“Isn’t that why Father Michael and Cian remained?” Barrow said, fists clenching. “And what of Fionn and Lora?”
“They know not whether we survived the journey,” Kael interrupted.
“And we don’t know what has befallen them,” Lukasz continued, nodding at Kael. “Have you so soon forgotten that we were pursued on the very night we fled the keep? Our rebellion was discovered before it began. Our friends may be imprisoned, or worse.”
Barrow pushed his chair back from the table, slamming his way out the inn’s door without another word.
Lukasz and Kael exchanged a long look.
“I’ll go after him,” Kael said, standing up. “You wouldn’t think it, but Barrow has something of a penchant for drama.”
He patted Ember’s shoulder. “You’re a brave lass, Lady Morrow.”
Ember offered him a weak smile. She’d spoken with certitude, but now that Barrow had stormed out and the implications of her words were sinking in, Ember began to feel much less than capable of following the path she’d set for herself.
“He doesn’t, you know.” The commander’s voice brought Ember back to the table.
“What?” She rubbed her tired eyes, hoping to clear her thoughts.
Lukasz smiled. “Have a penchant for drama. Neither is he quick to anger. Barrow fears for you, that is all.”
“I don’t mean to hurt him,” Ember said.
“He knows that.” Lukasz stood up, leaving her at the table, and went to speak with the innkeeper. Ember toyed with her empty cup, wondering if she should follow Kael and try to reason with Barrow.
Lukasz returned to his chair, pressing an iron key into her hand. “Your room is upstairs—the key opens the westernmost door. And the innkeeper’s daughter will bring a copper tub and heated water so you can bathe.”
Ember shook her head. “I don’t need such fine treatment.”
“We still travel as your ladyship’s retinue,” Lukasz told her. “It’s wiser that we keep up that appearance.”
“If I’m to reach Cernon tomorrow, I must rise early.” Ember rose and took Lukasz’s hand. “I’ll say good night now.”
“Good night, Lady Morrow.” Lukasz clasped her fingers. “And remember Kael’s words.”
“What were those?” Ember asked, thinking of Kael’s jests.
“You’re very brave,” he answered. “I think we may soon all owe your courage a great debt.”
Taking leave of the commander, Ember climbed the stairs and went to her room. Like the simple comfort of the inn’s main floor, her chamber was sparely appointed with a bed and a table with a single chair. She’d no sooner settled onto the edge of the bed than a tentative knock brought her to the door.
Opening it, she was greeted by a girl no more than ten years of age. A little bit of her brown hair peeked out from beneath the kerchief that covered her head. She looked up at Ember with large eyes and a shy smile.
Ember stepped back and the girl carried in a copper tub half as big as she was. After setting the tub down, she took a bundle from inside the basin and set it on the floor. The girl gave Ember a folded cloth that she’d held tucked under her arm and then hurried from the room, returning a few minutes later with a pail of steaming water. The girl poured the scalding water into the tub. After several trips back and forth, the tub held sufficient water for bathing.
The girl looked at the full tub, the cloth bundle, and then at Ember. When Ember smiled and nodded, the girl beamed, gave a little curtsy, and left the room, swinging her pail.
Alone and exhausted, Ember fought her way out of the heavy brocade gown and slipped off her chemise. She stepped into the copper tub and then knelt. The steaming water covered Ember to her waist. Gooseflesh rose on her arms from the chill of the room on her bare skin, while her lower body basked in the bath’s heat. Reaching over the side of the tub, Ember collected the bound cloth, unwrapping it to reveal a rough lump of soap. Despite its misshapen appearance, when Ember sniffed the soap, she found it bursting with the scent of lavender.
Ember set to scrubbing herself from head to toe, washing away days of travel by land and sea. With her skin free of dirt and her hair heavy, sopping wet, for a moment Ember let her body melt, forgetting the fears and strains that she still carried. The tub wasn’t large enough for her to lie down, but she leaned over, resting her forearms along the curved edge of the bath and laying her forehead against them. Steam caressed her face, and she took deep breaths of the cleansing hot air.
Another reluctant-sounding knock at the door roused Ember from her dreamy repose. Assuming that the girl had returned to see if Ember was through with the tub, or possibly if she wanted more water heated, Ember stood up, gathered the plain sheet of linen the girl had provided, and gave herself a cursory drying. Wrapping her body in the cloth, Ember went to the door.
“Who is it?”
“Barrow.”
Ember glanced over her shoulder at her discarded dress, but swiftly abandoned the idea of putting it on. She opened the door only slightly, keeping herself hidden behind it.
“Ember?” Barrow asked, still in the hall.
“Come in quickly,” she said, pulling the door open a bit farther.
Barrow stepped inside, and Ember closed the door after him. His brow was furrowed until he looked at her. Barrow’s surprise was quickly replaced by a mischievous half smile.
“I had a bath,” Ember said, straightening so she’d look more dignified. As dignified as she could when wearing only a sheet of undyed linen.
Barrow answered gravely, though his eyes danced with mirth. “I can see that.”
He took a step toward her, but Ember backed away. She hadn’t forgotten his angry departure from their table. His words had left a sting that still festered.
Watching Ember’s defensive movement, Barrow also took a step back. His gaze avoided her warning glare. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Ember asked. She didn’t want his apology if he thought she’d somehow reverted to playing the part of a noble maid who was offended by his advances.
“For letting my love for you become possession,” he told her. His voice was quiet, regretful. “What I desire can’t stand in the way of the greater purpose we serve.”
Lifting his eyes to meet hers, Barrow said, “I won’t lie to you. I don’t want to see you do this.”
“I know,” Ember answered. “But you understand why I must?”
He nodded, and she went to him. Barrow folded Ember in his arms, resting his cheek against her wet hair. He held her quietly for some time, but when she felt him tense, Ember asked, “What is it?”
“I’m afraid my jealousy is a beast I find difficult to tame,” he said with a sigh.
Ember stepped back, lifting her hand to touch his face. “You have nothing to be jealous of.”
His eyes were tight with strain, and Ember’s fingers slid along the tense set of his jaw. “Tell me what’s troubling you. Is it something more than my return to Tearmunn?”
“It’s what that return means for you,” Barrow told her. His arms tightened around her back.
She smiled at him. “I don’t think I’ll be in as much danger as you believe. People would always rather see me as a spoiled nobleman’s daughter than a soldier. All I have to do is be what Jérôme thinks I am.”
“That doesn’t worry me.” Barrow continued to hold her close, but he looked away from her.
“Then what does?”
“Alistair.” Barrow’s teeth were clenched when he spoke the other knight’s name, making the word sound like a growl.
Ember started to laugh, but when she saw fear in Barrow’s averted eyes, she stopped. Rising to her tiptoes, she kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear, “You have nothing to fear from Alistair.”
“Not I. You.” One of Barrow’s hands came up to cradle her head. “I fear for you.”
Though a part of Ember wanted to push him away and laugh again, the way he held her sent a cool prickling of fear thro
ugh her veins.
“Why?” She wrapped her arms around Barrow’s neck, letting the full length of her body press into him.
Barrow was silent, his arms strong around her so that, while her toes brushed the ground, she was no longer standing on her own.
“Tell me.” She curled her fingers in his dark hair.
“Ember, you go to him with words of love on your tongue. Of loyalty to his cause.” Barrow set her down and walked away. For a moment, Ember worried he would leave, but he turned back to face her, and she saw how ashen his face was.
“What will you do when he seeks to claim the love you offer?”
Rather than walking to Barrow, Ember went to the bed. She settled on it, keeping the linen sheet wrapped around her body and tucking her legs beneath her.
“I understand your fears, but I would try to assuage them.”
Barrow stayed near the door, frowning at her.
“Please, come sit with me.” Ember held out her hand, and Barrow came to the bed. He took her hand, sitting on the edge of the feather-stuffed tick but not moving to embrace her.
Holding his fingers in a tight clasp, Ember said, “I will give him only what I must to persuade him of my love, but nothing more.”
Staring at the floor, Barrow asked in a hoarse whisper, “And what do you think that will be?”
“Sweet words,” Ember said quietly. “Brief embraces and light kisses.”
Barrow shook his head. “I worry that you underestimate Alistair’s obsession with you. He sought your bed before you were willing.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” Ember answered. “I will never forget, nor will I give Alistair any chance to attempt such folly.”
“Then how will you—” Barrow looked at her, frowning.
“Two things work in my favor,” Ember told him. “The first is Agnes. Her illegitimate child, fathered by Alistair’s own brother, offers sound reason for me not to share my bed with him before marriage. The second is my own virtue. As I will have reembraced my role as a proper noblewoman, that serves the same purpose as my sister’s misfortune.”
A little color returned to Barrow’s face. “And you think he’ll be persuaded?”
“I do.”
Barrow dropped his head, covering his eyes with his hands. “I don’t want this. I wish I could be stronger for you, Ember. But I’m not.”
Ember crawled to him and rested her chin on his shoulder. “I would be more troubled if you sent me to Alistair with a cheerful heart and good tidings.”
A low sound rumbled from Barrow’s throat that Ember slowly realized was laughter. When he turned to look at her, he was smiling.
“You have a marvelous spirit,” he said. “Like none I’ve ever known.”
Ember leaned in, kissing him. His arms came around her waist, and she tangled her fingers in his hair while her tongue tasted the sweat and spice of his jaw and neck.
Barrow’s voice was tight when he said, “I can tarry here. Or find a room of my own.”
“If you think I will spend this night without you, you are a fool.” Ember’s lips returned to his.
“Hopefully not a fool,” he answered, with a slight smile. “But I know too well that my penchant for jealousy makes me weak when I must be strong.”
“Meaning?” Ember frowned.
“I would stay with you,” Barrow told her. “But we should seek sleep. If you kiss me again, I will be too tempted to take things further than we dare.”
Ember nodded, a tightness gripping her limbs. Though she didn’t voice her thoughts, Ember knew she couldn’t overcome that same temptation. She also knew Barrow thought her resolve greater than it was. A part of Ember had hoped he would share this last night making love to her, possessing her as he wanted to before she went to Tearmunn professing a false love.
But those were impulses she couldn’t give in to. As much as she wanted him, Ember reluctantly conceded her own desires’ defeat. What lay ahead bore far more import than indulging in one night’s passion.
So Ember let Barrow pull the heavy furs over their bodies. She stayed wrapped in her linen sheet. He slipped off his boots, but otherwise remained clothed. Their one concession to love was the intimacy of their slumber. As Ember’s eyes closed, she could feel Barrow’s breath on the back of her neck. His body curled around the length of hers, and his arm held her close. She twined her fingers with his.
“I love you,” Ember whispered, frowning at the strange echo she thought she’d heard. Until she realized that Barrow had whispered the same words in her ear within the same breath she’d spoken them.
BOSQUE’S TASK OFFERED Alistair a welcome distraction, but it wasn’t always enough. Though he’d set himself to spending long hours in the scribes’ quarters, jotting notes and sketching visions of his ultimate goal, his mind still found occasion to wander until it came upon Ember.
He’d made an effort to avoid confronting his worst fears about her. As Eira sent her emissaries to entreat their counterparts across Europe and Asia to join her, they’d had a few reports about what might have befallen the small band of rebels who fled Tearmunn. A rash of shipwrecks had plagued the western European coast, with the few survivors relating strange tales of their doomed voyages. Some spoke of a terrible sea monster that attacked their ship, while others recalled only a maelstrom suddenly appearing beneath their vessel, the vortex pulling the crew and passengers into a watery death spiral.
The stories of chaos and death abounded, but no reports of stranded knights appeared in the flurry of news, leaving Alistair to wonder about Ember’s fate. Setting his quill on the desk, Alistair stretched his arms back. His muscles had grown sore from maintaining a hunched position so long.
“Interesting work.”
Alistair gave a yelp. He hadn’t heard Bosque enter the library, but now the tall man was leaning over his shoulder, peering at the drawings Alistair had scratched out on a length of vellum.
Recovering himself, Alistair turned to face Bosque. “Will you sit? I have some ideas I’d like to share with you.”
“I’d be honored.” Bosque settled into the scribe’s desk next to Alistair’s.
Alistair handed Bosque a sheet of notes he’d already cut from the vellum scroll. He waited while Bosque’s eyes flitted over the page.
“An ambitious plan.”
“But possible.” Alistair considered putting his words to Bosque as a question, but had decided to do so would make him sound doubtful about his work.
“Yes.” Bosque set the page on the desk. “What do you need from me?”
Picking up the quill, Alistair stroked the length of the swan feather to calm his nerves. “If you’ve found any of the clerics who have sworn fealty to Eira particularly skilled, I’d like to have their names.”
Bosque nodded, but watched Alistair expectantly.
Of course he knows that’s not all, Alistair thought. Bosque had an uncanny ability to sense things that remained unsaid.
“And…” Alistair’s mouth had gone dry. “Your blood.”
Though Alistair hadn’t known what reaction to expect, he didn’t know what to say when Bosque simply tilted his head, as though amused.
“It’s the key to their healing,” Alistair continued, tapping his quill on the page.
“I understand,” Bosque replied. “That’s very clever.”
Alistair ducked his head in respect. “Thank you, Lord Mar.”
Rising, Bosque said, “Hamish has considerable power, but has been disconsolate since losing his ability to weave. He needs a new focus for his magics. I will send him to you.”
Bosque placed his hands behind his back, taking a turn around the desk. “You should find somewhere to put your enchantments through trials. It should be hidden. I’d suggest the catacombs beneath the chapel. Father Michael can show you the entrance; it is known only to a few within the keep.”
“I’d like to begin the trials,” Alistair said, gazing at the sketch he’d just finished. He glanced at Bosque and
his heart convulsed with fear. “But who—”
Bosque answered before Alistair had finished his question. “The stockades have begun to fill with those whose reluctance to join us has made them suspect. Start there.”
“We don’t need them for questioning?” Alistair asked.
“I’ll send you those who have nothing to offer us but cannot be trusted to go free,” Bosque told him. “They are prisoners now and will remain prisoners under your… care. Be prepared to receive them on the morrow.”
Alistair stood and gave a quick bow. “I will, my lord.”
As he passed Alistair to depart the library, Bosque said, “I’m pleased you didn’t limit your vision. Ambition is the fertile soil in which true power can be cultivated.”
When Bosque was gone, Alistair settled back into the desk. He found he couldn’t return immediately to his drawing, due to the shaking of his hands. It wasn’t fear that caused the tremor through his limbs, but excitement crackling beneath his skin. Not only had Bosque been pleased with his work, but he believed it would come to fruition.
My vision. My creation.
Lifting his still-trembling hand, Alistair delicately touched the image on the vellum. At a glance, the sketch might have appeared to be someone’s dream of strange knights who rode to war upon wolves.
But wolf mounts were not what Alistair aimed to create. Not at all.
Alistair opened and closed his fingers several times, hoping to still them.
“Lord Hart!” A servant burst into the library. “Lord Hart! You must come!”
Jumping to his feet, Alistair rushed to meet the breathless servant. “What is it?”
“In the armory,” the boy panted. “A portal has opened.”
“From where?” Alistair asked. He grabbed the boy’s shirt, tugging him along as he made quick strides through the manor.
“They didn’t tell me,” the servant answered.
Alistair grunted in frustration, his mind a rush of possibilities. Eira had been waiting for a portal to open. They would send a group of emissaries through, to continue the work that the first envoys had begun. No longer able to open portals at Tearmunn, they’d been forced to rely on conventional means of travel, slowing their ability to reach the furthest outposts of Conatus.
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