Although Irmina lived at the inn, it happened to be the one place where he didn’t run into her. When he stayed home, sometimes she’d show up with Galiana to have a meeting with his father. If he trained later than usual at the Mystera, eventually she would come watch him as she often did in the days before she abandoned him. After trying different ways, he discovered the best method to avoid her was to venture to the inn.
Except for tonight. For whatever reason, she chose this night to sit at a table in a secluded area, having a meal. What grated at him was that she acted as if he didn’t exist, not once glancing in his direction. Almost every patron who entered the serving hall acknowledged her with a bow. Out of respect, he’d been forced to do the same. Her presence made him want to get drunk.
“She’s here on purpose,” he grumbled. “Trying to get under my skin.”
“I’d say she’s doing quite the job of it too.” Mirza smiled, his sharp blue shirt and matching jacket enough to put a noble to shame. He downed his drink.
Ancel glared at his friend. “Why’d she have to eat here anyway?”
“Um, she lives here?”
“You know what I mean.”
“To get under your skin?” Mirza shrugged, his eyes now twinkling with mirth.
Ancel growled under his breath.
“You know, for a man who claimed he’s over her, and for one who has that,” Mirza nodded toward Kachien on the stage, “you do seem a bit … bothered. If I were you’ I’d go over and say hello.”
“This coming from my best friend who pushed me toward forgetting about the woman.” Ancel shook his head.
“You remember when I made fun of you about not being able to bed an Ashishin that day we went to the glen?”
Ancel frowned for a moment before nodding.
“Well, you could prove me wrong.”
“Do you think …?” Ancel’s voice trailed off as he took in Mirza’s smug expression.
“And there it is.” Mirza’s teeth showed in a wide grin. “I knew it. Especially after you shaved. For all your supposed anger and annoyance, you do want her back.”
Ancel opened his mouth to deny the accusation, but words failed him.
“Exactly.” Clasping his hands behind his head, Mirza leaned back in his chair.
Although his skin crawled to admit it, he knew Mirza words rang with truth. His friend had a knack for that. The more he saw Irmina, the more he thought of her, the more he wondered what things could have been like between them, or if there could still be a relationship despite their differences. How else to explain why he’d shaved? Her leaving still stung, and her return had opened old wounds, but to be honest, he felt better knowing she was in Eldanhill.
When he searched his feelings, the knowledge that he got to see her face, her dark hair, and those golden-brown eyes of hers made him want to smile. Unbeknownst to anyone, he found time at night to watch her head to the inn from one of her many meetings. Sometimes, he stayed outside peering up at the windows until she put out the lamps and went to bed. Of late, dreams of her were a welcome change to the nightmares about his mother and the black-armored man.
He glanced toward her table again, hoping to catch her eye, and frowned. Mouth open, a slice of bread held at chin level, Irmina was staring in the direction of the stage. At that moment, Ancel noticed the music’s change to a slower pace, bubbling like a spring formed from newly thawed ice. He followed Irmina’s gaze.
Kachien was swaying like a drunkard, her voice growing softer until it faded into nothingness.
No, Ancel thought as he realized what she was doing. Please, no.
But not only didn’t she stop, her movements increased into a full-fledged Temtesa.
As the patrons noticed, conversations dwindled. The room fell into silence broken only by the takuatin’s notes, and the flutter of Kachien’s trousers and shirt with each twirl, stretch of her leg, and flick of her honey-colored hair. Her hips snapped back and forth, and despite her trousers, they radiated seduction. As she always did when she danced the Temtesa, she had eyes only for him. His face grew heated. Riveted where he sat, he drank in every movement.
And then a strange phenomenon occurred. On stage, Kachien blurred and became Irmina as she used to dance for him in the same fashion. Those times flashed through his head, bringing on a longing he hadn’t experienced in almost two years. He shut his eyes in an attempt to drive away the images. The music picked up in speed, and with it so did the swirl of those old images. Faster and faster they came. He and Irmina together as they once were.
He barely heard the whoops and applause from the crowd or noticed when the music ended. Staggering to his feet, he fled.
Chapter 19
How dare that woman. Irmina stalked from the Whitewater Inn. Even to her, Kachien’s Temtesa had been intoxicating. She had no doubt the woman did the dance on purpose. A stab to remind her of the love she and Ancel once shared, and what Kachien now appeared to own. How could she be so vindictive? What made her think I cared anyway? Irmina quivered, not solely with anger at what Kachien had done, but also because she knew she did care.
She had no other explanation for disguising herself to watch Ancel spar with Ryne on a daily basis. To say he had filled out well would have been an understatement. There was no doubt he maintained a rigorous exercise regimen comparable to the Raijin considering the broadness of his back, his muscled arms, and his chest. She felt her face flush simply by thinking about his body. And the way he moved! It was like watching a mountain lion stalk its prey before striking in a flurry. At times he attacked with such speed she wondered how Ryne managed to dodge every strike, but then, she’d seen Ryne fight also. She still recalled his sessions with Sakari that led her to believe either of them could best a Weaponmaster. Ancel was almost on par.
Irmina strode down the Eldan Road, trying to shake the thoughts from her mind. Occasionally, she reached for where the tiny knot of her strange link to Ancel should have been. Whatever had happened inside, it had disappeared, cut off after it briefly flared. Trying to ignore what it could mean, she let the town occupy her attention.
Despite the torches and lamps, much remained familiar, but the differences stood out. Bigger homes sprouted up in many places. The cobblestoned streets were more crowded than she remembered them being at night with more wagons, drays, and carts trundling along. Even the noises were different. Eldanhill used to be a quieter place with the murmur of people interspersed by the smithies or the stone masons as its heartbeat. Behind it all, if one listened just right, the whir from the windmills and the rush of the Kelvore River was its lifeblood. Somewhere deep in the background would be the Whitewater Falls’ distant roar. Now, the incessant clang of metal on steel or rock played a song of war.
The familiar roads still existed. Thank the gods for that. Tezian Lane, Damal Way, Henden Lane, Amelie’s Avenue, Thanairen Square. How many realized the significance of those names? The last one made her remember Ryne’s identities. Ryne Thanairen Waldron. Nerian the Shadowbearer. How none recognized the man was beyond her, but as she promised Jerem, she would keep his secret. For Ancel’s sake.
An ache pricked at her chest as she recalled the anguish on Ancel’s face when he left the inn. Why was she concerned for him anyway? He made his feelings for her quite plain. The nerve of him to sleep with some other woman in her absence. How dare he? No. She was being ridiculous. You didn’t really expect him not to move on did you? Not after the letter. Gritting her teeth at the conflicting emotions, she kept on walking.
As if her thoughts concerning him weren’t difficult enough, she still needed to decide on how to proceed with the Exalted’s orders. Try as she might, she failed to muster a single reason to take Ancel’s life other than their command. Did Galiana tell her the truth or only tried to manipulate her into thinking differently about the council and the Dorns? Whic
h brought her to another question: what were the chances that the tomes in the Iluminus’ Lower Library were false? Misinformation planted to stir opinions in the Tribunal’s favor. The idea wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility; the Tribunal employed similar tactics with the Devout. Their jobs to preach the advantages of Streamean worship, the Tribunal’s virtues, and the swaying of histories and opinions among the masses worked well for centuries. Tell the right people a certain thing and eventually the word spreads. Guide what you want known carefully, and a lie becomes a fact.
What details did she really know beyond any doubt concerning her parent’s death? She never saw the bodies for herself. She’d been away, visiting Jillian when it all happened. All she had were her parents’ research papers into how the council maintained their longevity and their suspicions concerning the Tribunal. There were the confessions of the men who carried out the act, but then what did that really mean? Could her parents have been what Tae and Galiana claimed? Servants to the shade? The mere thought curdled her insides.
She longed to put down the weight of her doubts, but the hatred she harbored toward the council and the Dorns kept her warm many a night. A part of her wanted to believe they were good people. The seeds Galiana had planted gave her a slight hope, but somehow she feared clinging to its precipitous edge.
Jaw clenching, she barely acknowledged the passersby and their nervous glances, as they hurried from her path, heads bobbing when they muttered her title. Thoughts and choices crowding her, she failed to notice that she’d walked a circle until she found herself back at the inn’s entrance. When she reached the door, she stopped.
A huge, gray-white form lay between the inn and the adjoining building, torchlight playing off its fur. Charra raised his head, tongue lolling, his gaze following her as she entered the establishment. Her heart began to thump with the possibility that Ancel was inside.
Anxious to meet him, she hurried through the foyer. Heart fluttering, a smile touched her lips. Maybe he’d come around after all. Her anger that he slept with Kachien mattered little. She wanted him to know she cared. No. Downplaying what she felt would not do. I love him. There, she’d admitted it. Warmth crept through her with the thought.
Inside the inn, the usual lamps lit the greeting room and the hall beyond, their reddish hue an inviting allure. Her feet feathered the polished floors as she strived not to run like some foolish schoolgirl. When she reached the dining hall, she searched among the patrons. Rolt and the serving girl, Callie, made as if to come to her, but she shook her head. Ancel wasn’t at any of the tables. Crestfallen, she left the room and trudged upstairs.
Lost in thought and the sinking feeling in her chest, she pushed open her room door. She’d had high hopes. A sigh escaped her lips.
“Bellflowers were always your fragrance of choice like my mother.”
She jumped at the sound of Ancel’s voice. Slowly, she turned, telling herself not to show her excitement. If her heart beat any harder, she swore he’d be able to hear it.
He sat on the chair next to the bed, oiled hair a shiny black tinged by the red lamplight. Face clean-shaven, his jaw line appeared much sharper than she recalled, but she loved the profile no less. His eyes were shining emerald pinpoints.
“I never stopped wearing your favorite perfume,” she finally managed. “Even if it meant me going to find the flowers myself, I did so every day.”
“I kept your letter with me for a year,” Ancel said.
Her heart stilled.
“I read it every day.” His voice became hoarse. “I kissed your red lip prints any time I opened it. Several times a day.” He touched the left side of his chest. “I kept it here, in whatever coat I wore, always close to my heart.” His eyes shone with wetness now.
“Oh, Anc, I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
He didn’t say not to use the nickname. Her heart leapt.
“Every day I prayed you would come back to me, but you never did.” He stood.
Feet leaden and rooted to the rug and floor beneath, she stuttered, “I-I thought about returning. I wanted to, so many times, but I-I couldn’t.”
“You mean, you wouldn’t.”
She squeezed her eyes tight against the tears trickling down her face. “Because of what I found out then, my heart wouldn’t let me. If I had returned, I would’ve tried to kill your parents, destroy the council.”
Ancel’s eyes shot open. “Why?”
She told him, recounting when she first discovered her ability to tame animals, then being sent off to the Iluminus. Once there, she’d hear the whispers among the Ashishin concerning her family. A look of puzzlement stole across Ancel’ face.
“You can speak to animals? You mean like Charra?”
“No, I tried with him once, but he rejected my control.”
“Control,” he repeated, brow puckering even harder. “You can control them also?”
“Well, yes and no. It’s more like suggestions. As if I’m their leader and they follow where I say.”
Expression thoughtful, he grunted.
She continued with her story, telling him how she discovered the records of the part the council and his parents played before the Shadowbearer War. How Ancel’s father had begun the culling by slaying one of her ancestors, Garrick Nagel. She laid out the Dorns’ orders for her parents’ execution so many centuries later. Then she relayed Galiana’s version of the events. When she finished she realized she now sat in a chair not far from him, wringing her hands, tears streaming down her face.
Ancel strode across the rugs until he loomed over her. Reaching down, he took her hand. She didn’t resist. When their fingers met, a tingling sensation swept through her. His hands were rough, calluses dotting his palms. With their fingers entwined, he pulled her gently to her feet. When he hugged her, she lost all sense of being. She floated in some nameless void where only pleasure existed.
“You’re right. I wouldn’t have believed you. All this happened for a reason.” His voice was a tender buzz against her ear. “But I don’t believe what you read in the Iluminus. My father had his reasons. I trust him.”
His heart thumped in tune with hers. Irmina buried her face in his neck, inhaling deeply. The scent of whatever he used to shave was strong and pleasant.
“I gave up everything after you left,” Ancel whispered. “I no longer trained or studied in earnest. Those dreams I had of Jenoah and the Mater coursing through the cities haunted me from time to time, even in my waking hours, and often at the Mystera. In order to forget you, I turned to bedding any woman I could.”
Irmina stiffened at his confession. “So does that explain Kachien?” She cleared her throat.
“In ways, yes, and no.” Ancel sighed.
Her heart faltered.
“I care for her. She helped me forget you, despite what she is. I needed someone to listen to me, someone to talk to, someone who could relate to my pain … she was there. She also saved my life.”
“Looking a bit like me didn’t hurt either,” Irmina said, purely out of spite, almost wanting to bite the words back.
“That made it easier. I imagined she was you on many nights. At times, I still do, like when she danced the Temtesa.”
Those words stung but set her spirits soaring. Now she understood why he’d left the way he did, the pain on his face. She leaned away from him looking deep into his eyes. “I’m here now.”
He kissed her, and she grabbed hard to hope. Breathless, she still had her eyes closed when he eased her away. She opened her eyes.
“Dance for me, Mina.”
All her doubts disappeared.
Chapter 20
Accompanied by Charra the next morning, Ancel made his way to Old Javed’s stable a new man. The air was fresh and crisp, a testament to new beginnings. He smiled wider than he remembered doing
in a long while as he thought about the night with Irmina. The lovemaking had been like old times but better. To Irmina’s delight, he’d used every trick and position Kachien taught him. The thought of Kach brought him down a notch, but he shrugged it off. Eventually, he would explain it all to her. Of all people, she would understand.
Not many people graced the streets this early dawn. Sunlight set fire to the Kelvore’s snowy peaks and lit the few wispy clouds scudding across the sky in flame-colored hues. More soldiers than usual were patrolling, but he wasn’t overly concerned about their presence. With his current mood, the cold wind blowing didn’t warrant drawing his cloak around him. The breeze swirled back and forth like lovers chasing each other. In Whitewater Falls, snow squalls often followed days like this.
At the stables, Ryne was practicing. The giant danced so quickly from Stance to Style Ancel found his movements difficult to track, although he did manage to pick out a few repetitions from the Forms and the Streams. With each change, Ryne’s Etchings shifted.
Dressed as usual in his leathers, Ryne’s face was now clean-shaven, his hair tied by a leather cord and only reaching his nape. A couple early risers stood close by, whispering amongst themselves as Ryne worked through a series of attacks, easing from top to middle to almost touching the ground before deftly stepping to one side and unleashing a strike that would behead a man with ease.
When he finished, Ryne faced Ancel and sheathed his greatsword in the scabbard angled crossways at his hip. No sweaty sheen marred his features. “Ready?”
“Yes.” A slight tingle coursed through Ancel’s body at the thought of their expedition. No one had gone out to the winery since his mother’s taking.
One of Old Man Javed’s stable boys arrived with a black-coated gelding. Ancel frowned at who followed on a chestnut mare. Behind the boy, Mirza rode in a full set of leather armor and furs to match Ancel’s own, his bow slung across his back. In one hand, he carried an ebonsteel spear.
Aegis of The Gods: Book 02 - Ashes and Blood Page 15
