinging welts their long thorns left across her face and arms. Overhead, a couple of blackbirds laughed at her attempt to reach the water.
Nierne stopped. She panted and glared up at them. Caw, caw. She had half a mind to break off a branch and throw it at them. Instead, she gritted her teeth and plunged back into the thicket. Branches cracked and snapped beneath her boots. She clawed away at the barbed limbs, the sound of water driving her through the thorny nest—
Suddenly her foot hooked across a branch. Nierne shot her hands out to break her fall. “Oh, crackers— Ouch!” Her hand slid across a sharp rock. She straightened up and held out her hand. A large gash greeted her eyes, and her hand began to throb.
“Crackers,” she said again with a groan. She didn’t need this. Glancing up, she could see the stream just beyond the berry bushes. Carefully she tucked her hand close to her body and stood. She lowered her shoulder and plowed through the last few branches.
Nierne panted for a moment, a small smile of victory on her lips. It was a small stream, but it would do. Water rushed across jagged rocks and mossy logs. She dropped her pack and waterskin, knelt down beside the stream, and dipped her cut hand into the icy mountain water.
She washed out the gash. The wound stung, making her eyes water. She lifted her hand back to her face and studied the cut. It was long but thankfully shallow. She dipped her hand one more time, then opened her pack and drew out a small bottle.
Uncorking the top, she tipped the bottle downward and watched three dark drops of ointment fall on the wound. Satisfied, Nierne placed the bottle back and pulled out a long stocking. It was not wrapping cloth, but it was clean, and she could tie it around her hand.
Nierne used her teeth and free hand to carefully bandage her wound. There, she thought, turning her hand over once to inspect her handiwork.
She grabbed her canteen and filled it, drank, and refilled it again. As she brought her hand across her mouth to wipe away the excess liquid, she caught a glimmer of her face in the slow moving water.
Bending closer, Nierne stared at her reflection, stunned. Looking back at her was a face gaunt and thin. She touched her cheek with her bandaged hand, noting the dark circles under her eyes and the chapped lips. Her hair was a wild mess of red around her face.
Nierne sat back in disbelief. She hardly recognized the woman who stared up at her from the water’s reflection. Gone was the young scribe with ink-stained hands and tidy complexion. In her place now knelt a woman who had seen too much in a short span of time. That thought conjured up an image of Father Reth. Nierne squeezed her eyes shut, but she could not close off her heart. Even now, weeks after he had died, she still felt the sudden stab of grief.
She quickly wiped her eyes and stood. With her uncut hand, she pushed back the wild red curls from her face and grabbed her pack. She followed the stream until a game trail broke through the berry thicket. Following the narrow path, she stepped back onto the mountain path she had been following since Lachland.
Dark greens and deep browns of the forest surrounded her. Ivy and moss covered trees as thick as two men and taller than any building she had ever seen. Ferns spread out across the forest floor. The air smelled damp and earthy. Here, back on the path, the sun barely made it through the thick ceiling of tree branches.
• • •
Hours later, what little sunlight there was began to disappear, signaling the end of another day. As it grew darker, depression welled up inside Nierne. Another day gone, and she still had not reached the White City.
Perhaps she was lost. Perhaps the map was wrong. After all, it looked quite old. Nierne pulled out the tattered piece of parchment, squinting
at the black markings in the dying light.
No, she was still on the right path. It was the only path. Her finger followed a thin line that looked like it could be the stream she had drunk from earlier that day. According to the map, she was only one or two days’ walk from the city, maybe even closer.
That gave her hope. Nierne rolled up the parchment and stuck it back in her pack. Perhaps if she just kept walking for a bit longer, she might be able to see it over the next hill.
Energized by the idea, she hurried along the path. Visions of civilization filled her mind, pushing out the dark forest before her. A cozy room, hot fresh food, and a bed. Nierne sighed at the thought of a bed, a bed off the ground with a feather tick mattress. And a large quilt to keep warm.
The sun set behind her. Still Nierne pressed on. She was so close now, if the map was to be believed. And she had nothing else to believe. Her hand stole to the small pendant that hung around her neck, but she still refused to acknowledge anything to do with the Word.
One by one, the stars began to creep out and the last glorious rays of day vanished. Nierne squinted into the dark, already accustomed to the noises of night. Nothing natural scared her now, not after her experience with the shadows.
But it was growing harder to see. And the depression from earlier slowly seeped back. She would have to stop soon. The light patter of her feet turned to a slow drudge. The sadness deepened.
Nierne sighed and finally stopped. With the stars overhead and only a crescent moon for light, there would be no more traveling tonight. Her throat tightened with disappointment. Heavyhearted, she heaved the pack off her back and reached in, feeling with her fingers for the last bits of food.
Only small crumbs met her fingertips. Tears of frustration stung her eyes. She began to wonder if this trip had been a huge mistake. Maybe they were never meant to leave Thyra. Or maybe it was Nierne herself who was the mistake.
She withdrew her empty hand from the knapsack. Despair and hunger gnawed on her insides. Nierne placed the pack on the ground, and she wrapped her arms around her body. Black thoughts filled her mind. Perhaps Father Reth had saved the wrong person. Perhaps he should have saved himself.
“It’s all my fault,” Nierne whispered. This time a tear ran down her cheek. She wiped it away. Deep inside, she wanted to cry out to the Word, but she still felt betrayed by Him. He had let Father Reth die.
A light twinkled faintly between the trees.
Nierne blinked away her tears. She rubbed her eyes and stared hard into the trees. Only darkness and shadows—
A light twinkled again. She dropped her hands and took a step forward. Hope cautiously moved inside her heart. Could it be? She took a couple more steps.
More lights flickered between the trees, so faintly that for a moment Nierne thought she was imagining them. Maybe I am, she thought. She turned and picked up her pack. There was only one way to find out.
Carefully Nierne made her way through the dark, using the faint lights ahead as her compass. Yes, they were definitely lights. Could it be a village just outside the city? The map did not indicate there was one, but then again, it was old. Perhaps the population had outgrown the city’s walls?
No, that’s not it, thought Nierne. The lights were not contained, like they would be if they were shining out of windows. They looked more like…campfires.
Thousands of them.
She stopped. Why would there be so many campfires? Alarmed, Nierne grabbed her cloak out of her pack and clasped it on. She pulled the hood over her head, careful to tuck her hair inside. Hopefully the dark green cloak would keep her hidden. It was certainly big enough. Then she crept toward the fires.
Tall ferns and bushes masked her approach. She saw dark figures walking amongst the fires and what looked like tents. It couldn’t be. But that was the only explanation.
It was a large army.
Nierne stopped, her heart sinking into a dark pit inside her chest. She could hear the buzz of voices coming from the campfires. What would an army be doing out here? Was the White City under attack? Or maybe it was the White City’s army leaving on campaign against another kingdom.
Dark flags fluttered above the tents. Nierne raised her head higher and strained against the darkness. Who were these people? She watched the flags until one flapped open. A large wolf’s head filled the banner.
Nierne let out a quiet gasp and ducked. The Temanin Empire? Here in the northlands?
Time to leave. Nierne turned around. White City or no White City, she couldn’t just walk on through a Temanin war camp. She had read accounts of the brutality of the Temanin Empire and did not want to experience it firsthand.
She carefully pushed back the ferns and brush. She would just head back up the path, find somewhere safe to spend the night, and figure out her plan tomorrow—
A sharp jab caught her in the back. Nierne flinch and turned around. From beneath her hood she saw two men nearby, both with swords pointed toward her.
“Not so fast, spy.” The taller one motioned toward the shorter man. “Tie her up.”
Nierne twisted around and shot forward. She’d taken barely two steps before a hand locked around her arm, pulling her back.
“Don’t you dare think about running,” a gruff voice said.
Her other arm was wrenched back. She could feel the sharp point of a blade against her side while rope was tied around her wrists.
“Now get moving!” Fingers dug into her shoulder propelling her forward toward the camp ahead. “And if you try anything…” Nierne felt the blade dig deeper into her side. She bit down the cry of pain scrambling up her throat.
“Where do we take her?” said another voice.
“To Lord Tala,” the gruff voice said behind her.
“Won’t take much to crack this one,” the deeper voice said. Nierne felt another jab to her side. “Hardly anything underneath the cloak.” A low guttural laugh followed.
Nierne kept her head down, her hood still covering her hair and part of her face. Her thoughts scrambled frantically inside her mind. One moment she was counting tents to keep her bearing, the next she was remembering the stories she had read of Temanin lords.
Dear Word. She was going to die. Think, Nierne, think. Nierne concentrated instead on the tents she passed. Six. Seven.
“Did you hear what Lord Tala did in Avonai?” the gruff voice said after they passed a rowdy group of men.
“Yeah. Do you believe it?”
Eight.
“I do. Saw what he did to that one spy a couple days ago. He’s ruthless.”
Nierne tried to lick her lips but found her throat dry. Were they saying this just to scare her? Maybe. Then again, maybe not.
The man dug his talon-like fingers deep into her shoulder and steered her toward the right. Pain radiated up and down her arm. Nierne fought the urge to buckle beneath his grip. Instead, she kept her face down and counted tents.
Nine. Ten. Eleven.
Suddenly his hand clamped down. “Stop here.”
Nierne tilted her head up so she could see past her hood. Ahead stood a large tent, its opening flanked by two robust, dark-skinned men. She’d never seen anyone from the Province of Hont, but these men clearly matched the descriptions she’d read.
“Here to see Lord Tala,” the gruff voice said behind her. “Tell him we’ve caught another spy.”
One of the guards moved inside the flap.
Nierne’s insides froze.
The guard emerged moments later. “Lord Tala says to bring him in.”
Fingers dug again into her shoulder and directed her toward the tent’s opening. As they passed through the flap, Nierne was thrown to the floor. Unable to catch herself, she fell hard on her knees, her pack slamming against her back.
“So you’ve found another spy?” a smooth masculine voice said.
Nierne looked up. A man walked toward her, dressed all in black. His dark hair was swept back from piercing black eyes, strong face, and well-built chest
beneath an open black shirt. Handsome and yet terrifying. The man reminded her of the Shadonae. She dipped her head. His boots stopped just before her face.
“Yes,” the gruff voice said, “just inside the forest.”
“Those fools,” Lord Tala said harshly above her. “You would think they would have learned by now. Very well, leave him with me.”
“Yes, sir.” From the corner of her eye, Nierne saw a man bow and leave.
“Now to deal with you.” A hand reached out and tore back her hood.
There was a moment of silence.
“A woman!”
Nierne cringed at the anger in his voice and looked away, afraid to see those dark eyes looking at her.
“Do your people really think I would treat a woman spy any differently than a man?” Lord Tala hauled her to her feet by the neckline of her cloak.
Nierne tried to find words to refute his accusation, but instead found herself coughing.
“Look at me!” He grabbed her chin between his fingers and yanked her head up. His dark eyes penetrated her own. “What were you sent here to do?”
“I- I’m not—” Nierne began coughing again.
He stepped back, a look of disgust on his face.
“I’m not a spy!” she cried, finally finding her voice.
He stared at her for a moment, then laughed. It was a cold laugh, lifting the corners of his mouth but never reaching his dark eyes. “Of course you’re not.” He reached for the dagger that hung at his side.
Nierne’s eyes followed his hand and stared at the blade. Her mouth went dry.
“We’ll try this again,” Lord Tala said softly, dangerously. “What were you sent here to do? Check our numbers? Sabotage our equipment?” Suddenly she hated those dark eyes that stared back at her, merciless and black. “TELL ME!”
Nierne jumped. “I-I’m just a scribe from Thyra.” She could barely breathe out the words.
Daughter of Light (Follower of the Word Book 1) Page 29
