“Someone opened the postern.”
Torch released a string of invective.
“My sentiments exactly.”
“But we’ve no way of knowing who.”
“It had to be one of the Blackbriar people.”
Not Calista. Please no. Torch closed his fist about his Stone, as if it might identify the culprit for him, but as before, the Stone remained stubbornly cold and silent.
A rattle from across the cell broke into his thoughts. He tensed, all his senses straining toward the door and freedom. Yes, if he was going to form an escape plan, he needed to start taking stock of the guards’ routine—how many stood before the door, how they were armed, how often they changed.
Surely he had enough of his Brothers with him to overwhelm whoever stood sentry, but how far would they get? One man alone was easier to conceal than their numbers, and that was assuming everyone was healthy. Torch needed to account for Owl. He couldn’t leave the boy behind.
“Stand clear.” The order came muffled from behind a thick panel of wood. “No one try anything funny now.”
There was a clanking and a shifting of bodies before the door swung open. A wedge of yellow torchlight illuminated a pair of burly guards, helmeted, blades drawn. Between them sagged a third man, smaller and slightly built. The guards shoved him inside, and the door slammed shut again.
Torch squinted into the renewed darkness. “Who has joined us?”
“It’s me,” said a mild voice. “Brother Tancrid.”
Damn. But it was hardly a surprise Magnus’s men had found the Acolyte. Torch could only hope the man had discovered something useful. “Welcome to our humble abode. I’d offer you hospitality, but I’m afraid any food would be chancy at best.”
With more clanking and shuffling, Brother Tancrid made his way through Torch’s men. “It’s no more than I deserve. My quest has failed, and I have not the means to undertake another.”
“It is of little import given our current circumstances.” The secret to creating Adamant would hardly help them escape.
“I was close, so close. I journeyed through years and across leagues into the farthest north, where I saw things that even the most learned masters of lore dare not dream of. Alas, I was pulled back before I could gain the knowledge we sought.”
“Unfortunately there was the small problem of this keep coming under attack and falling.”
“Just one more journey.” A pleading note crept into his tone. “Now that I know the way, I could retrace my steps in a trice, if I had but the means.”
“I’m not sure we can do anything about that now. I’ve got more pressing troubles at the moment.”
“You do have the means.” With uncanny accuracy, Brother Tancrid reached out and touched the clasp at Torch’s throat. “In your Stone.”
What was the matter with the man? He talked like someone who wasn’t even aware he’d been locked in a dungeon. “Do you have any knowledge of healing?” Torch asked instead.
“I’ve given the matter some study.”
“Then see to my squire.” Torch gestured toward the door, even though the shadows likely hid the movement. “He’s suffered a blow to the head. Once we’re safely out of this mess, we can think about that other matter we discussed.”
“As you wish, sire.”
—
The heady scent of roses did nothing to counteract the sting of Mother’s unguent. Calista gritted her teeth against the pain as her mother rubbed healing into the gouge that ran the length of her neck.
Things could be far, far worse. Torch lay in chains, but at least he was alive—for now. As was she.
“Who did this to you?” Mother asked, keeping her voice low. Though they’d been left to themselves, there was no mistaking the role of the mail-clad soldier loitering outside Mother’s bedchamber.
Calista bit her lip, unsure how to reply. “I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you it was Brother Tancrid.” The words emerged, hoarse, from a tight throat.
Mother left off her dabbing to gaze at Calista, her dark eyes narrow. “Do not be ridiculous. As much as we’ve gone through, now is no time to play childish games.”
Calista returned her mother’s stare with a wide-eyed, guileless expression. “I am not playing games.”
“You expect me to believe your old tutor appeared from wherever he’s holed himself away since he left us, to attack you? While the keep was besieged?” Stated like that, the truth did sound ridiculous, but Mother had not known of the Acolyte’s presence. No one had, apparently—unless Torch had installed him in that upper room. Though how that event had come to pass, she could not say.
“If you prefer to believe Magnus’s men did this, you’re welcome to.” Not that Mother would sooner believe that version of events, but Calista could hardly bring herself to blame her wound on the Brotherhood.
Mother reached for soft padding to bind over Calista’s throat. “Magnus’s men have taken your father from me,” she muttered, a note of betrayal creeping into her voice. “They will not allow me to attend my own husband. Barbarians.”
Great beyond, was Mother finally softening her stance on Torch and his men? “Are you talking about Magnus’s troops?”
She spat into the rushes. “Even this Torch allowed me to see him eventually, and he wasn’t suffering then.”
“How…” Calista forced the question from her lips. “How bad are Papa’s wounds?”
Mother threw up her hands, and her sleeves fell back to reveal the fine filigree of tattoos along her arms. “I do not know, as they will not allow me to see him. And I cannot trust these soldiers to know what to do for him.”
Calista swallowed against a knot of worry. “I don’t suppose they trust our loyalty, since Papa fought against them.”
“Who are they to question our loyalty when we opened the gate and let them in?”
Mother’s question struck Calista in the gut like a spear. “Did Papa break his oath to Torch?” she asked carefully.
“What does it matter?” Mother ran her finger down a column of Aranyan characters that lined one of the scrolls scattered across the bed. “He had to break faith with one monarch or another.”
“But did he break faith with Torch?” Calista insisted. She wasn’t at all certain why it mattered so much, when Torch had forced all her father’s actions since his arrival at Blackbriar.
“Do you think they’d be holding him under guard, wounded as he is, if he had?” Mother brushed one scroll aside to take up another. The first drifted to the floor at Calista’s feet. “But someone had to make us appear loyal.”
Calista caught the long trailing edge of her mother’s sleeve. “Are you saying you let the enemy in?”
“Some would say the enemy was already within our walls.” Mother shook her head slowly. So much for her softening her stance. “I merely shortened the battle and likely saved lives in the process. Torch was never going to prevail against so many.”
Though she wanted to argue, Calista held her tongue. She’d seen for herself. Had the struggle for the keep gone on, Torch might have lost even more of his men. He himself might have been killed rather than merely taken prisoner.
The pain that notion brought far eclipsed any residual sting from her scratches. For as short a time as she’d known the man, she could not begin to imagine such vital energy snuffed out for good and all.
But then, if the keep hadn’t fallen when it did, there was no telling what might have happened in that tiny, overheated room, either. Brother Tancrid never truly meant you harm.
She had to believe that, yet he hadn’t been himself. If Magnus’s soldiers hadn’t broken in at just the right moment…
No, he was coming back to himself on his own.
Perhaps.
She shuddered at the memory of his hands scrabbling at her throat until that one unnatural nail broke the skin and drew blood. He’d claimed to require blood, but once he’d spilled hers, he seemed to return—truly this time—from
wherever that strange sleep had taken him. The light of recognition had come back into his eyes, followed by shock and horror. His grip had slacked in the instant before the soldiers had broken down the door.
Another memory—one from his ravings—intruded on her thoughts. Not the right blood. Apparently hers hadn’t been, either, thank the Three, and he’d come to that realization in time.
Still, relief flooded her at the thought of Magnus’s men taking the Acolyte off. As much as she treasured her childhood memories of the man, she would never allow herself to remain alone with him again.
“You must get out.” Mother’s harsh statement, proclaimed in the guttural tones of her native tongue, shocked Calista from her musings.
“What?”
“You must leave. Take Tamsin and get out while you can. They found you dressed for battle.”
Calista still wore the boiled leather jerkin. Its front was stiff with dried blood.
“They will discover your wedding, if they have not already done so,” Mother continued. “You made enough of a spectacle wearing that gown intended for a king’s bride. Do you think Magnus will stand by and allow you to make a mockery of him? Get out while you can.”
It took Calista a moment to process all her mother had just said. It took her a few more to formulate a halting reply. While she understood the Aranyan language, she rarely had reason to use it herself. “I will not leave you.”
“You will not leave your lover, you mean.”
“My husband.”
“He was your lover first. Otherwise you would not have wedded him.”
“You cannot tell me you wouldn’t do the same.” After all, Mother had left her own people to settle at Blackbriar with Papa.
“I had no choice. You do until they start asking questions.”
“You had no choice?” Perhaps Calista hadn’t grasped her mother’s meaning. “That is not the way I’ve heard the story.”
“I was the daughter of a chieftain.” Amara’s pride in her origins rang through her words. “He chose to offer me to a man I wanted nothing to do with. Not your father,” she added in reply to Calista’s unvoiced question. “I rebelled by giving myself to a mercenary come to the southlands on a mission from Magnus. He’d sent your father to kill one of his detractors. I chose Belwin Thorne over the man my father wished me to marry, but that did not save us from banishment once we were discovered.”
Mercenary. Detractor. Banishment. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Calista knew she ought not understand these words. Mother had never had occasion to discuss this part with her in any language, but somehow the meaning became immediately clear.
“But Mother…Why have you done the same to me? You offered me to Magnus and I had no say in the matter. Now I’ve chosen otherwise. I would expect you to be more sympathetic to my cause.” Sympathetic to my cause. Where had that phrasing come from? She’d never possessed such a broad vocabulary.
“Your accent…Where have you acquired this sudden fluency in Aranyan?”
So her mind hadn’t been playing tricks on her. Mother had noticed, too. “I…I do not know. The proper words just come into my head.” But she wasn’t about to question the ability or allow her mother to deflect the topic of conversation. “Never mind that now. Just please answer my question.”
“I never knew Magnus was so abhorrent to you.” As if she was testing Calista’s sudden ability, Mother’s speech accelerated. “You never protested the arrangement.”
“I never knew I could.” In truth, she’d never known she wanted to until Torch rode into Blackbriar’s bailey and took the keep. “And you have always told me I was destined for a king.” Destined for a king. She’d only ever heard her mother say that in the common tongue of the Strongholds. “Those are hardly words to make me believe I have a choice.”
“I still retain the pride of my people and my position.” With a gentle hand, Mother cupped Calista’s cheek. “And in a way, I felt as if Magnus sent your father to me. I owe him loyalty for that, and if I could pay him back with the gift of my only daughter…”
“You suggested the match?”
“I suppose that makes me no better than my own father. Like me, you have chosen differently, but now you must think of your future and leave while you still can.”
“No. My place is here. Could you ever leave Father?”
Her mother’s hand dropped to her side. “Has this man seduced you that sweetly?”
Heat crept up the back of Calista’s neck. “It was sweet, and I don’t wish it to be over. Do you not believe him now that he’s stood before the altar and claimed it?”
“He believes in his claim. That is clear enough. It does not matter what I believe, so much as what your father and the other Stronghold lords do.”
“But you could influence Father if you wished.”
Calista glanced at the floor, where Mother’s scroll lay forgotten among the rushes. She had to force herself to look away. Never in the past had she been able to read the Aranyan characters, but suddenly they resolved themselves into sense.
Kingsbane.
By the Three, what was happening to her? “I must rescue him if I can.”
Chapter 21
The justiciar had called for Mother, which only meant one thing. Before long, they would come to question Calista.
“The ground pits of apricots, berries of the nightshade plant, leaves of the same, dragonwort, blackrose root.” She muttered the list of deadly ingredients under her breath like a novice loremaster reciting the tale of the years until they were committed to memory. By all that was perfect and precious, let her have enough time.
“The ground pits of apricots, berries of the nightshade plant, leaves of the same, dragonwort, blackrose root.” By the Three Gods, let her have the ingredients to hand in the stillroom.
“The ground pits of apricots.” Useful against rats, their sweetness would hide the bitter taste of the nightshade. Yes, and Mother kept that about as well. Along with the dragonwort, it was useful against diseases of the skin, if fatal when taken internally.
“Blackrose.” The only unfamiliar ingredient on the list, although a suspicion niggled at the back of her mind. She could hardly expect a scroll out of Aranya to term the plants Blackbriar roses, and her mother had smuggled the first seedlings on the long journey from that land, the root balls carefully wrapped and kept moist.
The aged parchment crackled beneath Calista’s finger as once more she went over the list. She still wasn’t sure she ought to rely on her sudden comprehension of its contents, but the ability might go away as quickly as it had appeared. And that same suspicion at the back of her mind prodded her onward. In a way, she felt as if she were wandering through a darkened passage where naught but a single light glimmered faintly ahead. She stumbled toward it, almost as if a voice encouraged her.
Here. This is your path. Follow it to the very end.
That voice seemed to wish her to destroy an entire army.
You must accomplish what Josse could not. Follow. Trust.
That was the problem. She had no idea where this voice had come from, and it was asking her to do something that ran contrary to all she’d learned at her mother’s side. Her hands were meant for healing, but this path led her toward destruction.
Yet, these scrolls also belonged to her mother. And her mother had used them. Not only that, Calista had pushed the Kingsbane-tipped quarrels onto Torch, and he’d taken them. Not a moon’s turn ago, she would have killed Torch herself to defend her home. Today, she’d been ready to fight once again.
Now that you possess the secret, you must do what is necessary.
And that sounded just a little too much like Torch himself telling her marriage to him would demand a lot of her on their wedding night. Not even a full day had passed since then. Or perhaps it had. She no longer knew, but the graininess like sand scratching at the back of her eyes told her she ought to have been abed long since.
A sound in the corridor sent her hea
rt slamming into her throat. They were coming for her.
“The ground pits of apricots, berries of the nightshade plant, leaves of the same, dragonwort, blackrose root.” She muttered the list of ingredients one last time, even as she scrambled to hide the scrolls.
But she turned to find Tamsin on the threshold. Calista gasped at the girl’s appearance. Her hair hung in straggles over her ravaged face, hiding any hint of her habitual good nature. A purplish bruise marred her cheek, and a trickle of blood oozed from a split lip.
“Good Mother, what’s happened to you?” Calista cried as she hurried over, her mind already cataloging the remedies she’d need. Winterbloom to soothe the bruising, rose-scented unguent to calm the mind—as long as all Tamsin’s hurts were visible.
Tamsin shrugged. “Mayhap the battle caught up to me.”
Calista ran her hand down the girl’s arm. At least she didn’t flinch away from the touch. “Who did this? Did one of the soldiers force himself on you?”
“It does not matter,” she muttered. “He did not finish the deed.”
“But he did you harm.”
“Not as much as he may have. This was only my punishment for shoving my knee in his cods.”
Damn them. How dare they? Calista pushed back against the hot wave of anger that threatened to overwhelm her. Magnus’s men had no business treating Blackbriar servants as prizes of war. That was the sort of behavior Torch was purported to condone, and yet he’d left the keep’s people unmolested. Torch himself hadn’t even forced his will on Calista, in the end. But then, he hadn’t needed to. No, there his easy seduction had sufficed.
Tamsin squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face away.
“What is it, then?” Calista asked gently.
“That silly boy. Owl.” Tamsin choked on the name. “He tried to save me. Got his brains bashed for his troubles, and I don’t know what’s become of him.”
“He’s likely locked up with Torch’s men.” Whatever light shone in Calista’s mind brightened. Yes. The dungeon. “We’ll get them out, but first we must find a means of putting the guards out of commission.”
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