Guardian of the Vale

by Shoemaker,Tamara

  Daymon gripped fistfuls of her shirt, pulling her against his chest. His breath whispered, hot and fast, across her face. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she stood on tiptoe, stretching upward, slowly, until her lips met his.

  The instant that flesh touched flesh, fire and ice exploded in her veins. His lips were hot and perfectly shaped, molded across her own, parting her mouth as his hands traveled to her head and his fingers burrowed into her thick hair.

  Alayne had no idea how much time had passed before some smidgen of sense returned. She pulled back, panting. “Daymon—”

  His mouth found hers again, and for another while, Alayne was lost. Heat seared her body; she couldn't remember her own name. She could only feel Daymon—Daymon who had saved her life multiple times; Daymon who had stood by and watched her stumble through clumsy relationships, first with Jayme, and later with Kyle; Daymon who had overcome his bitterness to find peace with Alayne, and then enduring friendship, and then the first flame of love; Daymon—

  Daymon, who had pledged his life to protect the Vale that she meant to destroy at the cost of her own life.

  She pushed back again, her hands trailing across Daymon's cheeks, his neck, finally resting on his chest. The wild beating of his heart thudded beneath her palms, and a hot tear escaped her eye. Her index finger traced light circles over his shirt. The words hurt her even before they issued from her mouth. “Daymon, it's no use.”

  Daymon leaned his forehead on hers and brushed his lips across hers again. His eyes were closed. “You keep saying that.”

  “Because it's true.”

  “No.” His eyes opened, dark determination pouring from them.

  “It is, Daymon.” She closed her hands into fists and bumped them against his chest. “It is, and we have to face facts. It's delusional to think that I could keep the Vale and live a normal life. It has to be destroyed, don't you see?”

  Daymon shook his head, sliding his hands across her neck to cradle her cheeks. “Alayne, just—listen to me for once. There's something we can try—”

  “Nothing's going to work, Daymon. Once the Vale is gone, my life goes with it. It's just how it works, and you have to deal with it. I have to deal with it.”

  Anger flashed across Daymon's face. “I have to deal with it? So, what, the Guardians and I just all sit back and have a real party for our last day on CommonEarth while you waltz off to destroy the Vale? Skies, Alayne, you don't even hear yourself!”

  “I hear myself, Daymon!” Alayne wanted to shout, but her voice only came out in a strained whisper as tears choked her. “Do you think I haven't thought of that? Of the Guardians, of Manders ... of you? Do you think I haven't considered the life I could have if I chose to leave the Vale alone? I'm not destroying it because I want to. I'm destroying it because it's the right thing to do, Daymon; it's bigger than me or the Guardians or even you. Until the Vale is destroyed, the greed for its power will continue, and the division between the Naturals and the Elementals will grow. There's too much power in it, and no one can handle something like that. It has to go, no matter the outcome of this war we're fighting, Daymon.” She shook her head. “Destroying it is the only way I can think of to stop it before the EA's lust for its power demolishes CommonEarth, so unless you have a better idea, it's happening, and there's nothing either of us can do about it.”

  Daymon turned away with a growl, his fists bunched at his side, the muscles popping in his arms. He swung back around and opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to decide against it.

  Turning, he stomped back to the tent, anger radiating from his stiff posture.

  Alayne dug her fingernails into her palms, her anger changing to misery. Such an intimate, wonderful moment had so swiftly shattered beneath their argument about the Vale. Why did he have to be so stubborn?

  He loves you, you idiot. Did you expect him to calmly accept your decision?

  Alayne aimed a vicious kick at the grass and strode in the opposite direction.

  The hour before Rachyl was set to arrive with her companies of Last Orders passed swiftly as people organized themselves into ranks. Each group's composition was weighted in favor of one element but had other members with different skills so that the elements could be combined in battle as needed.

  Eryc would come soon after Rachyl was due to arrive; he'd contacted Manders and told him that he was bringing more than they'd originally hoped. Another three companies had come down from the north to meet him in Highbridge.

  Manders stood stiffly on a small rise. Alayne climbed it to join him. From there, she could just see the tip of Clayborne's spire in the distance, glistening in the moonlight. She turned to Manders, a new soft feeling in her heart for him since he'd shared his love for her mother. The creases across his face looked deeper than ever before, worry pulling his mouth down into a small frown.

  “Rachyl will be here within the hour, you said, sir. We'll be ready.” The words sounded strange even to Alayne; she wasn't used to trying to comfort Manders.

  “What?” Manders jerked as if her words had brought him out of a deep sleep. “Oh, yes, I know, thank you, Alayne.” His attention stayed on the far horizon, over the trees and the valleys. At last, he sighed. “I've been waiting for word from Marysa.” He flashed a mirror shard he'd been carrying in his pocket. “It wasn't good news that the women brought to us; a mirror piece in the wrong hands—” He shuddered. “Alayne, I hate to think of it.”

  Alayne's mouth dried as her stomach plunged. “Sir, the—the mirror—Marysa's piece of it, anyway—is in Kyle's hands.”

  “What?” Manders yanked his attention to her. “How do you know?”

  “I—caught sight of him before we left the last stop—”

  “I told you to keep the mirror in your pocket!”

  “I know, sir, and I'm sorry. I—was hoping to somehow figure out what happened, and Kyle's face appeared in the mirror. He—tried to talk to me, but I closed it and put it back in my pocket. He hasn't tried since, and I haven't taken it out since.”

  Manders ran two hands through his hair, staring at the ground. “That's—well, that's not great news, Alayne, but now we have to concentrate on the fact that Kyle has the mirror, wherever he is, and that Marysa and Jayme have no way of contacting us through it to let us know if they are positioned and ready.” He blew out a gusty breath and shook his head. “We'll have to continue as planned, as if the southern forces are set up and in position, even though we've had no confirmation.” He glanced at his watch. “Rachyl sent me a message through the mirror piece I gave her that she will be here very soon; she had some difficulty getting the numbers in order before they made their flight. As soon as she and Eryc get here, we'll add their companies to our lines, and then we'll move in.”

  “Have you had word from the western LO forces yet?”

  “Yes. They're ready as soon as I send up my signal. Luke is there with them and getting them organized.”

  “How distant are they?” Alayne asked, wondering if the wolves she had sent across the distance would be able to sense the command of the Vale from far away.

  “Only about five miles,” Manders said. “Where that mountain gaps in the middle,” he pointed to an aberration in the landscape on the western side of the spire, “is where they've gathered.”

  Alayne nodded. Slowly, she made her way back down the hill toward the camp, bypassing the soldiers in formation and the various students who'd fled Clayborne with her, entering the trees on the other side of the clearing.

  She'd intended to do a thorough sweep of the area around the camp to be certain no one lurked nearby, that the lines were set up how Manders had dictated, that everything was ready.

  But as soon as she gained the trees, the dam of her emotions broke. Everything settled on her like a great, weighted, smothering blanket, and she crouched into a ball, her arms folded across her stomach, and harsh, deep, wracking sobs poured from her chest.

  Chapter 22

  Daymon found Alayne sometime l
ater. She heard him coming, but she couldn't even pull up the energy to turn around. She felt dead inside, numb, too wooden to move.

  “Rachyl's here,” he murmured, “and Eryc, with his companies.”

  Alayne sniffed and wiped her nose with her arm, still refusing to look at him. “Marysa hasn't let your uncle know anything yet.”

  “I know.”

  Daymon crouched next to Alayne, saying nothing for a while. “There's still hope, Layne. We don't know that Marysa isn't in position with the Casted. We do know that the Casted are freed from their mind control. That's a huge plus right there.”

  “Are they still?” Alayne asked, hopelessly. “What if the Alliance regained their control of them?”

  “Don't borrow trouble, Alayne,” Daymon said gently. “We'll hope for the best.”

  Alayne sniffed and wiped her nose again. “It's my fault, Daymon. All of it.”

  “Stop blaming yourself.” He rubbed her back. “It's not your fault. All of this began as a result of a wish for power, and you had nothing to do with it.”

  “It's my fault for existing as a Quadriweave, Daymon. If I were gone and the Vale with me, there would be nothing to fight over, no more struggles for the Vale's power.”

  Daymon shook his head. “Even with your struggles, Layne, it's far better that you have the Vale than someone like Tarry.”

  Silent tears still tracked down Alayne's cheeks. The words were small comfort. They didn't make any of this easier.

  Daymon pressed his lips together; he seemed to realize it was fruitless to argue. “Come back to camp, Layne. It's not safe in the dark.”

  “I want to be alone for a little bit longer.”

  Daymon released a frustrated breath and rose to his feet, but something yanked his attention to the underbrush not twenty feet from them.

  Alayne leaped to her feet, her pulse thudding in her ears. “Who's there?” she said, her wide eyes searching the dark shadows beneath the trees.

  “Don't do anything, Alayne, it's us.”

  Marysa's voice struck weakness to Alayne's knees, and she sagged against a tree, her hand over her heart. “Marysa! Is Jayme with you?”

  “I'm here, too, Al.” Two forms emerged from the underbrush.

  Followed by a third.

  Immediately, Alayne grabbed her knife from its sheath, yanking it back to throw it. Daymon's fist gripped his own knife, ready for an attack.

  “Wait!” Marysa called, leaping in front of the third figure.

  Kyle froze, his hands in the air. “Wait, Alayne. Please, just hear me out.”

  “Hear you out?” Alayne asked, outraged. “You traitor!” She lunged forward, her hands erupting into flames.

  Daymon grabbed her, hanging on to both arms as Alayne struggled. “Layne, the elements! You'll give us away!”

  Alayne panicked. She smothered the flames, glancing through the trees in terror, half-expecting the Alliance to swarm over them any second.

  All remained dark and still. Daymon's grip on her arms was still tight. “We have to hear what Marysa's asking.”

  Anger at Kyle returned full force. “He doesn't deserve it,” she snarled.

  Kyle moved closer, near enough that Alayne could see his face in the moon's glow that filtered through the tree branches overhead.

  “That's far enough, Pence.” Daymon's voice was cold as steel and rock hard. “You can give your explanation, but that doesn't mean I trust you anywhere near Alayne.”

  Alayne stared daggers at Kyle, half wishing that looks really could kill.

  Kyle spread his hands wide. “I—know that nothing I say will make up for what I've done, but—I'm sorry, Alayne. I hurt you, I lied to you, I betrayed you when you were at your most vulnerable, and it was inexcusable. I—I'm here to help. That's all. I wanted you to know that.”

  Alayne spit. It hit Kyle in the face, and his expression, previously wary, changed to pure torture. “Layne, please—”

  “That's enough, Kyle,” Marysa said quietly. “You may be willing to try to repudiate what you did, but it's going to take a while before anyone else is going to accept it.”

  “He has the mirror, Marysa,” Alayne snapped. “Your mirror piece. I tried to contact you, but he had it instead.”

  Marysa whipped toward Kyle, anger exuding from her entire body. “Kyle Pence, so help me—”

  But Kyle's shoulders sagged, his face crumpled, and he shook his head hopelessly. “You lost it first when you broke the Cast. One of the Casters had it, and I guessed he had taken it from you. I remembered the mirror that had shattered when Houser and Alayne had—escaped, and when I saw the shard, it was the first connection I made. I took it and fully planned to return it to you, but then I—I'd hoped that I could somehow—use it to clear my name, to find a way to turn the tide toward the Last Order, so you guys would see that I really do mean to help, however I can.”

  “You lost that right when you handed us over to your mother and the Alliance,” Alayne snapped. She'd stopped struggling against Daymon, but he kept a wary hand on her upper arm. “You lost it when you nearly starved me to death in the tunnels, tried to force yourself on me, put Daymon through torture, and threw my knife into Daymon's neck. There is nothing, I repeat, nothing that will change how I see you. I loathe you, everything about you. I loathe memories of our time at Clayborne. The fact that there was any history at all between us brings me nothing but pain and disgust.”

  Kyle kept his gaze on the ground. He started to speak, but Marysa interrupted. “That's enough. We're not here to hash out the past, as much as he deserves it, Layne. We've left the Casted in good hands with some ex-Continental Guard members the Alliance was dumb enough to Cast, and now we need to take Kyle to Manders.”

  “He's in the clearing,” Alayne said, “but I'm not going anywhere with Kyle.”

  Marysa nodded as if she'd expected this answer. “We'll take him on, then.” She motioned to Jayme, and the three of them passed by Daymon and Alayne and moved through the trees toward the moonlit clearing.

  Daymon turned Alayne to face him, gently squeezing her shoulders. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “No.” Alayne bit off the word. “I want to kill him.”

  “I know,” Daymon agreed. “I do, too. But he may end up being valuable yet. We'll see what my uncle has to say.”

  Alayne leaned her forehead against the rough bark of a tree and closed her eyes, willing away the rampant fury that had ignited at Kyle's presence. She was beyond relieved at the sight of Jayme and Marysa; she'd truly believed for a while that her friends had died horrible deaths at the hands of the Casters, or had been Casted—neither of which was something she could live with.

  The clearing had stilled, and Alayne opened her eyes. Through the trees, she saw lots of Last Orders turned and quietly watching something.

  “My uncle must be talking to Kyle,” Daymon murmured. “Are you ready?”

  Alayne took a deep breath and nodded. “Let's go.”

  When they entered the clearing, Alayne led the way through groups of Last Orders toward the rise where she could see Manders talking with Jayme, Marysa, and Kyle.

  The older man looked grave. As Alayne drew closer, she could hear Kyle's fumbling explanation and see Manders's even sterner expression.

  “What you did, Kyle—you don't come back from something like that. Even if you find a sympathetic listener, you've set events in motion that will carry consequences that cost lives, lots and lots of lives.” Manders's voice was angry, but underneath it, Alayne heard a current of mercy. Manders would let Kyle stay.

  She couldn't believe it. She cut her way through the rest of the Last Orders, planting her feet just behind Manders, her gaze boring a hole through Kyle.

  Kyle caught her gaze and held it. “Yes, sir, and I've apologized. I know it's not enough, and that some people will continue to hate me.” He cleared his throat, returning his gaze to Manders's face. “I'm only asking for a chance to redeem myself; I have information, and I'm
willing to share it. I want to help undo some of the things I caused in the first place.”

  Manders shook his head. “That won't happen, Kyle. You cannot undo your betrayal.”

  Alayne breathed a sigh of relief.

  “But I will ask one thing of you, Kyle.”

  His eyes lit up. “What's that, sir?”

  “As yet, Tarry doesn't know that you are no longer with them. The betrayal that you inflicted on Alayne, I now want you to inflict on Tarry.”

  Kyle's lips pressed together, and he raised his chin. “How, exactly, sir?”

  “I want you to eat through the Elemental Alliance—but from the inside out.”

  Alayne's fingernails pressed into her palms, her gaze sweeping the clearing, avoiding Manders's appraisal. They stood a little apart from the others. A thousand reasons why Kyle should be sent back to Tarry in ropes—preferably chafing ones—burned Alayne's throat, but she couldn't utter a single one. Finally, she found her tongue. “What do you plan to do with him?”

  Manders sighed. “It's between Kyle and me, Alayne. If you knew, it might offset my plans.”

  “Kyle has proven himself untrustworthy, sir!” Alayne protested.

  Manders speared her with his gray gaze. “I said to drop it, Alayne.”

  Manders turned away from Alayne and walked to where Kyle and Jayme talked in an undertone. As Manders approached, Kyle straightened.

  “I'm assigning you, Kyle, to approach Clayborne with the Water-Wielders—for now,” Manders said. “I hope to get you into the spire at a later point, but we'll get to that at another time.”

  Alayne kicked the toe of her boot against a rock. That was it. Kyle would be fighting alongside the Last Orders as they faced the Alliance, and there was no guarantee that he wouldn't bring down the whole effort with his shifting-sand ways.

  As Kyle walked across the clearing to the company to which Manders had assigned him, Alayne crossed her arms, moving nearer Marysa and Jayme despite herself, curious as they recounted the events that had led them there.