“Yes.” The word came out in one quick breath. She didn’t bother to explain that healing him would hurt her.
“And you do this willingly?” Sherard said.
Rowen hesitated, then “Yes.” She served the Word, not Drake, in matters of healing.
Sherard turned toward Drake. “I will give you the gold after, if the healing happens.”
Drake smiled. “Deal.”
Sherard slowly undid the long white linen around his face. Rowen watched in repulsed fascination, her hand halfway up between them so the glow from her mark lit them both.
A grotesquely distorted face appeared from under the bandages, covered in purple blotches and pus-filled boils. The faint smell of decay wafted from his body. Rowen wanted to look away and cover her nose. Instead, she kept her gaze on Sherard and concentrated on the heat in her hand. Sherard finished unrolling the last bit of linen, and dropped the wad of cloth. He stared at Rowen as if daring her to turn her face.
Rowen breathed through her mouth and kept her hand steady, although inside, her heart beat so hard she felt as though it would come bursting from her chest. Dear Word, help me.
As if in answer, the warmth of her power—no, of His power—began to calm her. It swirled inside her chest and through her body. Rowen slowly reached out her hand. One deep breath, two. Sherard turned his gaze to her hand. He moved his lips as if to speak.
Rowen cupped his cheek, and his mouth clamped shut. She could feel each lump and scaly boil beneath her palm. Then the warmth of her power raced along her arm and through her mark. Her power entered his body.
His eyes widened, and he gave a small gasp.
Rowen held his cheek firmly and waited for the coldness to enter her arm. But it never came. Instead, a numbness began to spread across her palm and fingertips. Within moments, she could not feel her hand. She glanced at her hand, unsure if she had broken the connection. But her hand was still pressed against his cheek.
Sherard’s face slowly smoothed as if an invisible wave were rushing across his face. The purple blots and boils faded.
The numbness left her hand and climbed up her arm. Rowen looked away from Sherard and down at her arm. Small boils popped up across her smooth, pale skin. They grew bigger and a couple of them burst with pus. A scream filled her mouth. Rowen bit down on her tongue. At least she couldn’t feel the boils. No pain, no coldness, nothing.
The numbness reached the top of her arm and spread across her shoulders. Her body grew sluggish and heavy. Then she felt nothing. The numbness crept up her neck and past her chin. She tried to move but could not. Darkness came, edging around her eyes. Rowen looked at Sherard.
He stared at her in disbelief. “You,” he whispered. He lifted a hand and felt his face. “I can’t believe it. You healed me…”
Sherard’s voice drifted away. The world shifted sideways, and Rowen fell.
• • •
The fading rays of sunlight filled the window above Rowen’s head. She lay on something hard. Slowly she moved her hands out from beneath the thin blanket that was draped across her body. The air felt warm and dry.
Something moved to her left. She twisted her neck and saw a figure disappear through a door on the far side of the room. The door shut.
Puzzled, Rowen slowly sat up. She found herself on a sleeping pallet on the ground. She looked around the small room and found it bare, save for a spindly table in the corner to the right.
Where am I?
She looked back toward the window above her bed. The sky outside was just starting to turn a brilliant orange. Evening, then. She could hear the faint sound of voices and the braying of a donkey.
Rowen rubbed her face then stopped. She held her hand away and stared at her mark, which at the moment glowed faintly. It all came rushing back: Azar, Drake, healing the man named Sherard—
She gasped and held out both arms. She had feeling in them again. She flexed her fingers and ran a hand along her arm. She could feel the soft light hairs and smooth skin. No boils, no pus.
Rowen threw back the blanket and checked the rest of her body. She twisted side to side and checked her bare legs. Nothing. Then she lifted her tunic. No boils, no blotches, and no numbness. She was whole once again.
Thank You, Word!
The door opened.
Rowen pulled the blanket back up across her legs and held it to her chest.
Drake walked in, flanked by a tall thin man. Lanzo, Rowen remembered now—one of Drake’s men. Drake stopped and looked at her. “So you’re finally awake.”
“Yes.”
He scowled and crossed his arms. “You never told me it took time to recover from your healings. After Sherard left, I had people lining up to be healed. I had to turn them away.”
Rowen stared at Drake, too shocked at his callousness to say a word. A burning heat consumed her and overcame her silence. “You never asked! You never asked about how or why I can heal. You only saw a way to make money. I heal by taking the pain and the disease. Did you know that?”
Drake stood still in the middle of the room, but Rowen could see a flicker of discomfort in his eyes. Lanzo shifted uncomfortably behind him.
Rowen curled her lips. “No, you didn’t, did you? Came as a surprise, I’m sure.”
Drake straightened up. “I knew Eldarans healed by taking the disease.”
“But you’ve never seen it done.” Rowen waved her hand. “You thought I would heal Sherard then move on to the next rich person. What you failed to realize is that the only person I can heal is myself. I never healed Sherard. I only took his…” She had no idea what had been wrong with him. “I took his illness. Then I had to heal myself. And that takes at least a day.”
“But you’re better now.”
Rowen stared at Drake in disbelief. Just as she’d thought: The man was cold, right to the bone. He didn’t care how much pain she went through. He was only interested in how much time it would be before he could make more money off her. “Yes.” She gripped the blanket tightly to her body.
“Good. I kept the names of those interested. Sherard is telling everyone what you can do. The people of Azar will pay anything I ask for your miracle touch.” A cruel smile crept across his face, exposing his missing tooth. “I’ll contact the next one.” He turned and left the room, leaving Rowen sitting on the hard pallet.
Rage swirled inside her heart. She wanted to leap up and slap that smile from his face.
“Oh, Word,” she whispered and bowed her head. Her body trembled. “Why are You leaving me in this place? Why are You allowing me to stay captive to Drake? Why did You tell me to heal on demand like that, like a trained dog?” Her voice echoed around the room.
A cool breeze fluttered through the window. There are people here who need healing.
Rowen looked at the window. “But they’re paying Drake to be healed. You want my gift used for gold?”
These people still need healing. And you can give it to them.
Rowen turned and stared at her hands. She turned her right one over and stared at the glove that now covered her mark. For a moment, she wondered who had put her glove on. Drake? Lanzo? One of Drake’s other men?
Trust Me, the Word had said long ago. Deep inside her soul she felt the battle to do that now. What good was she doing here in Azar when where she was really needed was in Thyra?
Rowen swallowed. Thyra. And the Shadonae. She still didn’t know how she could help the people of Thyra. Not that it mattered anymore, since she wasn’t going there anytime soon. She looked up toward the window, and fatigue crept across her body.
A star appeared against the purple sky. The first star of evening. Her eyes grew heavy. Despite what she had told Drake, she could tell that her body was still recovering from her healing. Rowen lay down and watched the star. Was Lore looking at the same star tonight?
The thought of him made her insides clench. Rowen turned over on the pallet. She curled into a ball and pulled the blanket up to her neck. But the image o
f Lore would not disappear.
He was as she remembered him: Tall and straight, dressed casually, a dark jerkin over his shirt, his hair falling on either side of his forehead with a sprinkling of grey, and eyes a deep blue-green. She saw him in his usual spot in the middle of the training room, the sun shining down from the glass dome above and a smile on his face. She saw him holding his hand out toward her and speaking. She couldn’t hear his voice. All she could see were his lips moving. She tried to reach him…
The vision faded. Rowen found herself looking at the starry sky through the window above her. A tear trickled down her cheek, and a hole slowly formed inside her chest.
She had already forgotten what Lore’s voice sounded like.
14
The Illyr Sea crashed and foamed below the dark stony cliffs, the spray reaching almost to where Lore stood on the balcony. Dull grey clouds hung overhead, matching the water churning below. A gust of wind with a cold bite to it whipped up from the open sea and pulled his hair from his face.
Lore pulled his cloak close to his neck and looked to his right. Lady Astrea and Prince Evander stood about twenty feet away, their heads bent toward each other, the wind tugging at their cloaks. Lady Astrea’s hair came loose and flew with the wind. She grabbed most of it and held it away from her face. Her dress pressed against her body and fluttered behind her with her cloak.
Prince Evander was speaking, but Lore could not hear what he was saying. Not that he was supposed to. They had come out here for this very reason. Although why outside and not the council room inside the castle, he had no idea. He was just here to keep watch.
Prince Evander wore dark clothes and a dark cloak, which now wrapped around his body. His hair, tousled by the wind, looked wild. Lore knew if he could see Evander’s eyes, they would be grey like the ocean. Just like his.
The couple began to walk along the balcony. Lore followed a few paces behind. Every few minutes the sun would break through then disappear again as though teasing him with its warmth and light.
The days were growing chillier as autumn took hold of the coast. Soon, sailing would be on hold until spring. Lore glanced over at the sea again. Good thing he would be leaving in the next couple of weeks.
Prince Evander and Lady Astrea stopped beside the stone railing near the door that led into the castle. Beyond the castle, Lore could see the port city of Avonai, the piers all but empty on this cold and grey morning. Lore stopped, leaving enough distance between him and the couple so that they could maintain their private conversation.
Prince Evander lifted a hand and brushed the few stray hairs away from Lady Astrea’s face. He leaned in closer to her. Astrea looked down. Evander tilted her head up. Their heads moved closer together.
Lore looked away.
Part of him was happy to see the two of them grow attached as their bonding day drew near. Another part of him felt heartache. They reminded him of what he had let go.
He missed Rowen.
Lore placed his hands on the stone railing and watched the waves below. Where was Rowen now? Still out at sea? Probably. He knew it took weeks just to reach the southern tip of Hont. Then they would sail north along the eastern coast, up past Temanin, until they reached the country of Kerre and the city of Thyra.
Did he regret not going with her? Lore sighed and closed his eyes. Yes. With all his heart. He wished he could go back in time and change his answer. But it was too late now. And practically, it would never have worked. One did not just walk away from generations of service to the high family and the White City Guard. A resignation of this magnitude took time and preparation.
But now he was ready. Tomorrow, he would let Lady Astrea know.
The couple moved again. Lore backed away from the railing and followed them to the door. Another gust of wind whipped his face. Prince Evander knocked, and a servant opened the door. Warm light spilled out onto the balcony. Evander stepped aside and allowed Lady Astrea to enter first.
As Lore watched her step inside the castle, he wondered how she was going to react to his resignation. Every time he thought about it, a knot formed inside his belly. A Palancar man had never resigned the captaincy since the position had been given to his family centuries ago. Then again, a Palancar man had never fallen in love with an Eldaran. Captaincy could change hands or even families. Eldarans, however, were marked for life. Rowen’s position trumped his.
Prince Evander followed Lady Astrea inside. Lore hurried to catch up.
The ivory colored marble floor, beige walls, and lit sconces inside the castle were warm compared to the grey sea and cold wind outside. Lore let go of his cloak and shut the door behind him. The sound of boots echoed through the hallway. Lore turned and followed Prince Evander and Lady Astrea down the corridor.
As he walked, he ran through his list of potential captains again. Geoffrey was too young and had only recently been commissioned as a varor. So he was out. And Justus was…gone. Killed alongside Lord Gaynor. Lore let out his breath and followed the two around a corner.
He thought about someone from one of the old guard families, but no one came to mind. Who he really wanted was Aren. Although a Nordic by birth, Aren had years of experience already as a varor. That, and Lore had seen the potential of leadership inside the young man.
Not so young, Lore reminded himself. Aren had already passed his thirty-year mark, five years older than Lore had been when he had first become captain. But Aren was not here. Lady Astrea had sent him with Rowen. Lore worked his jaw. He was not looking forward to seeing Aren again, not after their confrontation before he’d left.
Prince Evander and Lady Astrea headed into the large dining room. Lore spotted Geoffrey making his way down the hall. Good. He could continue his thoughts in his room.
“Captain,” Geoffrey said quietly in greeting.
“Geoffrey,” Lore replied.
A servant came hurrying down the hall. “A message for his highness and her ladyship.”
Lore ushered the servant into the dining room. “I’ll take tonight’s shift,” Lore said as the servant scurried inside.
“That’s not necessary, Captain,” Geoffrey said.
Lore let the door close with a soft click. “You’ve been working hard the last few weeks. I can fill in tonight.”
“Prince Evander’s varor has been taking shifts as well,” Geoffrey said.
“Traver?”
“Yes.”
Lore nodded. “Well, then let me think ab—”
The dining room burst open. Lady Astrea stood for one moment in the doorway, her hands clutched to her chest and her face so pale Lore thought she was about to faint. He was at her side in two strides.
“Captain Lore,” she said, looking at him, her voice breathless. “We just received word… I can’t believe…” she pressed two fingers to her forehead and teetered for a moment.
Lore grabbed her elbow and looked at Geoffrey. “Get a healer.”
“No, no.” Lady Astrea straightened. “I’m heading to the healers right now.” She took a deep breath and looked at Lore. “And you better come with me. Aren is back.”
Lore stared at Lady Astrea, her words lodged somewhere between his ears and mind. Aren was back?
Prince Evander came out the double set of doors and took Lady Astrea’s hand. The two moved past Lore and hurried down the hall. Lore watched them go. He knew he needed to follow, but could not make his legs move.
“Captain?”
Lore turned numbly toward Geoffrey. His mind felt like a rusty wheel, barely able to turn. He could not grasp Lady Astrea’s words. Aren was back?
Geoffrey glanced one more time at Lore before hurrying after them.
Lore stared down the hall. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. His mind finally moved onto the next thought. If Aren was here…
Where was Rowen?
That lurched him into action. Lore shook himself free of his stupor and headed down the hall. He forced one foot to move, then the other. Soon he w
as jogging.
Geoffrey disappeared down the stairs. Lore followed. His breathing came fast, as though he had run for miles. At the bottom, Geoffrey turned and ran down another hall. Lore hurried behind him. Ahead, Lore watched Lady Astrea and Prince Evander enter a door that led to the rooms used by the Avonai healers. Geoffrey followed them in.
Lore stopped in the doorway and looked inside. Three beds lined the wall on the left, each with a man sitting on top and a linen cover spread across his legs. Prince Evander moved toward the two beds closest to the door. Lady Astrea stood by the bed of the third. Aren was not in any of the beds.
A long table stood against the other wall, covered with a couple of books and a stone mortar and pestle. A picture of a vase filled with bright flowers hung just above it. Candles were lit in the sconces along the wall. Dark, heavy green curtains were pulled shut thirty feet across from him, separating this section of the room from whatever lay beyond. The air smelled faintly of lavender.
Lore entered the room. The dark green curtains ahead shifted. An older woman dressed in white robes moved between the curtains. Her hair was a dark grey, which she wore pulled back in a tight bun. She looked around and then headed toward Lady Astrea. Geoffrey stood in the corner nearby.
“He just needs some rest, milady,” Lore heard the healer say to Lady Astrea. “I’ve given him a sleeping draught, so he won’t be able to speak with you for a while.”
Lady Astrea nodded and clasped her hands in front of her. “I understand.”
Lore walked toward the two women. The healer turned toward the closest bed and began to fuss with the man’s bandages. Lore came up to Lady Astrea. “Where is Aren?”
Lady Astrea looked at Lore and nodded toward the curtains. “Sleeping.”
So that’s whom the healer was talking about. “Do you know what happened?”
The healer straightened and turned before Lady Astrea could reply. “I can tell you some of it. The Nordic and these others arrived a half hour ago. One of the city guards brought them here. The Nordic,” she said, pointing at the curtains, “was in worse shape than the others. From what I heard, they have spent the last fortnight making their way here from the border of Temanin.”
Son of Truth (Follower of the Word) Page 15
