by Cat Bruno
Into her ear, he whispered, his breath warm and smelling of mint, “Bronwen, I shall have you one day. No woman has so long refused me, and I must say that I will enjoy the challenge of winning you over. But why must you fight it so? Should I show you what you are missing?”
When his lips traveled from her ear to her neck, she shook. When she felt his hand slowly moving down her back, his fingers caressing her and slipping into her pants, she gasped.
Forgetting the pain, she grabbed at the hand nearest to her, the one tugging at her pants and held it as tightly as she could, spinning him around until their positions were reversed, and Pietro was pinned against the thin tree trunk. Surprised at her own strength, Bronwen had no trouble moving him, even though he was built like many Rexterrans, with broad shoulders and a strong body.
Despite his size, Bronwen feared little, knowing that he could not match her, not now, not while she was with child. And the sudden realization empowered her as she pushed him harder against the tree, letting her eyes burn across his face. Both of her hands gripped his upper arms, and, with surprisingly little effort, she was able to hold him still.
While she watched him, his lips began moving, and she could see that he was trying to speak, yet either no noise escaped his lips or she could not hear him over the pulsating beats thumping between her ears.
She knew that he struggled to free himself, yet he could not. With a smile, she eased her grasp and let go of him. As if she had thrown him, Pietro fell back, slumping against the tree. Rubbing at his arms, he squatted, breathing hard, his face red and his eyes wet.
He screamed at her, his voice wavering and unsteady, “What in the hells was that, Bronwen? You are mad!”
Standing up and stepping toward her, he fumed, “You might be able to deceive everyone at the Academy, Bronwen, but not me. You do not fool me, and I will not rest until I discover what you have been hiding. You picked the wrong man to make an enemy. Your secrets will unravel soon, you Northern fool.”
Pietro fled from her then, nearly running, as if he feared what she would do next.
His words had shaken her, and she was glad that he had departed in haste before he could notice how much so. For they had been true ones, she knew. There was much that she had kept hidden.
However, what concerned Bronwen most, more even than his threats to expose her, was the way that she had hurt him, without much effort and with little remorse. When she had held him, her vision had cleared, the red fog gone. But it was not the only thing that had disappeared. The pain had vanished too. As if the babe had been satisfied, she thought.
53
Aldric and Willem worked in silence as they wrapped the body in linens. For well over an hour, the two men had tried to piece together his heavily damaged body, which had proved to be impossible.
“At least his head is now mostly attached,” Willem had said, without humor, when they were nearly finished.
Having decided to bury him, Willem brought a cart into the room, one that was used often at the clinic. With little care, the two men, Willem gripping the man’s shoulders and Aldric holding onto the man’s dark and hairy feet, lifted him from the floor and threw him on the cart. Willem instructed Aldric to place another blanket on top of the body, and, once it was in place, Willem pushed the cart from the room as Aldric undid the ward.
None of the healers at the clinic looked at them with suspicion as they headed for the back exit of the clinic, and Aldric figured that it was a usual sight. Once outside of the clinic, Aldric followed behind, noticing the well-muscled back of Willem, who had somehow played Master Healer for moon years. The Rexterran’s body was still that of a soldier, despite his exile and new title. Few outside of Litusia would believe the man to be healer-trained.
Uncertain of where Willem was going, Aldric did little but walk behind him, occasionally helping to free the wheels of the cart from mud or sand. When they were far enough from town and no one was near, Aldric asked, “Is it wise to once again play the part of Willem? Surely others might find the sudden change of some interest?”
A long pause ensued before Willem dropped the handle of the cart and turned to face him, wiping at his sweaty face with the back of a large hand. Neither men had changed their clothing, although the blood stains were much more visible on Willem’s fine and fair clothing than on Aldric’s all-black tunic and pants. Across the front of his laced tunic was a large, dark brown streak of dried blood, yet Willem paid it little heed. When he answered, Aldric looked up once again, pulling his eyes from the man’s leather boots.
“I am but two men, Aldric. Some days, I forget entirely that I was ever Willem, which sounds as strange coming from my lips as it does living it. Yet what can Ammon do here? I am proud of the skills that I have learned as a healer, but those skills can do little to aid Bronwen. And those skills are worth considerably less than her own. Just as I do not think it will be your skills as a mercenary that she will need most. She will require much more than your sword.”
Aldric laughed then, although the sound seemed strange coming from him and bitterness clung to its edges, as he did it so rarely.
“As you say. Although I have learned how to live on the open road quite well, which might be helpful. I know we have not discussed it much, but what are your plans for Bronwen? Even if we are able to keep the babe’s father a secret, surely within the next few moons her condition will be revealed. What then? Will she be allowed to continue here at the Academy?”
The two men walked on, yet Willem replied, “Other female healers have found themselves in similar spots, well, not entirely similar, but with child, nonetheless. Each case was handled differently, although many continued their studies. Bronwen, though, has only been recently named Master Apprentice, and it is required that she finish her courses and then take part in a moon year-long Healer Journey. Once it becomes known, I do not know what the Master Council will make of it. Most, if not all, will be surprised, no doubt, and I think concerns will be voiced over how she will complete her Healer Journey with a babe in tow.”
“None of it makes sense to me, nor does it seem possible at all. What did you make of her words earlier? She is already with child, it seems.” Willem added.
Aldric nodded, for he too had been surprised at Bronwen’s words, and even more surprised at Ammon’s silence, knowing that the man cared deeply for her. He had watched him from across the room, yet Willem had said nothing, although his face had grown stern and it was then that Ammon had disappeared.
As Ammon, he had fallen in love with the god-touched girl, and, now, as Willem, he would need to detach himself, serving as her protector, and no more, Aldric believed.
Yet, he had watched Bronwen too as she had addressed them, and knew, as only one could who had spent moon years living as he had, that she had spoken the truth. To Willem, he called, “She speaks the truth, regardless of how either of us might feel about it, and is with child. You cannot change her past, nor can you change the path that she has been set upon, however much you may want to. There is little we can do but guide her and support her as best we can, and with what talents we may have.”
Willem looked up then, eyes of iron and ice, and locked gazes with Aldric, “What is all this talk of we? You still have not proven to me that you will be needed, mage.”
“I will not argue with you, Lord Willem. Not on this matter again. I will let Bronwen decide if and when she may need me. Until then, I am planning on staying in Litusia, so get used to seeing me.”
“Let’s finish this then. The cemetery is just up ahead.”
Walking in silence, the two men reached the cemetery without any further delays. Taking turns with the shovel that Willem had brought, a large enough hole was created, although Willem did most of the work. With little hesitation, the two men dropped the stiffening body into it, filling it with the mound of dirt that had been piled nearby until the white sheet that covered him was no longer visible. When they had finished patting down the surface with the bac
kside of the shovel, they looked at each other.
Willem shrugged and walked back to where they had left the cart. “Does he deserve any more than that? I’m done here.”
Aldric agreed, so he too departed, following the healer back to where they had started.
When they arrived at the clinic, the two men retreated into a room that Aldric assumed was Willem’s office of sorts. Willem set behind a small desk, and Aldric, readying to leave, said, “I shall be with Kennet, I suppose, or perhaps I will find a room at one of the inns in town.” After a moment, he added, “Unless you think my presence here will only complicate things for Bronwen. Think hard before you answer.”
Despite taking care of the body without issue, Aldric could tell that Willem was still troubled. But he waited, letting Ammon have the time he needed. As much as he wanted to stay and help Bronwen, he would not do so if he would only cause her more difficulty, more than she was already facing. He stood quietly as Willem reached for a feathered pen, dipping it in an inkpot. Moon years in travel had taught him patience, and he waited, watching as the Master wrote something on parchment, his hand slightly trembling.
His pen paused, and, without looking up, he called out, “You will complicate matters, no doubt, Aldric, just as I’m certain that your presence has already been noted. While I do think it best that you take leave of here, I must admit that I do not know who else can help Bronwen if she has need of it. This is not my game that is being played, and I am as much a pawn as you are. But, mage, I will say this.” Standing up, Willem was much larger than the bony Aldric, yet the mage did not step backward.
When Aldric met Willem’s gaze, he saw that his eyes were gold and flaming, a gift of his Rexterran blood, Aldric knew. In another time, he would have called the man friend, he thought quickly.
In a voice that was low, yet filled with threat and promise, the Master said, “If Bronwen is harmed, and you the cause of it, I will not rest until you and your kin are dead.”
Staring back, Aldric evenly replied, “Many moon years ago, I fell in love with a woman who I would have made similar vows to protect. Since her death, I have not cared much for anyone, and, until recently, your words would have troubled me little. But, I see something in the girl. I know not how else to say it, but, simply, I feel as if she offers me a future I did not once think I had.”
His eyes burned in memory and his words grew thick, yet Aldric continued, “The woman I once loved was killed because there were those who feared her. It will be the same for Bronwen’s daughter and many will seek to see her dead. Leorra’s death has haunted me for moon years, just as she herself has. Under sun and star, she has visited me, yet never can I save her from sword or flame, despite her pleas.”
Placing his hands on Willem’s desk, Aldric shook his head, and, in a voice he knew not as his own, said, “She has not visited once since I met Bronwen.”
The room quieted, both men looking away until Willem said, “We both know she must leave here. Several times I have offered, begged even, to take Bronwen to Eirrannia, where the babe would have some safety, yet she has refused. She still believes that she can be Master Healer yet. Aldric, I believe she will try to complete her Healer Journey, and while I would go with her, it would only bring more attention upon her. From what I hear, my exile was not enough punishment for my cousin.”
Over the last quarter-moon, Aldric and Willem had had many drinks between them, and he knew a little more of why Willem had been forced to leave the King’s City. From what Aldric remembered of Delwin, Willem’s cousin and second in line to the throne, it would not be wise for him to go anywhere near Rexterra, or even the eastern half of Cordisia. At another time, he might have used the man’s confessions against him, yet much had changed over the last moon, Aldric realized. It was no longer Leorra whom he would live for, and the thought had changed him.
“Yes, she must leave here before too many moons have past. But we still have time to convince her, and, perhaps, she will heed your words and make way for Eirrannia. She could complete her Healer Journey there, I would think,” Aldric said.
Rising from the desk, Willem said, “You need not stay with Kennet. It is still best you stay with me. Now, I have a great need for some ale, if you are ready to leave.”
“Lead the way as I still cannot make my way about this town,” Aldric answered, leaving unsaid that he would somehow regret the day when he would be forced to leave.
Even though he knew that that day was coming, for him, and, no doubt, for Bronwen too.
54
Kicking the door closed behind him, Pietro carefully removed his robe, wincing as he lifted his arms above his head. With the robe removed, he crossed the room to where the large looking glass stood, a beautifully crafted piece that he had shipped from the King’s City. The light was fading as the skies grayed, yet he was able to see large purple bruises forming on the underside of his upper arms, marring his sun-touched skin.
“That bitch!” he screamed, to no one but himself, although his screeching voice bounced off the walls and startled him with its deep anger.
A knock at his door jolted him, and he grabbed a towel from a pile near the door and wrapped it around his waist. Still fuming, he hurried to the door, ready to send whomever it away. Reaching for the handle, his naked chest shivered as his room suddenly cooled. When he opened the door, his mouth opened, yet no words were spoken.
Staring back at him was the Tribesman.
Speechless, he shuffled to the left, allowing the man to enter his room, although he knew, somehow, that the man would enter with or without his consent. Pietro pushed the door closed, and, as he did, remembered his nakedness, and quickly grabbed a fresh robe, throwing it on before he turned to face the man.
For the third time in little more than a few moons, the Tribesman had found him, and still Pietro could not understand why it was he that the man visited. The silent, strange man was inspecting the rows of bottles that lined his desk. Pietro paused as the man picked up the last bottle, smaller than the others, amber-colored and filled with a thick, dark liquid. Without speaking, the man uncapped the bottle and lifted it to his thin nose. Pietro watched nervously as the man moved it about, a crisp, piney scent filling the room.
In his oddly accented voice, one that Pietro still could not place, the man said, “Poison. Distilled from the sap of a Tallora tree, although it takes many moon years to create. You must be one determined man to have such a rarity among your collection. Need I ask for whom it is intended?”
Pietro’s breathing slowed and his throat grew tight. His life pulse jumped and fluttered, his chest rising and falling. He longed for a tunic or robe, yet none were near enough to reach without moving. How does he know of Tallora? None who entered his rooms had ever guessed what the tiny bottle contained. Few knew of the Tallora tree, and even fewer still knew how to distill the sap enough to make use of it. During his time at the Academy, none of the Masters even had made mention of the tree. He himself had only once heard of it in Rexterra and had spent moon years studying the only text that had mentioned the Tallora by name, having found a book moon years before in the library.
Even then, finding the tree had taken him over a moon year, as it could only be found on the Lochhland Islands, a small group of islands off the northwest edge of Cordisia. It had cost him a small fortune to hire a man to travel there and bring him back the sap, all without raising the suspicions of anyone at the Academy.
Twice more Pietro had been forced to have the man travel to Lochhland before he had been satisfied with his final mixture, and, in the moons following, Pietro had lived much like a pauper, having spent all of the extra funds from his father on paying off the man. More than once he thought of trying out his new brew on the Tretorian man he had used instead of paying him, but he had little to spare. However, he knew that the small bottle was effective, as he had tested small doses on animals that he had trapped. Each time the animal had died a gentle, nearly natural death, with no evidence to
suggest poison.
Across the room, the Tribesman stood, wearing tall boots over gray leggings and a shining black tunic, and holding the bottle, opened and deadly, as if it was no more than scented oil. Pietro could hardly breathe, and if it had been anyone else in the room with him, he would have snatched the bottle away entirely. Yet, now, he could only wait, powerless against the man.
When the man addressed him, Pietro’s chest froze. “You realize, boy, that if Bronwen dies at your hand, then your own death will soon follow. And it will not be at all like the one you will have given her.”
Pietro could do nothing but nod, shocked and fearful, even more now that the man mentioned Bronwen.
“Good. Then at least on that point we are understood. You will not harm her, not yet. Not until after the babe is born. Then, what happens to her is no concern of mine.” With a laugh that pierced the room, high and cackling, the man added, “Pietro, do not look so shocked.”
Still laughing, the man pointed to a small table, motioning for him to sit down. Still unclothed, Pietro fell into the chair as the Tribesman sat down across from him. They were seated so closely that Pietro realized that his dark eyes were ringed with yellow.
With his long, bony fingers clasped together on the table, the Tribesman looked at him and said, “I know little of what I have said makes sense, but certain things have changed. I had thought to get rid of the girl altogether, before she was with child, but I used a fool of a man and he did not finish the job. He failed me, Pietro, and was even a bigger fool to do so. I hope you will not do the same.”
The man paused, and Pietro realized he was waiting for him to respond. Unable to speak, he merely nodded and listened as the man continued.
