by Jasmine Walt
Tariel’s gut roiled in disgust, and it took an effort to keep her face blank. She had to wonder if Lady Tyrook was speaking from personal experience, and the thought only made her angrier. How could she marry her off to such a monster, knowing exactly what was in store? Did her life really mean so little?
But then again, if this was truly all Lady Tyrook had experienced at the hands of men, perhaps she was to be pitied. Tariel knew from her own reaction to men that sex could not be as gross and unpleasant as her warden described. She only hoped that tonight, she would get the chance to find out for certain, and escape the horrible fate Lady Tyrook had laid out before her.
12
When Calrain returned to his humble bedchamber that night, sleep did not come. Instead, he spent long hours staring at the ceiling, mulling over the pros and cons, trying to get past the fear sitting heavy in his chest.
In his heart, he already knew he wanted to follow Tariel. He had loved her almost from the day he’d first set eyes on her, and had never forgotten the promise they had made as children, to break the chains of convention and run off together to seek adventure and fortune. But he also feared Roisen, and if the god struck him down as punishment for helping Tariel, he would be of no use to her anyway.
Should he follow the god who had ruled every aspect of his life, or the woman who ruled his heart?
The solitude of his quarters brought Calrain neither sleep nor answers, and when dawn’s golden-pink light filtered through his tiny window, he decided there was no point in continuing to lie abed. Instead, he dressed, then went to the prayer room to seek the counsel of his god.
The prayer room was a large, circular chamber close to the center of the castle, with a large skylight in the ceiling that allowed plenty of light to shine on the giant stone statue of Roisen that dominated the space. Other than the sculpture, which was fairly ornate and disturbingly lifelike, the room was fairly simplistic, with a small, white stone altar at the god’s feet where one could burn candles and leave offerings. Calrain lit one of the candles now, then left it on the altar next to a small flask of wine, hoping the god would hear him today.
Please, Roisen, he prayed, clasping his hands as he knelt on the floor. There was no rug beneath his knees to protect him from the harsh, cold stone—Roisen did not believe in such luxuries. He was a stern god who shunned materialism and taught his followers to embrace simple prayer and piety.
Calrain prayed for a long while, until his knees ached and his back begged for him to straighten his spine and rise. But no answers came, and as he looked up into Roisen’s stony, uncompromising visage, a shiver raced through him. The god loomed above him in a threatening manner, and Calrain was overcome by the feeling that he was betraying Tariel just by being here. What if his presence drew the storm god’s eye to Tariel, when ordinarily he might have been focusing his attention elsewhere? Was he inviting trouble upon the woman he loved?
Uneasy, he left the prayer room and went to the kitchens, hoping a bowl of hot porridge would soothe his stomach and give him strength. As he sat at the small table in the corner, eating, he thought about what Tariel had said last night. He didn’t know why the ritual required two men, but surely after it was done, Tariel would not need him any longer. It was obvious that Tariel and Riann were fond of each other—the two of them were extraordinarily attractive and would make a perfect pair. Would they eventually consider him a third wheel and abandon him? And even if they did not, could he really bear to live with a mage and her other lover?
His doubts plagued him as he headed for the clerk’s office. Perhaps he would bury himself in work for a few hours and put this out of his mind. His mind was too foggy from lack of sleep and anxious thoughts to make a rational decision about this. Perhaps an answer would come to him while he worked.
But when he opened the door to the office, all thoughts of working in solitude flew out of his head. His master was wide awake for once, and by the gods, he was actually working!
“Good morning, Brother Tersen,” he said, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.
Brother Tersen snorted. “There is nothing good about mornings,” he said gruffly, dipping his pen into the inkwell. He cursed when it came out dry. “Fetch me another,” he commanded. “And bring me a new quill, while you’re at it!”
“Yes, Brother,” he said, moving to the other side of the room. He rummaged through the storage drawers for a fresh bottle of ink, but his mind was still slow this morning, and it took longer than it should have to find it. He botched the first quill that he tried to trim, and by the time he returned to his master’s desk, the man was glowering at him.
“Thought it would take you all morning,” he snapped, snatching up the quill. He waved his hand impatiently, and Calrain returned to his own desk. Even though for once he was not doing Brother Tersen’s work, Calrain couldn’t help the twinge of resentment he felt. He was used to having the office to himself in the early mornings.
As the morning went on, various castle staff came by to dictate reports or letters. Calrain mostly ignored them, and was ignored in turn, but when the Captain of the Guard came in, he paid a little more attention. The first half of the conversation was boring—simply a report of what had occurred the day before, and instructions for the various shifts throughout the day. But the second half was far more interesting.
“Are there any interesting visitors coming that I should know about?” the captain asked. This was not an unusual question—Calrain and his master usually knew about these things far ahead of everyone else, as they often dictated and read letters for Lord Tyrook. The man was capable of reading and writing, but his eyesight was getting worse in his old age, and he was coming to rely on the clerk’s office more and more often.
“As a matter of fact, Sir Jerrold the Relentless will be passing through,” Brother Tersen said. “I do not know the exact date, but I expect he will be here soon.”
Calrain could not see the captain’s face, as his desk faced the opposite direction, but he could hear the excitement in his voice. “Has he mentioned who his target is?” he asked eagerly. “He never travels anywhere without purpose.”
“No, but if I were to wager, it would be on Miss Tariel,” Brother Tersen said. Calrain’s stomach lurched at his master’s words, and he had to put his quill down before he accidentally crushed it in his fist. No, it could not be true!
“Hmm…yes, she would be a likely suspect, with her Maroyan looks,” the captain said. “I would not be surprised if Lady Marilla denounced her. Her foolish husband is still mooning after Tariel. I wonder if Tariel’s marriage to Lord Sowell will protect her.”
Brother Tersen huffed. “Likely not,” he said. “Sir Jerrold rarely lets family ties deter him if he is set on a target, and he will want Tariel because of her foreign looks. I would not be surprised if she truly did have witch blood in her veins.”
Calrain’s own blood turned to ice at their words. He was thankful they paid no attention to him and could not see his reaction. The more he listened, the angrier he grew, the ice thawing to a heat that surged into his cheeks. How could they speak so callously of Tariel’s life this way, as if it meant less than theirs?
“Well, if he has come for her, I will do whatever I can to assist,” the captain said. “I have long suspected that girl has been bewitching my men. The way they all moon after her, as if she were a goddess rather than a human wench, is disgraceful.”
“Yes, I imagine your life will become much easier once you are rid of her disruptive influence,” Brother Tersen agreed, a smile in his voice.
Finished with his report, the captain took his leave. After the captain’s footfalls faded away, Calrain turned in his chair to face his master.
“Brother Tersen?”
“Hmm?” his master asked, his quill scratching against the parchment. He was in a good mood once more—someone had brought him half a flask of wine, and witch burning always cheered him.
“I couldn’t help overhearing your
conversation with the captain,” he said, keeping his tone casual, “and it made me wonder about Roisen’s thoughts on the matter. Would he truly allow an innocent woman to be burned, simply on account of a jealous rival? I would think he would rather have Sir Jerrold focus his efforts on real witches.” Though preferably not Tariel, he added silently.
Brother Tersen threw back his head, a mocking laugh rumbling up from his broad chest. “Sometimes I forget how naïve you are, boy,” he said, reaching out and ruffling Calrain’s mop of hair. “It does not matter if some, or even most, of the ‘witches’ are innocent. They are burned to frighten the other women into obedience.”
“Obedience?” Calrain recoiled in shock, unable to believe what he was hearing. “But what about justice?”
“Justice is all well and good, but the Order needs to keep its doors open somehow,” Brother Tersen said, dismissing Calrain’s objection with a callous wave of his hand. “Our coffers have long been sustained by confiscating the possessions of witches, or by donations from wealthy families meant to keep Sir Jerrold’s eye away from their daughters.”
“That is very…enlightening,” Calrain managed. By some miracle, he kept the disgust out of his voice. “Thank you for teaching me, Brother Tersen.”
“You’re welcome. I hope this lesson has opened your eyes to the necessity of witch hunters, boy. The Order depends upon them to spread Roisen’s teachings far and wide and to keep our countrymen from falling into sin.”
It certainly has opened my eyes, Calrain thought bitterly as he turned back to his desk. There was no doubt left in his mind—he could not dedicate his life to an order of men who were so vicious and cruel. This witch hunting business was a sham, and Calrain would not let Tariel become its latest victim. He would save her life, even if it was the last thing he ever did.
13
At ten minutes to midnight, Tariel ascended the hidden staircase. She heard each rasp of her feet against the stone floor, each breath that sang from her lips, each thump of her racing heart as it pumped blood through her body. Chills of anticipation raced over her skin, the same anticipation that had been eating at her all day.
Rather than a dress, she’d chosen to wear the white night gown the seamstress had given her today. It was a long, exquisitely soft garment that covered her body completely, and yet the semi-sheer fabric revealed much more than she’d ever shown to a man. She’d blushed when she realized that the outlines of her nipples and the dark triangle between her legs could be clearly seen, and at the last second, she had wrapped a throw blanket around herself to preserve some of her modesty.
True, she would take it off later anyway, but she didn’t want to show up naked in case Calrain decided not to go through with this.
Tariel reached the top of the landing, then went straight for the bedchamber. She’d already taken time to arrange a multitude of candles around the room, and she used the candle from her bedroom to light them until flickering lights surrounded her. They gave the room an incandescent glow, banishing some of the shadows and making it inviting despite its decades of disuse.
A sheet had been thrown over the bed to protect it from dust, and she removed it now. The bedding beneath was quite out of fashion, but still very usable—there were only a few small holes, and she doubted the men would notice when they were in the thick of it. Her body warmed as she thought of what was to come, and she sat cross-legged in the center of the bed, waiting for them.
It was not long before she heard the thud of footsteps on the stairs, and Tariel sighed in relief. She let the men come to her—she’d left the bedroom door ajar so they would see the light—and smiled as Calrain stopped in the doorway.
“You look different,” she said, sliding off the bed to approach him. He did not wear his apprentice robes, but a dark green tunic and leggings that made the most of his lean figure. She ran a hand down his arm, surprised to see that he was not as slim as she had imagined. There was muscle beneath that fabric, a quiet strength that had simply not been tested yet.
Calrain nodded. “I did not want to come to you in the robes of an apprentice, since I will not be joining the Brotherhood.” He clasped her hand in his. “Once we are away from here, I will never wear them again.”
Tariel’s heart sang with joy. “Does this mean you accept my offer?”
“Gladly,” Calrain said, taking her face in his hands. His silvery eyes locked onto hers, brimming with emotion, and then he lowered his head and pressed his mouth against hers.
Calrain’s kiss was soft and slow, the kiss of a man who had yet to find his way around a woman’s mouth. Tariel had expected it to be a little awkward, and at first it was, but Calrain proved to be a natural. His mouth fit perfectly against Tariel’s, as if it had been made just for her, and the spark of heat ignited in her lower belly.
The sound of someone clearing his throat interrupted them, and Calrain jerked his head up. “Starting without me?” Riann asked, raising an eyebrow. He leaned against the doorframe, his powerful arms bulging beneath his sleeves as he crossed his arms. His long hair was unbound, tumbling around his broad shoulders, and his blue eyes gleamed in the candlelight as he watched them.
“We’re just warming up,” Calrain said, a cheeky note to his voice. Tariel grinned as the glimpse of the boy she’d grown up with shone through the thick blanket of respectability Calrain had cloaked around himself. He had been a carefree spirit when they were younger, but being a foundling, the other boys had bullied him, and his master had shown him little love. The two had clung to each other as children, but as they’d grown into puberty, segregation had made it impossible to spend time with each other. They had grown apart and into the roles that society had molded for them.
Roles we are about to smash into pieces, Tariel thought. A surge of triumph rose in her, and she turned to the table by the bedside, where she’d left the abacus. Her fingers wrapped around the cool wood, and the desert spirit rose from the tool.
“I see we are all here,” Zolotais said, her eyes gleaming as she surveyed them all. “Are you ready to begin?”
“Yes,” Tariel said, and the men echoed her.
Riann cleared his throat. “How do we begin? Do we need any special implements?” He cast his gaze about the room, as if he expected to find some sort of spell kit.
Zolotais smiled. “The awakening is a simple but powerful ritual between a mage and her mates,” she told the three of them. “The female principle represents earth and fertility, while the males stand for the sun, the water, and the wind—all necessary for the earth to cultivate life. It would be better if we had three men to represent all three male elements,” she said to Tariel as an aside, “but two will suffice. When the males and female are joined, Tariel’s magical potential will be fully unlocked.”
“Her mates?” Calrain repeated. “What does that mean?”
“It means that you will be bound irrevocably to each other,” Zolotais said.
“We will?” Tariel asked as the men sucked in sharp breaths beside her. A frisson of nervous energy skipped down her spine—Zolotais had not mentioned this before.
“The awakening is powerful magic,” Zolotais continued, “and it takes an even more powerful spell to undo it. The binding is not without its benefits—the coupling will strengthen you as well. How much strength depends entirely upon Tariel’s own power.”
“Will I be a strong mage?” Tariel asked, looking down at her hands. She’d used magic earlier today to dispel the headache Lady Tyrook had caused, and her reserve was still not refilled yet. “It doesn’t seem like I am able to do very much.”
“The lock on your powers limits what you can do right now, but from what I have seen, you are of middling strength, if not higher. Most young mages can barely light a candle—you can cast complex illusions, and you have even manipulated the weather a time or two.”
“You have?” Riann and Calrain exclaimed.
Tariel gave them a sheepish look. “When I was twelve, Marilla stole my kite
while I was playing with it outside. She was wearing a brand-new dress and had her hair curled, so I made the wind blow her skirts up and ruin her hairstyle.” She frowned as she considered what Zolotais had said. “Do you think I might be able to do more things, like call down a lightning bolt to strike someone?”
“That is advanced weather magic, and not something that should be attempted without supervision and many hours of practice,” Zolotais said.
“If you really are so powerful, your parents must have been important,” Calrain said, a speculative look in his eyes. “Do you have any idea of your parents’ identities?”
Tariel shook her head. “I can only imagine my father must have been someone important from the Maroyan Empire—perhaps a noble—who had a dalliance with my mother. The queen herself sent me here for Lady Tyrook to raise, so I’ve already surmised my mother was someone important. Perhaps a lady-in-waiting?”
“We may find out more about your parentage once we reach the Empire,” Zolotais said, somewhat impatiently. “For now, let’s begin the ritual. We do not have time to waste.”
“Very well,” Riann said. “What is it we must do?”
Zolotais smiled. “The three of you will join hands and recite an incantation. Then, you will make love.”
They stared. “Is that it?” Calrain asked. Even Tariel had to admit it sounded rather underwhelming.
“It is not just any incantation you are speaking,” Zolotais warned. “The three of you will be pledging everlasting devotion to each other.”
She taught them the words of the incantation, which were different for Tariel than the men, then made them hold hands and repeat the words. It took the men a few tries to get them out right, stumbling over the unfamiliar language. Tariel merely smiled and returned their vow to pledge their strength and love to her for her protection with a similar pledge to grant that same strength and love back to them tenfold in return for their protection and loyalty.
