He glanced toward the gate, where the head of his predecessor still swung in the light breeze, a warning to all others who would dare go against the lord of the castle. Miles Santon had gone to the gallows screaming his innocence, not that it mattered.
The man slowed his rapid pace and stared over the span of water, not quite seeing the glint of sun dance along the gentle waves. Miles and the others were weak. He was not. And now? Now he’d wait a few years. It was well known the king’s son drank far too much during the hunt. The scenario would be predictable. Ever the faithful servant, he’d accompany his prince. Once alone in the thick of the woods... The horse could easily be spooked. Accidents happened all the time. And just that easy, he’d be the king’s favorite, and with the king’s daughter of almost marriageable age...
The prospect didn’t fill him with any sense of satisfaction. Too easy. He turned back toward the castle, his mind already on the experiments in his laboratory.
When two strangers materialized on the path before him, Ilythra blinked, missing the man’s reaction. She experienced a moment of self-doubt as their thoughts mixed. She felt his confusion as though it was her own. For a heartbeat, he feared he’d succumbed to the disease afflicting his father. But she knew the strangers weren’t an illusion and soon after, so did he.
Covered in grime and blood, the men tumbled onto the path as though thrown and lay in the dirt where they fell. As she watched, one of the men rose to his feet and looked around.
She saw the men with two sets of eyes, each perceiving differently. She was awed at their beauty. Even wounded and filthy, there was something majestic about the strangers. But she could also feel his greed and growing excitement. He can taste their power. Only then did she notice power swirl around the men, almost encompassing them in its tendrils. One bled heavily. Bind his wounds! Ilythra shaped the thought with urgency. But no, I’m seeing something that already happened. The man rushed to the fallen men and spoke rapidly. One of them answered, but she couldn’t hear the words. As the man drew near, Ilythra recognized the power. She was seeing herself. No, that was only partially true. It was Ilydearta, but with another keeper. She fought a strange jealousy. Did the other man also carry a stone? She strained for a look. Then as Ilydearta’s keeper and her host picked up the wounded man, she felt it. Crioch. The wounded man was Crioch’s keeper. She hadn’t recognized its power. The melody was different, unrestrained, free.
The scene spun away and as it did, time seemed laid bare, stretched so she could see its path. The wounded man did not survive. She saw him holding Crioch out, his eyes begging. A hand, her hand, his hand reached out to take it, and she felt the certainty that even the gods were aware of her/his greatness and that the man before him was weak and unworthy of his power. He/she took the stone, felt it resonate through his body and promised the man he’d do everything he asked.
And he had. And more.
Ilythra sat up in her cot, drenched with sweat. With a shaking hand, she reached for a cup of water and gulped it down. She glanced toward Aclan. The prince was still sleeping.
Bredych. In her dream she had been Bredych. But it wasn’t a dream. She had traveled the winds of Teann in her sleep. She’d gone back to where and when Bredych accepted the stone and without a doubt she knew she’d caught her first glimpse of the Siobani.
* * *
He walked along the shelves. He paused near a tincture of rosemary, caressing the cool, dark glass, then moved to an extract of jasmine. It was his favorite room in the manor, full to the brim with his experiments. Thousands of tinctures, extracts, balms, resins, powdered and liquid herbs, waxes, powders, lotions and soaps, everything at his fingertips. A smile touched his face. I have more than you’ll ever dream of owning, and I don’t even call myself a healer. His smile wrinkled in distaste. Imagine wandering the countryside, entering the shacks those people call homes and attempting to prolong their miserable lives. It was a miscarriage of justice. She could be spending her time on more interesting pursuits.
Bredych absently brushed Crioch with his fingers. A waste of time. He’d known many alchemists before coming to Greton. He’d made it a point to study with the best, to learn their secrets. Some of them had worked tirelessly to transform base metals into gold while scrounging a living off the pennies they received for their dyes, worthless cosmetics and liquors. Most were obsessed with finding the elixir of life, an answer to all diseases, a way to prolong life indefinitely.
He held up Crioch to the light. Without exception, every alchemist he studied with had viewed him as a subordinate; he’d let them think he was just skilled enough to be of service but not so intelligent as to be a rival.
He grasped the stone in his hand until the edges dug into his palm. “Where are you now? Dead and buried.” Each alchemist and noble had who scorned him was now rotting, their empty flesh turning to dust. Who was it that the gods found worthy to bestow the ultimate gift? He gripped Crioch. “You spent your life looking for power, enlightenment, and it was given to me.”
He savored the feeling of satisfaction, victory. But only partial, and a partial victory wouldn’t do. Time ran short.
Dropping the stone to his breast, he strolled along the shelves again. There, the bottle he needed. He’d known its precise location, but it suited him to peruse his horde. With care, he took a dropper and filled it, then emptied the clear liquid into the small glass globes.
Chapter Twenty-Two
From the window in Aclan’s room, Ilythra stared at the clouds moving sluggishly across sky. At that moment, she felt a certain affinity with them. The prince was still sleeping. His fever had spiked on and off for several days and she’d spent most of her time with him, even dining in his room instead of joining the rest of the castle in the great hall.
She hadn’t slept well or long, but that couldn’t account for the weariness she felt in every muscle of her body. Religious doses of echinacea hadn’t seemed to help. An attempt to create clove oil had also failed. She’d concentrated it too much. It was too potent to use. She’d stored the vials in her medicine pouch to dilute later. She felt, well...that was it. She didn’t feel anything. Perhaps it was isolation. Except for Cassia, she’d seen almost no one except Aclan since the last time she’d dined in the great hall.
She once again attempted to sink into Teann. Her thoughts were erratic and unschooled, drifting from one thing to another, taking her down trails she didn’t want to go and denying her the peace she sought.
On impulse, Ilythra grabbed her cloak. The prince would sleep for several more hours, and perhaps a walk in the garden would clear her mind. After placing a tiny bell on the table near his bed, she walked into the damp corridor.
An icy wind bit at her skin as she stepped into the inner courtyard. Smoke from the blacksmith’s bellows blew across the lane before it drifted into the steel-blanketed sky. Ilythra kept her head down and her cloak tight around her throat as she made her way through the now-desolate vegetable garden to the arched entrance of the extensive gardens.
She walked at a fast pace, heading past sculpted topiaries and trained hedges toward the back of the gardens. Here, near the forest, the garden shed its veneer of civilization and bared a wild heart. Untamed vines snaked their way up trellises, shadowing azaleas and rhododendrons now free of flowers. She could imagine how it looked in the spring, wild daffodils and crocuses breaking through the snow’s crust, bright green new leaves shooting from the loamy soil. But now it was desolate with only the promise of what might be.
In some ways, like me. She paused at the edge of the forest before stepping into its gloomy interior to follow an overgrown path toward the lake. As she gazed at the tranquil waters, she thought about her dream. Since that night, it had never left her consciousness. Somehow, she felt a kinship with Bredych, as though she’d walked his life-path with him. She’d glimpsed the confusion and powerlessness of his child
hood, had tasted his intelligence and ambition and understood why he would only find security in absolute control. But that didn’t excuse his actions.
Had he walked hers? Did he know of her life with her grandfather? Her journey to the mainland? The thought made her feel strangely exposed.
Dark gray clouds lumbered across the sky, also seemingly undecided. Would she stay the winter or continue her quest? She didn’t understand why the question seemed so complicated. When Aclan was out of danger, there was nothing further to learn here. Or was there? In the dream, she learned more about Bredych than she’d hoped to discover. She glanced toward the skies. She didn’t want to get caught in a blizzard, especially since she wasn’t feeling well. What if something is seriously wrong with me?
The waves gently lapped the shore in a soothing rhythm that reminded her of something. Somewhere. She suddenly wished Erhard was there. Lately, when she was with him, she felt a certain ease of pressures, her weariness lifted along with her mood. She’d begun to seek him out, to linger by his side. But that wasn’t a reason to stay. She’d made the decision to leave before the wolf attack; nothing had changed since then—except her motivation to go.
She hadn’t seen Bredych since the hunting party. Erhard had hinted at dinner one night that the advisor had been traumatized, but Ilythra didn’t believe it for a moment. If she could only have time alone with him. No, that isn’t what she wanted, was it?
* * *
Ilythra swung open the door to Aclan’s room. Erhard stood over his son’s bed. His face relaxed as he watched Aclan sleep. She paused at the entrance, debating if she should intrude.
Erhard’s eyes lit up. “You’re back.”
“I walked down to the lake.”
He nodded, his voice bearing a dreamlike quality. “You look better. Your cheeks are pink. I was worried when you didn’t come to dinner again.”
Ilythra brought a hand to her cheek. It had been cold outside. “I ate with Aclan.”
“You shouldn’t shut yourself away up here,” Erhard began, then in a quieter voice, “I miss your company, Ilythra.”
Had he always said her name like that? It was almost like a caress. Intimate. She opened her mouth to respond then closed it, surprised how much she had missed the king. Tension began to ease from her shoulders.
“When he sleeps, he looks like he did when he was a boy,” Erhard continued as though she had replied. “I watched him then too. My wife always said it was a waste of time. But I still think it wasn’t.”
She could almost picture him standing over a younger prince. Her chest warmed with affection. Ilythra hesitated. “All children are beautiful when they sleep.”
Erhard stood, “Yes, well, especially your own. But you don’t know that joy. Do you?”
Children. She once dreamed what her children would look like. Imagined cradling them in her arms. But no more. That life wasn’t for her. The ache of longing touched her voice. “No, I don’t.”
“Pity.” Erhard smiled, revealing the dimple. “I think you would make a good mother.” He gazed at her for a moment then turned back to his son. “Is he still...recovering?”
“Yes. The fever isn’t high, just persistent. He’s still in pain, but I expect a full recovery.”
Erhard smiled. “Good, Bredych said you’d heal him.”
“He did?”
“Yes. He said to put my confidence in you.”
“How long have you known Bredych?”
He paused, his eyes remote. “As long as I can remember. He was my tutor.”
“Your tutor?” Bredych taught Erhard?
“Yes. He was my father’s advisor until he took a personal interest in me and became my tutor and later, my advisor. Why?”
“He looks very young to have tutored you. Doesn’t he?”
Erhard shrugged. “We all age differently. He’s been blessed with a youthful countenance. It’s not a crime.”
“No. Of course not.”
He stepped toward the door. “Did you have a nice walk to the lake?”
The walk had failed to clear her head, but it had been beautiful. “Yes.”
“It’s quite peaceful there.”
Ilythra nodded.
“You should see it in the summer, when the sun warms the earth and—” He paused. “It’s beautiful then.” Something flickered in the king’s eyes.
She moved to touch him. For some reason the king seemed lost. Alone. “I’ve decided to take you up on your offer of a horse. When Aclan is better, I’ll be leaving.” He needs me.
He blinked. “I see.” His voice lacked strength. “I thought, well... Of course you can have any horse, but you won’t get farther than the valley.” Erhard shrugged. “I warned you winter storms were sudden. I’ve just had word that the western pass is snowed in.”
“I don’t understand.” Her heart skipped a beat.
“Sudden storm. Happens sometimes.” His eyes softened. “I’m sorry.”
“But it hasn’t even snowed here. I mean...” Confusion clouded her thoughts.
Erhard shrugged.
“North?”
“You could go north. It’s some distance to the northern mountains, but there is another area of lowland to the northwest that you could traverse. Elston is not that far. Of course you’d have to get across the Lledon first. The last report I heard, the rains washed away the bridge. It will need to be repaired as soon as the water freezes.”
Fear trickled down her spine, whispering words she didn’t understand but tinting her thoughts. She was trapped. “I see.”
“Will it really be so bad?” Erhard stepped closer. “If you spend the winter here at the castle, with me?”
As Ilythra breathed in Erhard’s fragrance, a feeling of contentment descended. She smiled. What was done was done. “No, no it won’t.”
Erhard touched her cheek and walked toward the door.
After Erhard’s departure, a stale taste of fear crept into her mouth. What was she afraid of? Bredych. The answer seemed simple. But was it? What had the man done to her? Here in Greton, nothing. She hadn’t even seen him since the hunt. The hunt, the wolves, Tashi.
She breathed deep. He had been the one to feed the discontent in the Faisach until it boiled over but she had never seen the trader... For a moment she lost her train of thought. In the mountains of the Zorcani, she’d sensed the trader’s stone, the same stone she sensed on Bredych. They were one and the same. He’d kidnapped Mohan’s brother. How could she have forgotten that?
The image of Tarak, mutilated by his own hand, flashed through her mind and with it a depth of fear she’d never known. She took deep breaths, fighting the panic that flushed adrenaline into her system, and swallowed to fight a wave of nausea. She felt like she was drowning.
* * *
“Leave me!”
The woman looked confused, relieved then terrified.
Bredych rose from his bed a few paces away from where the half-naked girl stood. She’d been taking off her clothes slowly as he’d instructed when disgust at her weakness and pale, soft flesh turned his stomach.
She stood frozen as he stepped closer. He’d seen the girl in the village working alongside another woman. Something in the way her hair reflected the weak sun caught his eye. He’d pointed her out to one of his guards and not long after he’d arrived to his manor, she was brought before him, trembling and sobbing.
In the past, this reaction had made the experience even more enjoyable. He wanted the women to know they were at his mercy. Their lives in his hand. Power rushed through his veins, exhilarating, stimulating—but not today.
“Saien!”
His Rugian guard opened the door and stood at attention. He was trying hard not to look at the girl.
“Take her away.”
“Milord?”
Anger blurred his vision. “You heard me. Take her away.”
“She is unfit?”
Bredych fixed his gaze on Saien, his voice soft. “Are you questioning me?”
“No, milord. I only wish to know if you require another.”
Another? That was the problem, wasn’t it? He fingered her hair and twisted a soft lock around his finger. “No, not today.”
She whimpered and sobbed her thanks.
“What shall I do with her?”
The woman’s whimpering stopped. Her gaze fixed on Bredych.
He waved his hand. “She’s yours. Do what you wish.”
A gleam entered Saien’s eyes “Thank you, milord, you are most generous.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mohan reined Avi in front of the inn. One pass to cross, and he’d be in the valley of Greton. His breath formed clouds of moisture around his face. He glanced to the sky. It was possible that he could make it a little farther before the storm hit.
The horse beneath him sidestepped. Mohan patted his neck and felt the pulse beat under his fingers. “Damn it.” He dismounted. The horse’s sides were heaving, his coat lathered and damp. If he drove Avi any more tonight, he might very well have to walk into Greton. Besides, he didn’t like the look of those clouds.
Mohan led Avi to the stable, made sure he was taken care of and paid a little extra for some grain to be added to his feed. The inn was quiet; only a few men sat around the tables or at the bar. The barkeep looked him up and down then smiled.
“Not often I see a lone Benai. Did they kick you out?”
“No, why?” His eyebrows drew together in confusion.
The barkeep shrugged. “The only time I did see a lone Benai, he was drunk and complaining that it wasn’t his fault, how was he to know whose wife she was? He explained to the whole room that treaty or no treaty, any woman was fair game.”
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