The Lost Swallow

by Jayne Castel

  “Thank you,” she said quietly, strangely breathless all of a sudden. “You certainly have a gift.”

  Asher gave a soft laugh and turned away. When he replied, his voice was strange, strained. “You’re welcome.”

  20

  Duty

  WHAT ARE YOU doing?

  Both his female companions lay sleeping just a few yards away, but slumber would not come to Asher. He hadn’t lied to Mira earlier; he was exhausted to the marrow. A deep fatigue pulled at him in a dark undertow, clawing at the edges of his mind.

  He had to rest—and yet he couldn’t.

  The chill pressed close, penetrating through his heavy cloak and layers of leather and woolen clothing. Asher glanced up at the sky, watching the moon begin its lazy descent toward the horizon. Time had become his enemy.

  You’re not supposed to be healing them. They should both be dead by now.

  Asher looked down at his hands, pale in the moonlight. These were healing hands. If he did as Irana commanded, he’d become a murderer.

  Bile stung the back of his throat.

  I’ll never get a better opportunity than this. It was true. Both Mira and Ninia slept deeply after his healing. He was exhausted, but he would still be able to pull down the moonlight—the same light that had healed Ninia of her fever—shape it into a blade and slice her throat open. It would be a quiet death—she’d never feel a thing.

  He glanced over at Mira. She lay on her side facing him. She breathed deeply and slowly, her full lips slightly parted, her dark hair pooling around her.

  An ache formed deep within Asher’s chest. He wanted her. He longed to tangle his fingers in that wild dark hair, to kiss those soft lips. He ached to strip that lovely body naked and worship it with his own.

  His breathing quickened. How could he end this woman’s life?

  He shifted his attention to Ninia then. She looked so young lying there. Her confidence and cleverness had made him forget that she had only just left girlhood behind. She had so much strength in her, so much potential.

  And yet he knew who she really was.

  Asher tore his gaze away and ran a hand over his face.

  What a mess.

  This was his fault, him and his foolish blind loyalty. Irana had played him; she’d offered him up like a Winter Blood sacrifice. She’d known his sense of duty would make it impossible for him to deny her.

  Irana had also known what carrying out her orders would do to him.

  A chill settled over Asher, one that had nothing to do with the cold. Thrindul had been a hard man, but he would never have condoned this mission.

  Asher clenched his hands, cursing himself for agreeing to this madness. Ryana had once teased him about his dogged loyalty to the order. It’ll wear you out, she’d warned him. One day you’ll wake up a husk and wonder where your life’s gone.

  She was right, only it had taken this to make him see.

  I can’t do it.

  Asher glanced left at the sleeping women, resolve hardening within him. He forgot the cold, forgot his exhaustion. It was like drawing back a veil that had obscured his vision for many years. The order had colored everything, shaped his view of the world, and he’d never been able to look past it.

  Asher clenched his jaw. Not anymore.

  By helping Ninia and Mira, rather than ending their lives, he was delaying the inevitable. Taking them across the border and back to The Royal City might result in their deaths, but at least their blood wouldn’t be on his hands.

  I should warn them about Irana.

  Asher pushed the thought aside. He was getting ahead of himself, for they were still stuck in the middle of enemy territory, far from a safe haven.

  Once we’re out of danger I’ll tell them, he promised himself. And then I’ll have to come up with a plan about how to deal with the High Enchanter.

  Until then, he had all of their survival—his own included—to worry about.

  21

  Making Plans

  DAWN FILTERED ITS grey light over the marshes. Mira sat up, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. Then her gaze swept over the surrounding swampland.

  Shadows, this place is even grimmer than I thought.

  Furlong upon furlong of stinking, stagnant pools of water and mud stretched in every direction. And this little island sat in the midst of it all. The dead tree stretched up behind Mira, its branches grasping at the pale sky. A mantle of heavy cloud—that reminded her of all those weeks without sunlight—hung over the world today.

  Mira turned, to find Asher already awake and watching her. “Morning.” He handed her an apple. “I hope you're not hungry?”

  They’d lost their packs back at the leaguefort, along with Mira’s sword. It galled her not to have Foebane at her side. The blade she’d taken from one of the garrison soldiers felt clumsy and crude in comparison.

  Mira took the apple with a tight smile. “Where did you get this?”

  “I always carry food on me … just in case of emergencies.”

  “Good morning.”

  A sleepy voice interrupted them. Mira looked over her shoulder to find Ninia struggling to sit up. Her cheeks were still slightly flushed, but she looked infinitely healthier than the day before. Her thick brown hair, now missing two clips, had tumbled around her shoulders.

  “Feeling better?” Mira asked.

  Ninia gave a great yawn and stretched. “Much.”

  “Here.” Asher tossed the princess an apple.

  Ninia pulled a face before taking a bite of the apple. Her face screwed up once more. “It’s pithy.”

  Both Asher and Mira ignored her—instead, they were watching each other.

  Mira was acutely aware of Asher this morning. He sat a few feet away, but it suddenly felt too near. He had tied his long hair back from his face, but it had come lose, giving him a tousled, dangerously attractive look. His gaze made Mira feel flayed bare. There had been a growing tension between them over the past two days, yet there had been a wall up till now.

  This morning Asher’s silver-grey eyes were the sharpest she’d ever see them. He watched her with a direct, intense look that made heat creep across her body.

  Across from them Ninia swallowed her mouthful, her gaze shifting from Asher back to Mira. “What is it?”

  Asher blinked and glanced over at her. He smiled then. “I’m just wondering what we’re going to do next.”

  “Mira’s got a map. We should take a look at it.”

  Tearing her gaze from Asher, and with the heat creeping up her neck, Mira dug into her pack and extracted the scroll that the queen had gifted her. She’d consulted it many times on the journey north—it had been of great assistance when calculating each day’s journey from one village to the next.

  Wordlessly she knelt down and rolled the parchment out before her, weighting down each corner with a stone.

  Asher moved up next to her, his thigh accidently brushing hers. “This is expertly drawn,” he said, his gaze sweeping over the large expanse of The Kingdom of Thûn. “Beautiful.”

  “My uncle drew it,” Ninia spoke up, her voice edged with pride. She had moved close so she too could see the map. “He was the kingdom’s best cartographer.”

  “He was indeed a talented man,” Asher agreed.

  Mira stared down at the map. The light was poor in this misty, sunless dawn, but if she peered close she could make out all the details. After a few moments she chanced a glance across at Asher. “Any ideas?”

  “As I see it, we have a few paths to choose from,” he replied. “We can try the border again—not a wise idea.”

  Mira frowned. “Why not? They’re in chaos at the leaguefort. We might be able to slip by.”

  Asher snorted. “They’ll also be as angry as hornets … you’d be safer retracing your steps to Thornmere. I think—”

  “Where they’re also looking for us,” Ninia cut him off. “I’m not going back there.”

  Asher gave her an exasperated look. “I’m just layi
ng out all the options.”

  “Well, what are the others?”

  “Since north and south aren’t viable, that leaves east or west.”

  “Go on,” Mira said.

  “East is the longer route. It takes us through the heart of occupied territory, across the Royal Highway, past Aldmere, and on to the coast. The highway will be blocked by troops though; we’ll have trouble getting across it. If we manage that, we’ll need to skirt around Lake Aldmere. After that, once we reach the coast we’ll need to find a boat to take us north.” Asher paused here, his forefinger tracing the barren stretch of coast south of the Rithmar border. “The only problem is that few folk live here. There are no settlements. It’ll be difficult to find passage.”

  “And the road west?” Mira asked.

  Asher sucked in a breath, turning his attention to the western edge of the kingdom. “That’s shorter,” he replied, “and there are a number of fishing villages on the coast where we can find passage north to Idriss, but …” His finger traced the stretch of the West Wolds before it stopped at the edge of a dark mass. “It’ll lead us straight through The Forest of the Fallen.”

  Mira went still next to him. A few feet away Ninia wore a thoughtful expression. “I take it you’ve heard the stories about that forest?” the princess asked after a moment.

  “Aye,” Asher replied. “Even to the north we scare children with tales of the ghosts of the fallen soldiers who haunt it.”

  Mira too had heard of the great battle that had taken place on the edge of the forest, nearly a thousand years earlier—between Rithmar and Thûn. There was a song one of the other Swallows used to sing while combing her hair at night. Remembering the words, Mira repeated them softly now. Asher and Ninia went still as they listened. Mira’s voice drifted into the early dawn.

  Soldiers of the North.

  Soldiers of the South

  Blood stains the earth.

  Screams rip the sky.

  My brother.

  My father.

  My uncle.

  All fallen, all gone.

  Wraiths of the dead.

  Roam the forgotten woods

  Forever.

  Ninia shuddered when Mira finished. “I’ve always hated that song.”

  “It’s chilling,” Asher agreed.

  “The tales must hold some truth to them,” Mira replied. “No one has dwelt in the forest ever since.”

  Asher snorted, his gaze shifting between the two of them. “The map shows a path leading through the forest,” he pointed out. “Surely the stories are no longer true … so many years have passed since then.”

  Mira tensed, although she didn’t answer him. Her gaze was still upon the map, upon the dark expanse of the forest that carpeted the northwestern edge of Thûn. This conversation had put her on edge—a blunt reminder of the mess they were in. When Ninia responded, her voice was hushed. “We don’t know the forest is no longer haunted.”

  Asher inhaled deeply. “No … but since this land is crawling with men of Anthor—and we’ve just destroyed their fort—our choices are few. East or west, we need to decide.”

  Mira perched at the stern of the boat, watching Asher row. Ninia had her back to her, looking across the still water. It was a quiet morning—too quiet. The kind of day where you felt as if nature itself took on a watchful feel. The cloud had drawn in, shrouding the small boat in its own world. Mira was grateful for that at least, for men would be scouring the lake edge looking for them.

  Her attention returned to Asher. Feeling the weight of her stare he glanced up, their gazes meeting. A moment later she saw the corner of his mouth twitch as if he fought a smile. Unlike earlier, Mira looked away.

  They’d made their decision—west it was.

  Ninia and Asher had agreed first, then they’d both looked to her. As if they were a team, as if her opinion mattered.

  She hadn’t liked that. She didn’t want them thinking she was part of this. Not when she didn’t want to be traveling with them. Not when all she could think about was leaving. Last night she’d been too exhausted to dwell upon it, but in the cold light of day, as they’d planned out a way forward, a feeling of panic had descended upon her.

  It was still there, squirming in the pit of her belly.

  In the morning’s deathly silence, her thoughts were so loud she was sure her companions could hear them.

  Asher can look after Ninia. She’s not my problem anymore.

  Mira forced back a scowl. There was that annoying sense of duty again. It galled her, but she had to admit she had come this far with Ninia, not just because fate had conspired to keep them together, but because she hadn’t been able to abandon the girl. First the shadow creatures, and then the Anthor soldiers; Ninia had been in danger the whole way here. However, with Asher’s protection she’d be safe—Mira could finally take that noose of obligation from around her neck and walk away.

  Mira glanced up, watching Asher row them across the lake in long, even strokes. She’d never met a man like the enchanter; everything about him confused her. Enigmatic and aloof yet frank, a healer yet a warrior—who was he really?

  He’s a better choice of guardian for Ninia anyway.

  Mira clenched her jaw. Her attraction to this man was distracting her, clouding her judgment. If she stayed with him much longer, it would get its hooks into her.

  She needed to free herself of it—of him.

  Asher climbed out of the boat into the freezing, thigh-deep water. He’d angled the boat for a stretch of shingle beach, half-way between two of the villages that studded the northwestern shore of the lake.

  Once Mira and Ninia had disembarked, Asher placed the oars inside the boat and pushed it back away from the shore toward the deep water. He gave the stern of the boat a hard shove, sending it on its way. Then he turned and waded to the shore.

  He climbed up the shingle bank, his boots crunching on the fine gravel, and reached the top where Ninia and Mira waited for him. Seeing the quizzical expressions on their faces, he smiled. “Just taking an extra precaution. They’ll find our tracks eventually, but let’s not make it any easier for them than we have to.”

  His gaze shifted past them then, to the west. They stood just a few yards from the path that led along the western coast of the lake. To the north lay Fellmarsh, to the south lay Snape—yet their path wouldn’t lead them to either village. They were traveling into the West Wolds, a vast tract of rolling hill country.

  “Let’s get moving,” Mira muttered. “We shouldn’t linger this close to the path.”

  Asher shifted his gaze back to her. The Swallow was on edge this morning. She now wore a stern, slightly irritated expression. She also kept avoiding his eye. He wondered why, and thought back to the blush he’d seen creep up her neck that morning when they’d locked gazes. She too felt the energy between them—and it appeared to have soured her mood.

  “Do we need to get supplies first from one of the villages?” Ninia asked. “We don’t have any food.”

  Asher shook his head. “It’s too risky. There’s a town in the heart of the wolds—Horncastle—where we can resupply.”

  “Enough chat,” Mira growled, interrupting them. “Noise travels … someone will hear us. Come on.”

  Not waiting for a response, Mira set off, leading the way west through the curling mist. She didn’t even bother to look behind her to make sure they were following; she knew they would. Ninia hurried to catch her up, while Asher took rearguard. Someone had to watch their backs, and it seemed Mira was eager to be out front today.

  Moments later they reached the lake path—little more than a rutted dirt track around four feet wide. They didn’t linger here, dashing across it before they climbed a grassy knoll. Away from the shore, the mist drew back slightly, giving them a view across the exposed landscape west. A rumpled blanket of green hills and lines of skeleton trees stretched west before them. Without a word, they set off in that direction.

  Walking a few paces behind
Ninia, Asher scanned his surroundings, his senses straining for any sign there were soldiers nearby. He’d slept poorly the night before, only managing to doze for a short while before dawn. However, the decision he’d made had given him resolve and lifted a great weight from his shoulders. He was tired this morning, but he was no longer struggling with the task he’d been given.

  He felt as if he’d just escaped a dungeon of his own making.

  From the moment he’d met these two, he’d been thinking of ways to kill them. Now he was focused on helping them. His gaze shifted past Ninia to Mira. She was striding out, walking so briskly that Ninia had to jog to keep up with her. He could see the tension in Mira’s shoulders; it was emanating off her in waves this morning.

  He might have made peace with himself, but that woman hadn’t. He wasn’t sure what was bothering her, but he intended to find out.

  22

  Into the West

  MIRA LED THE way west. The landscape before her was a series of low hills, meadows, and steep valleys. The soil was chalky, and gnarled growths of hawthorn peppered the landscape. It wasn't hard country for traveling, and she imagined they would find plenty of places to hide along the way.

  After a short while they left the mist behind them and walked under a pale winter’s sky. Mira strode out, ignoring the tiredness that dragged at her limbs. She didn’t want to see either of her companions this morning. She wanted to separate herself from them, to ready herself for her next step.

  At noon they stopped in the midst of a shallow valley for a brief rest. Here, Mira was forced to turn and acknowledge Ninia and Asher, who made their way down the hill behind her.

  Ninia halted. “What a beautiful vale,” she said, looking around her.

  Mira supposed it was, not that she was in the mood to appreciate it. A low hill rose behind them, and a stream trickled through the valley, tinkling over smooth, rounded rocks. Moss carpeted the banks of the stream, and a stand of bare trees—old oaks—covered the hill to the west. The girl was right; in summer, she imagined this valley was a magical spot.