by Peace, Cas
Taran fell silent, watching Jinny’s face. A closed, hard expression settled over her features. “What do you mean, ‘took steps’?”
Taran ducked his head. Discussing such things always embarrassed him. “As an Artesan, I have control over my own … fertility.”
He heard her sharp intake of breath. When she finally spoke, her voice was brittle, with an edge of real distress.
“Are you telling me that since we’ve been together … every time we’ve made love—all those times—you were holding back? Deceiving me? But how could you do that, Taran? How could you feign all that passion? How could you lie to me? I thought you loved me!” Her voice spiraled higher as she spoke, her last words delivered on a note of angry hysteria.
Tears came into Taran’s eyes. He couldn’t bear to see her so distraught, especially as she had misconstrued his meaning.
“I do love you, Jinny,” he said, starting toward her. “I didn’t mean I’d … I give you my word, I never feigned anything. My feelings are real, the passion is real. It was only that I was so sure … I mean, I never let myself believe you would want to actually marry me. I thought we were just enjoying ourselves; that you were only waiting until someone more suitable came along. I never lied to you, I swear. My only deception was that I never told you there was no possibility of a child. That was my fault, I’ll admit. That you might think you were barren never entered my head.”
“It never entered your head.” Jinny’s tone was devoid of emotion.
She sat straight-backed, regarding him coldly. Her hard expression was a mask. He could sense her inner feelings were in turmoil. She seemed to be caught between two warring emotions: bitter anger and reluctant understanding. In trepidation, he watched the conflict. What could he do to put things right?
He spoke softly into her silent fury. “I was only trying to protect you, love. Please forgive me. My honor would let me do no less.”
She slowly raised her face, her countenance white. Two spots of color flamed high on her cheekbones, a febrile glitter in her emerald-green eyes. Taran went cold.
“Well, damn you, Taran Elijah,” she hissed. “And damn your bloody honor.”
Shocked, he spread his hands. “Jinny—”
“Shall I tell you something, my honorable lover?” she continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “I was only waiting for one thing before I broached the subject of marriage between us. I knew you’d never do it and I understood why, even though I’ve told you I don’t care about your background. I’ve been convinced for months now that even if the most handsome Duke or Prince in the entire realm should come seeking my hand, he could never touch my heart as you have. I knew I would never feel as deeply for anyone else as I do for you, and that if you refused me, I would never wed another. All I was waiting for was that magical moment when I could tell you I was carrying your child. The thought of the look in your eyes when you heard you were going to be a father: that’s what I was waiting for. I’ve seen how you love little Morgan, and how good you are with Eadan. I knew a child would make you complete.”
She inhaled deeply, shakily.
“But all this time you’ve been … when I think of what I went through … blaming myself, worrying myself sick, desperate not to lose you … and all this time all you’ve been worrying about is your damned honor!”
Jinella surged to her feet. Fearful, Taran backed away from her fury. He had expected her to be upset, but this? “Jinny, I’m—”
“Don’t you dare!” she yelled, her temper alight. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry! It’s too late for sorry, Taran. What am I going to do now? How can I ever trust you again after this? Do I even want to?”
He stared unhappily, only now realizing what a terrible and fundamental mistake he’d made. What had seemed to him like protection, consideration, had seemed to her a betrayal. He had misjudged her feelings and the depths of her commitment and had, albeit unwittingly, belittled what she had offered him in their relationship. He wouldn’t blame her if she could never recover from this, could never rekindle the closeness they’d shared. And that made him very sad. For he did indeed love her. He had known it for months, but he just hadn’t allowed himself to believe she could feel the same way about him.
Well, he knew now. Probably too late.
“I am sorry, love,” he said, his eyes misting as she turned abruptly from him, her hand cutting the air in disgust. “None of this is your fault. I’ve been stupid, I’ve been blind. I should have confided in you, shared my concerns, and I should never—ever—have deceived you. I can only tell you that I do love you, and that I want to share the rest of my life with you. You can pour scorn on my honor if you wish”—her snort was loud and emphatic—“but I couldn’t tell you how honored I’d be if you could find it in your heart to forgive me. All I can say is that I deeply regret the hurt I’ve caused you, and if I’ve done irreparable damage to the love and trust we shared, then I will spend the rest of my life trying to atone for it. I don’t suppose you want me to stay around tonight, not after what I’ve done, so I’ll go back to the castle and leave you in peace. But I’ll wait to hear from you. If you need me, you only have to send for me.
“I really am terribly sorry.”
He turned and walked to the door, hoping she would call him back and hold out her arms to him. But there was no sound from her and he left the room despondently. He made his way back to the stables, apologizing to young Matty for undoing all his hard work on Bucyrus’s harness as the lad readied his mount.
He glanced up to the windows as he mounted and rode away. Was that her outline, watching him behind closed drapes? Or was it just his desperate heart, hoping against hope she’d forgive him?
Chapter Seven
“Who will you take to the island?”
Brynne Sullyan considered her general’s query. It couldn’t be Robin; he had duties of his own at the Manor, and there was also Morgan to think of. One of them was always at the Manor to care for their son. She would, however, need another Artesan to stand for her. This was a given rule as well as a sensible precaution to take. Now that there were more Artesans at the Manor, it was easier to do. Yet of the four she could choose from, only two fitted her requirements. Bull, who would once have been her natural choice, was currently engaged in training the new College students. Besides, his weakened heart meant he rarely participated in strenuous duties these days. Jay’el was still very new to his powers and was there purely to learn, not to accompany Sullyan on missions for the King.
“I shall take Cal and Tad,” she said finally, and the general nodded. “I have informed Taran of my intention to leave this morning, and he has passed this on to the King. All I need now is the location of the nearest garrison, if you would be so good?”
Though the agreement between Pharikian and Elias concerning travel through the Veils made reaching far-flung portions of the realm a much simpler matter for those on their monarch’s business, it was still necessary for the Artesan concerned to know where they were going. It was not enough to know a place was in the north or south of the land. There had to be physical knowledge of the terrain and intended destination or the transfer couldn’t work.
Sullyan had never visited this particular garrison, but Mathias Blaine had, albeit many years ago. He could pass her an image of where she must go, and so he accepted her tacit request to mesh psyches and held the location of the remote outpost in his mind. Neither of them had ever been to the island where the Baron had spent his exile, so this garrison was the nearest point to which she could transfer. The soldiers stationed there would give her directions to the fishing village which served the clerics on the island. Once there, she could request the use of a boat to reach the island itself.
Fixing the image of the garrison firmly in her mind, she thanked the general and assured him of her swift return once she had satisfied herself as to the truth of the Baron’s demise. Blaine shared her opinion that the circumstances should be examined very carefully indeed.
He was under no illusions as to the Baron’s feelings where Elias and Sullyan were concerned, let alone Artesans in general. If he yet lived and was free to work his schemes, the consequences could be catastrophic.
“Be careful,” he admonished.
Once all was in readiness, she made her way to the horse lines. Tad was waiting alongside three harnessed stallions, three packs at his feet. Cal was also there, giving Elisse one last hug, and Sullyan suddenly found herself enveloped by the arms of a small boy. She smiled down at her much-loved son and swung him up into her arms.
“Take care of Papa while I am away, and see that he gets some rest,” she told the giggling boy. “When I return, I want to hear how well you have behaved. Now, run along and find Uncle Bull. I believe it is time for your lessons.”
Elisse grabbed Morgan’s hand as Sullyan set him down and they raced off in the direction of the College, laughing and dodging the stallions’ legs. The horses turned their heads in mild curiosity as the shrieking children passed.
Cal fixed his pack to his saddle. “Poor Bull. I sometimes wonder whether he regrets volunteering to train those two hellions.”
Tad snorted. “Bull’s more than a match for either of them. You want to sneak up on them one day and watch him. He knows how to impress them into submission. If he can cope with a barracks full of cocky cadets, he can cope with two three-year-olds.”
The young man leaped into the saddle of his liver chestnut. Tad was the proud owner of one of Drum’s first colts, but the dark bay was too young yet to ride on a mission such as this. He was still being trained under the watchful eyes of both Sullyan and Stablemaster Solet.
He glanced at his colt’s sire as Sullyan vaulted lightly into the saddle. At twelve years old, Drum was in his prime and a magnificent specimen of male horseflesh. He was huge, strongly-muscled, sleek and fit; his coal-black coat sparkled in the frosty daylight and his silken mane flowed over his arched and graceful neck. Sullyan saw Tad’s admiring look and grinned as she gave the order to move out.
They rode down the track leading toward the ridge, their mounts’ hooves crunching through a crust of snow. It was bitterly cold and they had all brought their thick sheepskin-lined combat jackets as well as their heavy oiled leather riding cloaks. The journey to the garrison wouldn’t take them long, but they still had the ride to the fishing village and then a sea voyage to endure.
Neither Tad nor Cal had ever been in a boat and Sullyan wasn’t sure they were looking forward to the experience. They had asked Jay’el what to expect and the young seaman had regaled them with horror stories about winter voyages on freezing, stormy seas. Fortunately, they eventually recognized the gleam of mischief in Jay’el’s eyes and an impromptu wrestling bout ensued. Tad had redeemed his honor by winning.
They reached the ridgeline, their favored place for making the crossing into Andaryon, and Sullyan quested for contact with Lord-General Anjer. His permission for her short appearance on Andaryan soil was a formality, but she had too much respect for her adopted father to flaunt rules she herself had recommended. As she broke the contact she turned to the younger of her two companions.
“Journeyman, will you construct the tunnel for us?”
Tad was daydreaming and took a moment to collect his wits. “What? Oh … yes, of course, Colonel.”
Sullyan smiled as she watched Tad center his concentration and attune himself to his psyche. He should have been prepared; she had already warned both men she would not be doing all the metaphysical work on this trip. Tad hadn’t been on so many missions like this that he was inured to the novelty. He would do well enough. Once she had sprung a few surprises on him, he would learn to stay alert.
She watched critically as he formed the trans-Veil construct. As a Journeyman, Tad possessed insufficient strength and skill to determine the opening of the Andaryan end of the tunnel, but for this crossing it didn’t matter. It was the second crossing that counted, and she would add her own strength to Tad’s for that one. She examined the structure once Tad anchored it.
“What do you think, Captain?”
She saw Tad’s satisfaction when Cal was just as startled to be asked his opinion. Cal covered his surprise better than the younger man and studied the tunnel with a practiced eye.
“Looks strong enough to me, Colonel.”
She smiled and bade him prove his confidence by riding through first. He nudged his stallion and passed along the shimmering structure, knowing Tad was proficient in this now and there was no danger of the tunnel collapsing. Sullyan’s question was intended to sharpen them up, not imply any lack of faith.
She followed him through and Tad brought up the rear, collapsing the structure behind him. He received her approving nod and turned to repeat the process. This time, Sullyan overlaid her psyche with his and he had to contain himself firmly as he experienced the momentary disorientation such profound depths of power always caused in those of lesser rank. His developing psyche had a long way to go before it matched the complexities of a Senior Master’s.
Through the blossoming structure they saw the snow-covered hillside that was their destination. Sullyan knew the garrison nestled at the foot of those hills, sheltered by them from the worst of the weather. The three companions rode swiftly through the tunnel, emerging once more onto Albian soil.
They were now hundreds of miles north of the capital and the weather was harsher than in Albia’s more temperate regions. The snow was deeper and it was frozen solid. The horses’ weight broke the surface, but it had been frozen for so long they only sank up to their fetlocks. The three riders pulled their cloaks even tighter and expended a little power to keep warm. Sullyan nudged Drum into the lead and led them in the direction of the garrison. They came within sight of the small outpost an hour before midday.
Sullyan was gratified to see the sentries were alert even in this poor weather. She heard the horn call that attended their sighting, and a guard awaited them as they rode up to the gates.
The little garrison consisted of a few stone buildings huddled against the hillside, with stabling and storage barns carved into the face of the hill itself. The whole enclave was surrounded by a stout wooden palisade wall, breached by a single gate. The outpost was manned by only twenty men, relieved every four weeks by their fellows, all of whom were drawn from local villages. The duty captain came forward to give his name and greet his unexpected visitors.
Sullyan swung down from Drum and threw back her heavy cloak to reveal her rank insignia. She introduced herself and her companions. The captain was a rough-looking fellow in his late forties, with silvering brown hair and shrewd green eyes. Those eyes stretched wide when she spoke her name and he accorded her a very respectful salute, although his expression betrayed anxiety over the reasons for her coming.
“Colonel Sullyan, you are very welcome here, but I confess I’m surprised to see you. We had no foreknowledge of your visit. Is there some problem in the area? I’ve had no word of any unrest …”
“Be easy, Captain Giel. It is not trouble that brings us here and we will not trespass upon your hospitality. We are bound for the island housing the Order of the Wheel and will trouble you only for directions to the fishing village that services the needs of the clerics.”
Giel’s expression intensified, but then cleared. “Ah, would this be in response to the message sent by Patrio Ruvar to the King?”
“That is correct. The King wishes me to speak to the Patrio concerning the circumstances surrounding the traitor’s death. I take it there have been no sightings of his body along the coast?”
“None, Colonel, and I’ve had my lads scouring the shores daily ever since we heard of the Baron’s suicide. We’ll not find him now, though. The tides will have swept him right out to sea. They’re fearsome fast round here in winter.”
Sullyan nodded. “All we need then are directions to the fishing village, if you would be so good.”
“I’ll send one of the lads to show you the way,” offered Giel
, but Sullyan shook her head.
“Thank you, but we cannot wait for you to detail one of your men. We need to reach the village quickly. I wish to be on the island by nightfall.”
Giel’s eyes widened. “Tonight? I’m afraid that’s not possible, Colonel. There won’t be any craft left in the village. They’ll have gone out at dawn to make the most of the light and the tide. And besides, there’s no wind. It’s a good two-hour sail even with the tide and a breeze in your favor. You’ll have to spend the night in the village and catch the early tide with one of the fishermen. You’ll have ample time to take one of my lads as guide.”
“The arrangements for our crossing are my concern, Captain,” she said. “Just tell us the way, if you please.”
Giel capitulated, although it was clear he expected her to find things as he’d said. He pointed out the road to the village, which was simple enough, and they rode away from the garrison, Giel watching from the palisade wall.
Tad and Cal hadn’t ventured an opinion while she was speaking with Giel, but she had seen their puzzled glances. Now Cal nudged his horse closer to Drum and caught her eye.
“Colonel, how are we going to reach the island if there’re no boats and no wind?”
She smiled. “We are going to a fishing village. There will always be boats, no matter how many are out at sea. As for the wind, I am sure there will be a suitable sea breeze when we want one.”
She left them pondering her intentions as she led them on toward the coast.
They came out of the hills and onto the coast road within the hour. Sullyan led the way up the final rise, and as they topped the slope they saw a good chunk of Albia’s northwestern shoreline laid out before them.
To their right, wind-whipped dunes dotted with clumps of sea grass curled and humped their way down to the sea. To their left, their view of Serna Bay was blocked as sand yielded to rock and cliff until a jutting headland could just be made out far in the distance. A narrow track wound its way along the top of the cliffs.
