by Boone Brux
Lord Grimes sighed. “She must be a Redeemer.” Whispers of amazement echoed around the chamber. “I have no more pain in my leg. None at all.” He smiled at her. “Even after healings they still usually pain me a bit.”
A heady superiority coursed through her as heat pulsed in the palms of her hands, wanting more, demanding to heal again. “Yes, maybe I’m a Redeemer.”
She stopped in front of the last man at the table. He’d tucked his chin-length black hair neatly behind his ears and sported a trimmed goatee. Except for the gold hoop dangling in his ear, he was dressed all in black. He appeared much younger than the other Council members, and stared at her with eyes the color of silver coins. His gaze unnerved her, as if he saw and could read her easily.
She opened herself to him, nervous about receiving his essence. Nothing flowed in. She searched, but found only a solid wall.
He watched her, a small smile tugging at his lips. This man was more than he pretended to be. A crack in his consciousness opened and a name drifted to her: Sir Gregory James.
She realized he had fed the information to her. Her anger fumed. She controlled this meeting, not him. She pushed against his barrier but felt no give.
His expression turned wary.
“What do you think, Sir James? Am I a Tell or am I a Redeemer?”
“I have no idea, Lady Ravyn.” His gaze remained steady, his essence locked behind impenetrable barriers. “Perhaps you have extraordinary powers. You might even have had a run-in with the Bane.”
A few of the members snickered.
“Or maybe you are a girl who has no idea what she’s talking about,” he said.
Fire pooled in her hands. She squeezed her fingers together; knowing the urge to blast Sir Gregory James wasn’t rational. The indignation consuming her challenged her control. She returned a tight smile and stepped away from him. Her control slipped. They were all fools, weak and ignorant. The need to dominate the Council consumed her.
She inhaled deeply, clinging to the few threads of rational thought left. These people were not her enemies. Energy coursed through her as if she were facing the Bane. Something was very wrong but she didn’t know how to stop the consuming anger.
“Perhaps you are right, Sir James.” She hissed the sentence at him. He moved to stand but she turned away and forced her body to walk to the center of the room. She needed Rhys. Where was he? Always there when she didn’t want him, never around when she needed him. Even though she knew it wasn’t true, the thought tore through her.
“Are you all right, Lady Ravyn?” Sir Gregory said.
She opened her mouth but the words wouldn’t come. Her foot hovered above the circle on the floor, trying to resist the urge to step in the center. Her will weakened and each delicate thread to reality snapped. She stepped into the center.
Shocks of energy traveled up her legs and rippled through her torso. Her body quivered, and she was aware the Council members were on their feet, some shouting in alarm. Heat engulfed her, burning through every cell of her body. The power coiled and pushed against her skin with the need to expand and encompass. Her quivers gave way to shudders as she clung to her restraints, but the tethers of control slipped from her grasp.
Flames plumed around her like the blazing petals of a flower. She felt the heat but wasn’t burned. Screams erupted and people moved toward her. Imprisoned by her powers, she was helpless against their desire. She lifted her arm, trying to stop them from approaching, but two bolts of lightning shot from her hands, blasting Fromme Bagita’s portrait and catapulting everybody backward, including Ravyn.
She hit the floor and slid, stopping at the feet of Rhys, Luc, and Siban.
They don’t look very happy, she thought, seconds before she passed out.
…
Rhys paced in front of Ravyn as she sat propped against the wall. He’d entered seconds before she’d been engulfed in flames The Council had departed the chamber in a hive of whispers and stares. He stopped and glared down at her. “What happened?”
“I already told you,” she said, rubbing her temples.
He stopped in front of her and placed a hand over her head against the wall. “Tell me again.”
“I couldn’t control my fire. There’s something about the room.”
“Why didn’t you call for help?”
“I tried but I couldn’t.”
“Even I’ve never erupted into flames.” He took a deep breath, trying to comprehend how things had gone so awry. “You must have done something.”
“No, nothing. It just happened. How many times do I have to say it?”
“Until I understand.”
“I was angry.” She shifted away from the wall. Luc took her arm and helped her stand. “It was like I was standing in the center of my well of power.” She rubbed her hands over her face.“I couldn’t control it.”
“I knew I should have been in there with you,” Rhys growled.
“And you’re lucky Bagita didn’t have you arrested for fire-balling his lovely portrait,” Luc added.
“Not helping, Le Daun.” Rhys kicked the wall. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to handle this. Now the Council knows we hold more than just information.”
“Good,” Ravyn snapped. “These people need a leader. Why not show them what we’re capable of. Let them decide who to follow?”
“Oh, so you’re suddenly the expert on what our people need? A month ago you were locked behind stone walls and iron bars. You know nothing about these people or what they need.”
He hardened his heart against the tears welling in her eyes. The sight of Ravyn erupting into flames had nearly brought him to his knees. He was angry and knew he was lashing out, but today’s meeting had given Bagita more than just the knowledge of Ravyn’s powers. He’d seen the way Fromme’s eyes had glittered with anticipation. He’d looked at Ravyn like a shiny new bauble, which equated to another pawn to position for his benefit. That’s why he hadn’t arrested all of them. Ravyn was too valuable. Rhys cursed himself for agreeing to this damn plan.
“It’s not her fault,” Luc said, drawing him out of his brooding.
Rhys turned on him. “You’re right. If I hadn’t been taken in by yours and Nattie’s pleas, this never would have happened. I knew she wasn’t ready and yet I allowed it. I blame myself and you.”
“I’m done talking about this,” Ravyn said. “You can blame me, blame yourself, blame the Council, but that won’t solve our problems. We came here for a reason. I for one don’t plan to tuck tail and run because of a little incident.”
She pushed past Siban and stomped up the steps.
He wanted to go after her and tell her how scared he’d been when the doors of the chamber door had blown open. But he didn’t. This was how it had to be. Maybe it was better if she hated him.
“She’s really angry,” Luc said. “Go after her.”
Rhys shook his head and peeled his gaze away from the now-empty stairwell and looked at the two men. “No. It needs to be this way.”
Chapter Twenty-four
After changing into her leathers, Ravyn found refuge on the second floor above the Great Hall. A dark alcove fashioned into the wall was a perfect spot to wallow in self-pity. She didn’t know how long she sat curled up on the stone bench, railing about Rhys and contemplating her future. But as the shadows of the pillars grew long and the walkway darkened, her anger began to fade.
Irritated by her own weakness, she struggled to come to terms with her displeasure. She’d spent over two decades living in a place where she rarely received a kind word, and she’d been fine. Strong, as a matter-of-fact. But the second Rhys said an unkind word, she fell apart. Some soldier she turned out to be.
Unrequited love hurt too much. He’d destroyed the walls she’d built around her heart and ruined her. Not because he’d taken her virginity. She’d given that freely. But because she now knew she wanted love and to be loved. And after a few hours of silent misery, she realized it wasn’t just lo
ve she wanted, but his love.
Voices from the Great Hall rose above the walkway and pulled Ravyn from her depression. She stood. Her back and hips ached from sitting on the cold stone for so long. She stretched and shook the feeling back into her legs. With an uneven gait, she limped to the railing and peered down into the hall.
A sea of gray swirled around a group of white-robed people. Ravyn recognized them immediately as The Order’s superiors. She took a step back, her heart galloping, threatening to tear away from her chest. Why were they here? Surely not for her. Possibilities raced through her mind but nothing made sense.
She scanned the crowd for Rhys or Luc but didn’t see them. They had to leave—tonight. A chill skittered through her and she rubbed her arms, trying to chase away the unease. She inched forward and leaned over the rail.
A black-robed figure amongst the sea of gray drew her attention. The hint of biting tapped against her arm. No, it couldn’t be. Before she could step back, the figure turned and stared up.
Bile rose, and his name hissed from her lips, pushed from her body by shock. “Powell.”
The monk stripped away whatever sense of security she’d had. He was here. Powell placed a hand on the shoulder of one of The Order’s Superiors and whispered in his ear. The figure nodded but made no further move.
Ravyn backed away from the rail and flattened her body against the cold marble. She had to find Rhys. Her mind raged with questions, demanding to know why Powell had come. But Ravyn knew why. He’d come for her.
Movement across the walkway drew her attention. She ducked into the alcove, frightened. Had Powell brought other minions? Panic made it difficult to breathe.
A man appeared in the walkway directly across from her. Sir Gregory James. What was he doing up here? He ignored the crowd below, his attention focused on somebody she couldn’t see.
Ravyn ducked behind a pillar and waited. A woman glided out of the shadows and Ravyn leaned forward, trying to get a better view. Her gaze narrowed as the woman stopped in front of Sir James. Were these two in league with Powell? She’d been so close to Lord James this morning. Surely she would have felt some disturbance from him. Or maybe not. He’d fed her his name. Maybe he was able to keep things locked behind his impenetrable wall, including his association with the Bane.
The woman turned in her direction and Ravyn’s breath caught.
Long black hair plaited in a braid just like her own hung down the woman’s back. She was the same build and height as Ravyn, and she wore pants, not exactly like Ravyn’s leathers, but similar. Staring at her was like looking at a mirror. The woman’s gaze turned in her direction and Ravyn gasped. Pale eyes reflected in the dim afternoon light. Though Ravyn couldn’t distinguish their color, she’d bet her life they were pale blue—like hers.
Sir Gregory’s head snapped toward Ravyn and pinned her with his stare. She couldn’t move, overwhelmed but not quite knowing what she had seen. The woman melted into the shadows, and after a second, he followed and disappeared.
She raced after them, needing to know who the woman was. A sense of the familiar drove her forward as she hurtled down the staircase. She stopped and scanned the crowd for Powell’s black robe, but only gray ebbed around her. Seeing Sir Gregory’s head towering above most of the throng, Ravyn barreled into the Bringers and pushed against the flow, trying to keep up. She made her way out of the crush and into the open courtyard. The echo of running footsteps spurred her on as she careened down the walkway and around the corner of the building. The tingle of biting subsided as she raced away from the Great Hall.
Hooves thundered as the mystery woman kicked her horse and raced away from Sir James, down the trail of Illuma Grand. Ravyn bent and braced her hands on her knees. She wanted to yell, wanted to shout for the woman to stop, but her heart pounded and her chest burned.
“Damn.” She was too late. She straightened and walked over to Sir James. They both stared down the now-empty lane. “Who is she?”
The question hung in the air. Gregory peered at her for a few seconds, making Ravyn think he wouldn’t reply. “All in good time, Lady Mayfield.”
Without another word, he walked away, leaving her alone on the front steps of Illuma Grand. She contemplated finding a horse and chasing after the woman, but knew her effort would be wasted. She was gone.
Her powers flared, shaking her to the core. She stumbled and lurched forward, grabbing a stone balustrade. Fire raced up her spine and down her arms as she fought the urge to vomit. An arm wrapped around her neck and wrenched her backward. Her feet dangled a step below her attacker. She clawed at the arm around her neck, scrambling for a foothold. The sensation of falling unbalanced her as she struggled to breathe. Blackness crept in at the edges of her vision like dense smoke. Screams couldn’t push past the arm crushing her neck.
She latched onto the arm choking her and released her heat. The fire raced along her arms and into her hands, willing her attacker to burn.
“Not this time, girl.”
The words whispered in her ear as a damp cloth covered her mouth and nose, filling her lungs with a sickly sweet odor. A single name screamed through her mind an instant before she slid into unconsciousness.
Powell.
Chapter Twenty-five
Powell laid Ravyn’s limp form at the edge of the clearing and stepped away from her as if offering food to a deadly predator. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and searched the surrounding woods. “Icarus.”
“I’m here, Brother.” Icarus stepped from the shadows. He circled Powell and came to a stop in front of him. Only inches away, Icarus smelled his fear, tasted his desire to please. “You’ve done well. You’ll be greatly rewarded for your service.”
The words rushed out. “Thank you, Icarus.”
Euphoria and anticipation of what Icarus’s praise would bring shone in the monk’s eyes. He’d seen it a hundred times—the promise of power, the taste of glory. Powell postured at being stronger than other minions, but he was just a puppet, an addict to the Bane’s essence. The good Brother hadn’t disappointed tonight, and, for that, Icarus would give him his fix—but not with Ravyn. He wouldn’t share the Ritual of Taking with a greedy minion who watched and panted for his prize.
Icarus glanced at her unconscious body. No, tonight he’d join with the Bringer in private. He moved toward her and crouched, then glided a talon over her cheek to brush a wayward curl from her face. Tonight would be for him.
His talon lingered over her skin. Forbidden tenderness rolled over him as he laid his hand flat against her cheek. So much softness and power contained in such a beautiful package. His fingers slipped to her neck. Her pulse beat strong and steady.
A familiar and unwelcome voice wafted out of the darkness. “Isn’t this a touching scene?”
Slowly rising, Icarus turned and faced Sha-hera. She leaned against a tree, her arms crossed, lifting her ample breasts nearly out of their sheer covering.
“I thought I told you to stay out of my business, whore,” Icarus said.
“Yes, I remember you saying something like that.” She pushed away from the tree and sauntered into the clearing. “You didn’t really think I’d heed your warning—” She stopped in front of Powell and looked at Icarus. “Did you?”
“Actually, I did. Stupid of me to think you were smarter than that.”
Sha-hera replied with a throaty laugh. She looked back at the monk and cocked her head. “So this is one of your pets?”
Powell swallowed heavily and took a step backward. His gaze cut to Icarus and back to the female demon.
“Icarus, haven’t you ever explained to your minions the dangers of leaving holy ground?”
Powell sent a pleading look to Icarus. She paced in front of him. He really should help the monk, if for no other reason than to best Sha-hera at her own game. But showing any type of favoritism would only provoke her. Though he hated to admit it, he’d been overzealous in acquiring the Bringer and hadn’t given his minion’s safe
ty much thought. Not that he normally would, it’s just that Powell had become very useful and well-placed within The Order. He had bigger plans for the monk, and losing him would mean starting over.
“Sha-hera,” Icarus said, lacing his words with boredom and menace. “What are you doing here?”
She dragged her talons none too gently across Powell’s neck as she circled him. He whimpered and flinched away from her touch.
“Your father sent me.” She stopped and wrapped an arm around the monk, drumming her talons on his upper arm. “He didn’t trust you to bring him the woman.”
Icarus sneered. “You lie.”
“Do I?” She sauntered toward him. Powell inched toward the trees. “Do you actually believe your father doesn’t know of your hunger for the throne?”
“Ironic coming from you. A viperous snake, waiting to strike,” he retorted.
She laughed and walked toward Ravyn’s body. Icarus stepped in front of her and bared his fangs, warning her off. She stopped and her laughter died.
“He knows, but as he cannot destroy me without an immortal weapon, he chooses to keep me close.” She crouched and surveyed Ravyn. “He understands me because we are the same.” Standing, she pinned him with her yellow stare. “Unlike you.”
Icarus narrowed his gaze, wondering at her tactics. “He understands me. I am his son.”
She shook her head. “You’re wrong. Vile neither trusts nor understands you and do you know why?” A smile of genuine pleasure crept across her full lips. “I do.”
He held her gaze, wondering if she knew of Vile’s plans to open The Abyss of Souls. Uneasiness sifted through him. There was something more in her smile, some knowledge she held that he didn’t. “Enlighten me.”
Sha-hera’s head snapped to the right as Powell ran for the trees, obviously realizing his poor judgment of being in the presence of two demons off sanctified ground. Her shrill laughter filled the clearing as she pounced; taking the monk down before he’d reached the tree line.
