Hush
Page 10
“What is this commotion?” A stern, powerful voice sounds across the courtyard. The guard’s grip loosens enough for me to roll inelegantly onto my stomach. To either side of me, the guards are bowing low.
A pair of immaculately polished white leather boots enters my vision; they are trimmed with gold at the heel and toe. I barely even notice the two beautiful, well-dressed ladies in the background who accompanied the newcomer into the courtyard. This man’s presence alone commands the attention of all.
I gulp loudly, my gaze wandering upward to a more resplendent, white version of the Bards’ uniform. It is tailored perfectly to his athletic frame, and a rare velvety, crimson fur-lined cape drapes over one broad shoulder. An outfit crafted for looks rather than practicality, unlike anything I’ve ever seen. My eyes finally rest on the man’s face, and I gasp.
Lord Cathal returns my gaze with penetrating gray eyes. He seems possessed of both youthful energy and mature wisdom at once. His hair is various shades of silver. Fine stubble shadows his jaw, enhancing his severity. Much like his home, he’s captivatingly handsome, both hard to look at and difficult to look away from.
He cocks his head at me, almost amused, before turning conversationally to his men.
“So, we have an uninvited guest, do we?” His voice is heavy with authority. He has an uncanny way of speaking like he is carefully measuring all his words, his teeth flashing white.
“This peasant wandered into the barracks, your lordship,” one of the guards replies readily. “We don’t know how she got in…”
“That much is obvious,” Cathal cuts him off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Double our security forces at the gates and see that this does not happen again.”
“And the girl, Lordship?”
Cathal tilts his head in the other direction, observing me. His expression is completely unreadable. “Dispose of her,” he says finally.
“No!” I scream, but Cathal merely signals his men, who haul me roughly to my knees.
This is it. I have come this far for nothing.
That’s your problem, Shae. You never think things through. Fiona was right.
How I long for her now. For Mads. For anyone who might have defended me. But it’s too late.
My blood is pounding through my body like bolts of electricity, and I may die from fear alone. My fingers, arms, chest, and throat burn as everything I am screams to prevent what’s about to happen.
“Ma,” I cry out. It’s unbidden, a deep call for someone who I will never have back, at least not in this life.
But maybe in the other. Maybe if it’s real, we will meet in Gondal.
Gondal. My last thought, a forbidden one. How fitting.
I hear a blade screeching from its scabbard.
Everything seems to happen in slow motion: the flash of a guard’s blade, the laughter of the Bards, the flash of Cathal’s finery as he begins to turn away.
In that frozen instant, I am consumed by the memory of the first time I understood what death was—the moment I saw the Bards riding into town the morning Kieran was taken by the Blot. Suddenly, I am not in the courtyard at all, but falling from the great tree beside our home, the only thing in my vision the indigo death ribbons I had woven into the branches, rippling and swaying in the breeze. The too-bright sun and the too-dark ribbons, wild and snapping.
Time unfreezes, if it ever stopped.
A scream rips from my throat, and my arms fly up to cover my face, right as the blade swings down and—
A beat.
I draw a ragged breath, lowering my arms. I can hear nothing but the pounding of blood in my ears. The courtyard has gone so silent that the drop of a pin would echo like thunder.
My executioner looks in confusion at his hand. Where he held a sword aloft, there is no blade.
Only a blue-black ribbon, billowing in the cool mountain wind, like a slender flag. A death ribbon.
Finally, his stunned silence snaps and he drops it. His sword clatters to the floor, returned to its original shape.
My mouth hangs open, drawing in a trembling breath of air.
The guard scrambles to pick the blade up, but Cathal steps closer, putting his boot down on top of the fallen sword. He studies me carefully down the narrow bridge of his nose.
“Well, then. It seems we have business after all,” he says. “Rise.”
I try to speak, but my voice is so raspy, I can barely push it through my throat. I am unsure of what just happened. A miraculous Telling. It could only have been the work of Cathal, done to save me … but he ordered my removal. Why suddenly show mercy?
He stares intently, waiting for me to stand, and I stumble to my feet, but between Cathal’s gaze and my shaking knees, I’m not sure I’ll remain upright for long.
“Your name?” Cathal asks. His voice is perfunctory, but there’s an undercurrent of curiosity that was not there before.
“Shae, your lordship.” I try my best at an unpracticed curtsy. He chuckles softly—is he laughing at me? I can’t be sure. It’s a melodic sound, and the ghost of a smile on his face only adds to his magnetism. It’s hard to believe that only seconds ago he ordered his men to kill me without any compunction whatsoever.
“Perhaps, Shae, it would be best if we speak in private,” Cathal says. His eyes flicker to the gathered sentries and Bards, all gazing on in mixtures of shock and apathy at my brush with mortality. Cathal gestures behind us. “Come,” he says, turning on his heel and heading toward the main entrance to the castle. The two beautiful ladies from before curtsy deeply and take their leave at a cavalier wave of Cathal’s hand.
Still shaking, I fall in step silently behind the master of High House.
* * *
Cathal leads me silently up the stairs. I’m so stunned, I can barely take in the details of High House’s interior, though I can see that it is masterfully cold and spare. I have heard the Bards live a life of deprivation and modesty; I wonder if that’s why the vast rooms of the castle are unadorned. And yet it seems a strange contrast to the white and gold splendor of its exterior.
Cathal spares a look over his shoulder without breaking stride. “From the plains, are you?”
“Yes, Lord,” I reply. “If I may ask…” I pause to pull more air into my lungs. “How did you know?”
“You sound out of breath. The air is thinner here,” he says. “You will adjust to the altitude with time.”
“Ah,” I manage to gasp as we reach the top; saying any more might suffocate me completely.
Cathal silently continues down another spare hall, this one with a ceiling made of glass, brilliant sunlight pouring in. Abruptly he turns to a dark wooden door flanked by two guards. They bow slightly, opening it. I follow Cathal inside.
Here, the monastic simplicity of the décor is gone, and it’s like we have stepped into an entirely new world. I follow him into a magnificent parlor with large windows overlooking a splendid garden, complete with an intricate hedge maze. Ornate objects adorn the space, along with incredible works of art. Portraits of figures with huge eyes and mouths seem to leer over the room, each with the high forehead and pale hair that Cathal shares. At the center of the room are a comfortable settee and luxurious armchairs framing a mahogany table with a shining golden tea set atop it, polished to perfection. Behind the settee sits a massive white-stone statue of the First Rider. The whole room has a disturbing air of excess, but every individual item screams with value and strange beauty.
I catch my reflection in an ornate mirror on the wall and grimace slightly. I can barely see what part of my face is dirt or freckles. My hair has gone from light brown to a dark, grimy color, caked with mud and dust. I feel like vermin infesting this beautiful place I’m not meant to be in.
“Please, sit.” Cathal gestures to the settee as he takes a seat in one of the armchairs. I obey him hurriedly, trying not to cringe at the dirt I will leave behind. “I hope you will accept my sincerest apologies for the misunderstanding outside.”
In any other context, I might have exclaimed that incoherently expressing yourself is a misunderstanding; ordering his men to kill me is something else entirely. I grit my teeth, looking Cathal over warily. Giving him a piece of my mind might not be the best idea.
“I … That is…” I stammer. “You’re too kind, Lord. I’m just thankful you spared my life. Because something has happened. In my village. And…” The words run out. Cathal is watching me very carefully. His eyes hold me in place like he’s turning me to stone.
“Take your time. You have piqued my interest.” The corner of his lip is turned upward. “That alone is no easy feat.”
“I have?”
I cut myself off before he changes his mind. His eyes don’t waver from mine. “Shae, was it? Do you know how many Bards I have here at High House?” he asks, disregarding my question. “Hundreds.” He leans forward on his knees, steepling his fingers. “And how many of those hundreds do you think are women?”
“I can’t…” I shake my head. “I would not presume to know such things.”
“Six.”
My eyebrows rise. “In all of Montane?”
Cathal nods. “Telling is an unpredictable force, one that is difficult to control and more difficult still to master. For every Bard in the ranks of High House, there are dozens more hopefuls who cannot withstand such power. Their minds shatter.” He pauses. “Such occurrences are sadly more prevalent among the few women we have discovered in possession of the gift.”
“The gift?” I repeat, unsure why Cathal is saying this.
The other corner of his mouth turns upward. “It starts as a warmth in the fingertips. A small shiver that spreads through the arms and shoulders, reaching a fever pitch in the heart that anchors the body to a moment in time where reality and truth exist together.”
I drop my gaze to my hands as he speaks.
My embroidery. My dreams. My curse.
I look back up at Cathal, and he smiles sagely, as if he can see what my mind is still attempting to process.
“Is that not why you are here? I think you know what I speak of, Shae.”
“I … don’t. I only came here because…” I take a breath to steel my nerves. “I have reason to believe one of your Bards is involved in the death of my mother.”
His expression shifts and his eyes narrow at me slightly, just enough to alter his features from kind to severe. “Is that so?” he says slowly, less a question than a statement.
I give a small nod, my body beginning to tremble. I let out a slow breath. If I want to secure his help, I need to be brave.
His brow has furrowed, but in an instant the austerity has vanished from his handsome face. “How troubling.”
Hope pierces me in the chest, and I look up, eager to hear more. “Does this mean … Will you help me?”
“Well, as I mentioned to you before, there has been a history of madness among the Bards. Unfortunately, it often happens to those who are most powerful. In the history of the Bards, it has been a documented phenomenon, and one we wish we had the power to change.”
“So … you think it’s possible? That someone at High House is … is…” I can’t bring myself to say it. I don’t want to risk the forbidden word again. Instead, I slow down and carefully say, “You think one of them could be complicit, then?”
“We cannot be sure. But I will look into it, you have my word.”
I fall to my knees. “Oh, thank you, thank you, my lord.” I want to weep, the burst of relief and joy inside me is so strong. Finally, someone who believes me.
His fingers gingerly touch my shoulder. The touch sends a shock of simultaneous warmth and coldness through me. I look up.
“Shae,” he says quietly, that echo of a smile hovering on his face. “I have a more important order of business first though.”
“Oh.” I try not to look as crestfallen as I feel.
“I must set you up with a room. And, of course, a trainer.”
“Oh, I … what?” A trainer?
A full smile graces his face and he laughs. “You still do not see it, do you?”
I sit back on my heels, confused, but suddenly obedient. He is going to help me. He believes me. That alone gives me a soaring feeling, as if I can accomplish anything. He has shown me mercy. He has heard me out. Someone has finally listened.
I wait for him to explain what he means.
“It is you, Shae. The ribbon in the courtyard. The Telling.” Yes. His miraculous act of mercy … he’s going to explain why he took pity on me at last, why he spared my life. “It was an incredible Telling, for someone so young.”
“For someone so…” I’m still, even now, struggling to follow him.
“You are one of those rare gems, Shae. Those born with the gift, who simply cannot control it yet. It is dormant, but emerging. Luckily, you have come to the right place.”
What is he talking about? He’s describing the gift of Telling, the power wielded only by …
“A Bard,” he says, finishing my thought. “How would you like to become one, Shae?”
Cathal rises to his feet and offers me his hand. His grip is strong but gentle. “With proper training, you could be a Bard of High House.”
“Me?”
I stare at his hand, then into his eyes. All the strange and disturbing events of the past few months—years, even—rush back to me. All the times I felt as if I had dreamed a dark and strange image into being. All those times my needles seemed to show me what to see in the world, maybe …
Maybe my hands were Telling.
This whole time I thought the Blot had come once for us, and that it was coming again for me. That there was something wrong with me, with my whole family. A curse. I believed exactly what others did, that the shadow of the Blot was hovering over us, waiting to descend.
Could it be that I am what Cathal sees instead?
“You have considerable raw talent, Shae. Hone it, train it, control it, and you will one day become an incredible Bard.” He pauses, his eyes narrowing grimly. “An untrained gift is a danger. Your power is not to be trifled with, and you have a long way to go to reach your full potential. The alternative is to succumb to madness—perhaps far sooner than you think.”
Relief washes over me. I don’t know how to thank him, to be sure this isn’t some wild and fantastical dream that will burst back open into ugliness the moment I awaken.
“You really don’t make an easy bargain to refuse, Lord Cathal.”
“It is one of the perks of my station, I am afraid.” Cathal smiles.
A sudden knock on the door jolts me back to reality, although Cathal seems unruffled by the interruption.
“Enter,” he calls.
The door opens silently and a Bard steps into the parlor, stopping a respectful distance from Cathal and bowing. My jaw drops when I recognize his thick, black hair, refined cheekbones, and chiseled jaw.
Ravod.
“Exactly the man I was hoping to see,” Cathal says as Ravod rises. The Bard’s eyes lock with mine.
“Lordship,” Ravod says, his dark eyes flickering over me before flitting to Cathal. “I’ve come to report that my recruitment party is prepared to depart on your order.”
“Delay that order, Ravod,” Cathal replies. “It seems I have done your job for you this time.”
Ravod frowns and cocks his head. For a moment his reaction reminds me of Mads. I wince, remembering him, someone who I hurt so deeply. “I don’t understand.”
Cathal gestures to me with an elegant flourish, and I watch as Ravod gives me a look of utter apathy. Does he not recognize me after all?
“This young lady is Shae,” Cathal says. “She is your newest recruit.”
13
Ravod’s gait is stiff as he leads me through the cool, echoing halls of High House. The castle only seems to get darker and have more twists the farther we travel.
&nbs
p; I follow first through an enormous circular hub with a majestic dome painted in the image of the night sky and lit with candles to mimic the stars. Violent images of horses, swords, and soldiers are scattered across it. We pass through a two-floor basilica, lined with blank-eyed statues, that splits off into a series of cloistered gardens. There, Bards pace with their heads down, a few kneeling and tending to the plants. Within one of the gardens, we walk along a narrow stone path, and I marvel at the vines that wind around the pillars in each corner, bearing remarkable blue flowers that shimmer in the dying sunlight. Unable to help myself, I carefully touch the delicate petals of the one nearest.
Ravod slows his pace, coming to a full stop a few steps ahead of me. With a long, heavy sigh, he turns around completely and watches me with appraising eyes.
“Sorry,” I stammer quickly. “I didn’t mean to slow us down.”
Ravod’s mouth tightens, and he takes a step toward me, folding his hands in front of his chest.
“I told you not to seek us out.”
He does recognize me.
I had almost forgotten the strange, subtle power of his voice. At his words, a small electric sensation travels along each of my ribs, from my sides to the center of my chest.
I smile a little too hopefully. “You remember me?”
“That’s not…” Ravod clears his throat, but his chiseled face remains unmoved. “Should I assume that you are simpleminded or merely hard of hearing? You clearly went out of your way to ignore a very specific and straightforward instruction.”
Fury flushes my cheeks, rising up from my neck. “I came because something terrible happened in my village.” My breath is ragged, and I should probably stop there, but I’m too angry at his insinuation that I’m a stupid, silly girl who followed him all this way despite his warnings. “This may come as a surprise, but I didn’t come here because I felt like it. You can’t imagine the difficulty I’ve faced in leaving my home and traveling—”