Gail Z. Martin - COTN 03 - Dark Haven (V1.0)(lit)

by Gail Z. Martin

  Tris's ankle folded under him. He scrambled to get out of the thing's way as it made one last lunge for him, flames tonguing from its maw, its breath heavy with the stench of charred flesh. The teeth snapped just shy of Tris's throat as Jonmarc brought his sword down on the beast's neck. Weakened by the flames that consumed it, the beast's hide yielded to the sharp blade. As Jonmarc bore down with his full strength, the blade tore through, severing the head from the body. Charred, inside and out, the massive body staggered and fell, ooz­ing a vile black ichor that smelled of rotted meat.

  Jonmarc took no chances, stabbing the beast repeatedly until he was sure that it would not move again.

  When the creature did not stir, Tris let the wardings fall. Soldiers circled the beast, alert for trouble.

  "Get that damned thing out of here," Tris ordered, gritting his teeth against the pain. Cam wrapped the body in a tablecloth, hefting it over his shoulder. Another guard followed, holding the beast's head in a makeshift sack. Together, they hurried out of the room.

  Jonmarc helped Tris to a chair and Soterius sprinted to join them. Kiara pushed her way through row of guards, her eyes wide, a bor­rowed sword ready in her grasp.' Jair joined them, still holding the torch. Esme ran to where Tris was sprawled in his chair. Across the room, Carina knelt next to Harrtuck.

  "How badly are you hurt?" Esme asked.

  "Nothing except that damned ankle. I don't think I'm bleeding."

  As Esme began to remove Tris's boot from his injured leg, Jonmarc went to join Carina. Harrtuck lay in a pool of blood, with four deep slashes that went through his shoulder and upper back. Beneath the bloody gashes, Jon­marc glimpsed the white of bone.

  "I can't do this alone," Carina said. "I'm los­ing him. I need your help." Her hands were covered with Harrtuck's blood; he was pale and his breathing ragged.

  "I've always been the patient—I don't know how to help."

  "Do you trust me?" Carina met Jonmarc's gaze.

  "With my life."

  "Drop your guard and let me draw strength from you."

  Jonmarc hesitated, completely at a loss. If she can read my thoughts as she draws from me, what will she see? So many things in the past I'm not proud of, so much blood on my hands. If she can see where I've been, what I've done, will it change her mind? He looked at Harrtuck. "Take what you need," he said, closing his eyes. Tris and Gabriel told him he had better natural shielding against magic than most mortals. That had come in handy against mages or vayash moru who had tried to sway his thoughts. Now, he struggled to disarm those defenses. He focused on the familiar warmth of Carina's power, the touch he knew well from so many healings.

  He gasped and swayed as she began to draw from him, trying to shut out the buzz of the conversation around him, the shouts of the guards and his own heightened senses that still hummed with the energy of battle. Harrtuck must be worse off than I thought. He remem­bered how Tris and Cam and Carroway had let Carina draw from them when she had done battle healings in the caravan. Carina had told him how many hours Tris and Sakwi had sus­tained her when he'd been brought back from the Nargi camp more dead than alive. Feeling the steady drain for the first time, he marveled at their resilience, humbled at the cost it had taken to heal him so many times.

  He watched as Carina's touch knit together the sinews and skin of Harrtuck's back "more quickly than the most skilled surgeon, closing the gaping wounds until only scars remained. Joined in thought with Carina, he could feel the warmth of her healing. power as she strengthened Harrtuck's life force, bringing back the flickering thread until its glow was solid. Harrtuck was no longer in danger, although he was sure to feel the pain of bruis­es for days to come.

  Jonmarc was unprepared as Carina turned to him, clasping his hand between her own, slick with blood. Thank you. Her voice sounded in his mind, closer than thought. He felt her

  presence deeper than words, slipping against him more intimately than skin to skin, as if for an instant, their souls were intertwined. Just as quickly, it was gone, and Carina looked away from his questioning gaze. The sensation left him reeling. By the time he gathered himself to speak, Carina had slipped away, wiping her hands on her ruined ball gown, moving toward where the guards and servants clustered to see if anyone needed her skill.

  Harrtuck rolled over and groaned. "Careful there," Jonmarc said, making his tone as light as he could. "You came near as a whisper to seeing the Lady."

  "Aye," Harrtuck rasped, grimacing as he eased onto his newly healed back. "I thought I heard Her, singing for me in the distance."

  "Thank Carina."

  "Tris—is he all right?"

  "A little banged up, but not bad. Next time you decide to charge one of those things, take an army with you."

  "Yeah. An army." Harrtuck's voice drifted off. Jonmarc moved aside as two soldiers came up with a stretcher and slid Harrtuck onto it. He walked back to where Esme was just fin­ishing up with Tris's ankle. Carina was nowhere to be found.

  In the distance, Jonmarc heard music, and guessed that Carroway had been successful in cajoling the frightened guests into enjoying an impromptu concert. "By the Whore!" Donelan roared. "I'd heard tell that the two of you could fight like that, but I'd never expected to see it myself—and certainly not up close."

  "If I had any doubt of your power as a mage," Kalcen said to Tris, "or yours as a swordsman," he said with a nod toward Jon-marc, "I have none now." "Glad to oblige," Tris said dryly. "Keep your weight off it for a few days," Esme instructed as Tris gingerly tried to stand. "If I thought you'd listen, I'd send you to bed and tell you to stay there."

  "He's supposed to be on his honeymoon," Jonmarc noted. "That shouldn't be a prob­lem."

  Carroway shouldered his way through the soldiers. "Finally got away from the guests," he said. He glanced from Tris to Jonmarc. "You two all right?" ~ -

  "Considering the choices, not bad," Jonmarc replied.

  "I'd say you've fought those things before." Jair's gaze lingered on the scar that ran from Jonmarc's ear down below his collar. "More times than I'd like to remember." "We told the guests that you were both fine and that the beast was destroyed," Carroway said. "Crevan's pouring the brandy fast to get it off their minds. If you'd like, I'll make the announce­ment that the newlyweds have retired to the royal chamber. You'll be spared another appearance and the crowd can keep on drinking."

  Tris glanced at Kiara. "Wonderful idea— especially if it keeps me off the dance floor."

  Half a dozen soldiers escorted Tris and Kiara to their rooms. As Tris closed the door and locked it behind them, he wished that they might have the kind of total privacy a king could never enjoy.

  "You go hard on your wardrobe," Kiara observed. Tris looked down at the shredded long coat with the glimmer of chainmail that showed through the ruined sleeves and sighed.

  "Just one more reason I liked what we wore on the road. Cheaper to replace—and a lot more comfortable."

  He laid aside the tattered coat. His shoulder was beginning to throb from the force of the magicked beast's strikes. Tris winced as Kiara helped him remove the torn shirt and the chainmail that clearly showed deep claw marks. His chest and arm were already dark­ening with bruises.

  "Keeping you in one piece is going to be harder than I thought." Kiara's humor didn't reach her eyes.

  Tris drew her toward him. "Second thoughts?" His fingers toyed with her long hair, and the scent of her perfume quickened his heartbeat.

  "Not at all."

  "Something's bothering you."

  Kiara reddened. "It's nothing. Just—it seems so... public. The whole kingdom knows we're locked in here, trying to produce an heir!"

  "Do you think it would be any different, if we were off in a village somewhere? It's the same for farmers or kings—except that farmers aren't surrounded by guards."

  Her silk dress slipped across the bare skin of his chest and she wrapped her arms around his neck, laying her head on his shoulder. "Maybe so."

  "Be gratef
ul to my grandmother that she ended the whole custom of hanging a bed sheet out the window the next day to show that the bride was a virgin."

  "Really?"

  He shot her a wicked grin. "Carroway says that in the old days, many a couple brought along a rabbit.to sacrifice in order to bloody the sheet and save the bride's reputation. Grandmother said it was a barbaric custom and not suited to a modern kingdom. So we're spared that, at least." The laughter subsided. "Something else is on your mind."

  "I don't want to disappoint you," she mur­mured. "The whole business of being betrothed from birth...I haven't, I mean, I don't—"

  Tris drew back far enough to meet her eyes. "You couldn't possibly disappoint me—in any way," he said. "We're here. Together. Married. It's what I've wanted since Westmarch, even though it seemed too much to hope for." He paused. "I have an idea."

  He stepped toward the large four-poster bed and let down the bed curtains, so that they

  completely hid the bed within. "Close your eyes," he said, drawing her with him toward the darkened bed. "Now imagine that we're back on the road—two nobodies from nowhere. We're at an inn—one of the nicer ones, with a good fire and a nice dinner. We're totally safe. Everyone else has gone out for the evening."

  Kiara gave a sharp laugh. "Like that ever happened!"

  "You don't know how often I wished it would. So here we are, just two outlaws on the road, nobody important, with an evening all to ourselves. Any ideas on how to pass the time?"

  The passion of her kiss surprised him and he pulled her into his arms, letting himself fall backward into the darkness of the bed cur­tains. His question required no spoken reply.

  Late that night, Carina sat by the fire in the empty great room, watching the flickering coals. She looked up as footsteps approached. "There you are," Cam said. "I got your note. What's wrong?"

  Carina held out a hand, and Cam settled his bulk next to her on the bench Carina had pulled close to the hearth. The coals had been banked, but the fireplace was so large that even so, it was almost too warm to sit close. "You're going back to Isencroft tomorrow."

  "That's not new."

  Carina sighed. "No. But until now, it was just an idea. Last year, when we thought you'd died in the slavers' attack, I didn't know how to function. We were in so much danger—the slavers, then the ghosts in the Ruune Vidaya— there wasn't time to think. Everyone had bigger things to worry about. I didn't burden them. But I couldn't sleep. I didn't eat. I missed you terribly."

  "I didn't know where you were," Cam said quietly, reaching out to push back a strand of dark hair from her eyes. "Soterius and Har-rtuck pulled me out of the caravan wreckage. I would have died if they hadn't dragged me to a healer. She was one of the Sisterhood, and she took me to a small citadel Jared hadn't found yet. They had the elixir we needed to keep Donelan alive." He took Carina's hand in his. "That was the hardest thing I ever had to do in my life—choose between going after you and saving the king. The only reason I found the strength to go back to Isencroft was that Soterius and Harrtuck promised me they'd find you."

  "One night, when we were at Westmarch, I had Tris search for you," Carina whispered. "I was so relieved when he said you weren't among the dead. But I didn't know if I'd ever see you again. And now, I'm going away again."

  "I didn't like being away from you. You know what we always said—you were the

  brains and I was the brawn. Without you, I had to figure things out for myself." Cam smiled. "And from the stories Jonmarc tells, you learned to fight."

  "It's time, Carina. We need to go our own ways. You've got a life waiting for you in Dark Haven. I've got a job to do guarding Donelan—it's more important than ever with the unrest back home. There's no one I'd trust more than Jonmarc to take care of you." He grinned. "And I'll admit, the daughter of the brewer's guild master is my type of girl." He tipped her chin up to meet his eyes. "In time, you'll get Jonmarc to Isencroft. And I'll come visit—after you've gotten settled in."

  "Promise?"

  "Promise."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ON the morning after the royal wedding, Shekerishet's courtyard was busy as wed­ding guests made ready to depart. King Kalcen and his entourage left first, with Donelan and the Isencroft retinue leaving just before the supper bells. All day long, nobles took advan­tage of the unseasonably mild weather to head for home. Jonmarc watched them from his bal­cony. From the hurry apparent in some of the nobles' packing, he guessed that the attack had done more than an empty pantry might to hurry guests on their way.

  Carina had been busy making her goodbyes to Cam and Donelan, taking up most of the day. Jonmarc chafed at the delay to see her pri­vately. It was after the seventh bells when the door opened into the sitting room where he waited.

  "I was starting to get worried," Jonmarc said, rising to meet her. She looked tired.

  "After I said goodbye to Cam, I stopped by to check on Harrtuck. He's going to be all right—but it may be a while before he's ready for any real fighting."

  Jonmarc took her hand. "There isn't any fighting to be done. He's supposed to have a comfortable palace job now."

  Carina's eyes darkened. "It's not long before Tris will have to leave for war," she said. "I hope for Kiara's sake that you're right."

  Jonmarc folded her into his arms, holding her close against him. Even dressed for court, the scent of her herbs and potions clung to her, a spicy, earthy scent. Her hand slipped up over his shoulder. He'd left the mail shirt back in his room, and her touch against the bruises from the fight made him wince.

  "In all the excitement yesterday, I never took care of your shoulder."

  "It's nothing."

  Carina slipped her hand inside the neckline of his shirt. Her magic eased the pain of the deep bruises and pulled muscles from the bat­tle. Jonmarc realized how much he'd hungered for her touch.

  "Last night, when you were healing Har­rtuck, I felt something—the way you touched my mind."

  Carina looked away and stepped out of his arms, as if his words had struck a nerve. "I'm

  sorry, I shouldn't have done that without per­mission."

  "When you healed with Tris and Car-roway—was it like that, too?" The words tumbled out before Jonmarc could stop himself and he felt instantly chagrinned, knowing how petty and jealous he sounded, yet desperate to know.

  "No," she said, and Jonmarc was surprised at how deeply he felt relieved. "I just thought it only fair that you know."

  "Know what?"

  "Know what it really means to be close to a healer." Jonmarc heard sadness and fear in her voice. "Some men are afraid to take a healer as a lover. They say we steal souls."

  Jonmarc stepped up behind Carina and gen­tly turned her to face him. "I'm not afraid," he said. "You can't steal something that's already been given to you." He kissed her hard, sur­prised at the fervor with which she returned it. He let his hand slip down from her shoulder to cup her breast, and she did not pull away. Emboldened, he moved to the lacing of her bodice, and was surprised and pleased to feel her fingers working at the lacing of his trews.

  The thick Noorish carpet was soft and warm in front of the fire as he drew her down with him. He had thought to move slowly, that she might be inexperienced, but he found that her hunger, her need, matched his own. Jonmarc knew her touch well as a healer. Now her hands moved across his skin as a lover, and he discovered how her gift could be used in much more pleasant ways. She met his eyes, and in that instant he felt the brush of her mind against his in an embrace as intimate as the twining of their bodies. If this is soul-stealing, then let it last forever.

  Later, when they lay together by the warmth of the fire, Carina giggled and lifted her head from his shoulder. "I guess now you'll have to keep your word to Donelan and make an hon­est woman of me!"

  "Don't you remember what I told you about what it's like out in the villages, away from court? An offer of marriage made and publicly accepted—"

  "Can't get much more public t
han at the wedding of a king."

  "—a token gift and an oath," he said, touch­ing the shevir that glistened on her wrist. "And then, to act on the commitment..."

  "So you're telling me that we're married?"

  "Handfasted. As married as most folks get out in the real world. We can make a ritual wedding when we get to Dark Haven. I suspect Gabriel's got it all planned." He let his finger trace the sil­ver strands of the shevir. "Lady Vahanian."

  Carina smiled. "I like that."

  He gave a wicked grin and let his hand slide down to her belly. "Perhaps we shouldn't wait long for that wedding. You might be racing Kiara for a baby."

  Carina blushed and looked down. "Healers can control those things," she murmured. "I wasn't sure if you'd want—"

  "A family?" he finished for her. "I'm thirty years old, Carina. Time to settle down. I want a family. Our family. More than I've ever want­ed anything in my life."

  Carina's grin was mischievous. "There's no hurry."

  Jonmarc pulled her close, losing himself in the warmth of her embrace, the dusky scent of her hair, and the magical nearness that slipped inside his thoughts, making everything whole.

  Jonmarc, Carina, and Gabriel left Shekerishet for Dark Haven the next evening. Gabriel's car­riage took them as far as Ghorbal, where the snows grew deep and the best roads ended. From Ghorbal, they made the mountain cross­ing on horseback. On the far side of the mountains, an elaborate sleigh awaited them, and vayash moru stood ready to take the hors­es to shelter. Carina was grateful for the relative comfort of the sleigh. She huddled in the heavy furs, pulling her thick cloak tightly around her­self. Even sitting close to Jonmarc, she could not get warm despite the box of hot rocks at their feet. Only Gabriel and their vayash moru driver seemed unconcerned by the bitter cold.

  "I swear it's colder than it was this time last year, when we made the crossing to Principali­ty," Carina said, shivering.

  "We were lucky. The snows held off until we were at Westmarch. They're early this year." Jonmarc shifted in his seat to draw her closer.