Rift

  Eira rushed to Cian, crouching beside her. Trying to shield her sister as much as she could, Eira searched the trees for their attacker. High-pitched cackling brought her gaze to the branches of a bone tree. Among the draping gore perched a hobgoblin, its beady red eyes fixed on Eira. It cackled again before it launched itself into the high branches of a nearby pine tree and disappeared. Whether satisfied with its attack or unwilling to risk a fight once it had been spotted, Eira didn’t know, but the small goblin seemed to be gone.

  Cian began to cough, spitting blood onto the ground. One look at the wounds snatched Eira’s breath. The hobgoblin had created its weapons by snapping limbs from the bone tree. The jagged, razor-sharp points of splintered bone had been thrown with enough force to render Cian’s armor useless. Both of the makeshift spears had entered her back and spiked out of her lower-left abdomen and upper-left chest.

  “Lady Cian!”

  Eira looked up and saw Alistair running toward them. Reaching the sisters, he stared at Cian, horror overspreading his face.

  “What happened?”

  “A hobgoblin was in the bone trees.” Eira’s voice shook. “It ambushed us and disappeared.”

  “Hobgoblins don’t attack like this,” Alistair whispered hoarsely. “They never attack like this.”

  Eira could only nod. She’d never known a hobgoblin to wield weapons or to demonstrate such deadly accuracy in an attack. But then, the Guard had never faced a band of striga or discovered a village devoid of its residents. The rules of their world were changing quickly. Too quickly to see what was coming next. Too quickly to save Cian. She drew a breath to speak, but only a sob came out as Cian collapsed on her side.

  “Lukasz sent me back to tell you we’re pursuing the goblin toward the river,” Alistair said. “We were to follow . . .”

  Eira cradled Cian’s head in her lap.

  “I’ll go for help,” Alistair told her. “There are elixirs in the saddlebags.”

  “There’s no elixir that will save her,” Eira answered. “These are fatal wounds.”

  Alistair tugged at his dark curls, frantic. “There must be something. In all that we study there must be something that can save her.”

  Eira shook her head. “Nothing we’ve learned—”

  Dorusduain is a lesson . . .

  Forcing her breath to slow, Eira held up her palm. It was dirty but unmarked. Skin that had been cut open, that blood had poured from, was whole again.

  “I know what can save her,” Eira whispered.

  “Tell me how I can help.” Alistair crouched beside her. “I’ll do everything I can.”

  “I need you to leave,” Eira told him.

  Alistair stood up, frowning. “I’m not going to leave you like this. What if the hobgoblins return? What if there are more redcaps?”

  Eira’s jaw clenched, but she couldn’t waste time arguing.

  “Will you swear to me that what you witness here, you’ll not speak of to anyone?” she hissed. “Swear on your life.”

  Alistair paled, but nodded.

  “If you forsake this oath, I will kill you myself.” Eira waited until he nodded again. “Hold my sister; try to keep her still. If the bone splinters move, it will cause more damage.”

  Eira and Alistair slowly traded places. Alistair’s eyes were wide. He looked frightened, not of his oath but of Eira herself. He probably believed she’d gone mad with grief. He’d be sure of it when he saw what she was about to do.

  But she couldn’t worry about Alistair’s assumptions. Drawing her dagger, Eira sliced open her palm and waited for her blood to hit the ground. She began to chant, but her mind was racing as she spoke the incantation the prisoner who called Bosque Mar master had taught her.

  Blood has been spilled here. Cian’s blood. Philip’s blood. The redcaps’ blood. He must come. He must.

  Eira kept her eyes closed as she chanted. And hoped. Her eyelids snapped open when Alistair gave a cry of alarm.

  “Don’t move, Alistair!” Eira snapped.

  “But—” Alistair had one hand on his sword hilt, the other holding Cian. His eyes were fixed on the place where Bosque Mar had materialized.

  Paying no attention to Alistair or Cian, Bosque came to Eira, taking her hand and kissing it.

  “My lady Eira.”

  When Eira drew her hand back, the wound was gone. She pointed at Cian’s crumpled form. “Can you save her?”

  Bosque glanced at Cian, then returned his gaze to Eira. “Do you want me to save your sister?”

  “My sister is dying,” Eira snarled at him. “Of course I want you to save her. Show me the power you claim to have.”

  “I’ve offered many demonstrations of my power,” Bosque said quietly. “And you require yet another?”

  “Please.” Eira’s anger broke and she bowed her head. “Please save Cian.”

  Bosque reached out, lifting Eira’s chin. His silver eyes bored into hers. “Your will.”

  He moved to Cian’s side, kneeling on the ground. Alistair stared at him in disbelief, but Bosque calmly regarded the knight and said, “Open her mouth.”

  Eira didn’t see Bosque’s weapons, but in a moment he’d opened the vein at his wrist and held it over Cian’s lips. His dark blood trickled onto her tongue. Eira watched as Cian swallowed reflexively. Still keeping his wrist to Cian’s mouth, Bosque reached out and grasped the bone splinter at her shoulder and with one jerk pulled it free. Without hesitation he reached for the other spear, sliding it out of Cian’s abdomen. Alistair gasped when blood didn’t gush from the puncture wounds, but Eira knew what was happening. The wounds were closing, Cian’s flesh mending.

  Withdrawing his wrist from Cian’s lips, Bosque leaned over and whispered in her ear. He stood up but glanced down at Alistair’s ashen face.

  “Thank you for your assistance, young knight.” Bosque’s silver eyes searched Alistair’s face. “Give me your name.”

  “Alistair Hart,” Alistair whispered, gazing into Bosque’s strange eyes without blinking.

  “I hope we’ll meet again, young Alistair.” Bosque smiled at him before returning to Eira’s side. “She’ll sleep now. And she won’t remember the attack . . . I thought the memory might pose some difficulties for you.”

  Eira stared at him, unable to speak. Her mind stormed with joy and fury.

  “You’re angry,” Bosque murmured, stepping close to her.

  “Was this your lesson?” Eira asked, glancing at Cian’s resting body and the blood-covered bone pieces that lay beside her. “Are you so cruel a teacher?”

  “The lesson is that you need me,” he told her. “As I need you.”

  “The redcaps, the village,” Eira said. “All of this was your doing?”

  “It was.”

  “How could I need you?” Eira kept her voice low. “I’m grateful that you healed Cian, but your redcaps killed two of the Guard. My sister was nearly killed by spears made from the bones of villagers. Innocent people.”

  “As I said.” Bosque spoke gently. “I need you. Without you I’m forced to this . . . to acts of desperation for my cause.”

  “You still need to feed your army,” Eira countered. “Isn’t that why your beasts are here, hunting those I’ve sworn to protect?”

  “Yes,” he said. “But I’m also here because I am subject to the foolish whims of feeble-minded magicians with delusions of their own power. That is why striga and redcaps terrorize small villages. I am a beggar, scavenging for what scraps I might find.”

  Bosque leaned in, murmuring to her. “You can change my fate. I would be subject to your will alone, where only those deserving punishment receive it from my warriors. Men like Abbot Crichton. Men you deem corrupt.”

  His breath was cool as it brushed her cheek. “I can save those you love . . . and I will destroy your enemies.”

  He stepped back, smiling. “Think on my words. I must leave you now as your companions are returning. You know how to find me when you’ve made your choice.” br />
  Eira nodded.

  Bosque glanced at Alistair. “The boy has potential. His heart’s desire has been denied. Keep that in mind and he could be an asset to you. Very soon you will need strong allies.”

  Eira’s brow furrowed and Bosque laughed, the sound fading as he slipped into the forest shadows. From behind her, Eira heard the shouts and calls of the returning Guard. Their imminent arrival propelled her to Alistair’s side.

  “Remember your oath,” she said to Alistair.

  “I will,” he answered without pause. “And we should tell everyone that Cian suddenly took ill.”

  Though slightly taken aback by his easy acceptance of the lie they would share, Eira still smiled at his quick thinking.

  “I only ask one thing of you.” Alistair looked at her and there was hunger in his eyes.

  “What?” Eira asked warily.

  “Tell me who that man was. Tell me everything.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  EMBER WOKE, SKIN flushed, but not because her fever had returned. She scooted up in bed and tried to catch her breath. She’d been dreaming, caught in an illusion so vivid it still clung to her mind.

  The dream had felt real because it had occurred in the same place she’d woken. Barrow had been reading to her as he’d told her he’d done each day while she recovered. But in this dream he hadn’t read to her from a chair pulled up next to her bed. Instead she’d been curled up against the length of his body, her head resting against his chest. She not only heard but felt each word he read as it rumbled from his throat.

  She could still hear the deep, steady tones of his voice. She could feel the warmth of his skin. His bare skin against hers beneath the bed linens.

  Ember’s fingers curled around the blanket as an unexpected shiver passed through her limbs. What madness was this? She’d never had such a dream, but it wasn’t the surprise of its impact that worried her. The allure of a maiden’s fantasy was nothing she dared succumb to—particularly when it involved her mentor. Barrow deserved her respect and surely would view doe-eyed infatuation with nothing but disdain, or at best a weary indulgence.

  Her discomfiture was made worse by the fact that Barrow hadn’t visited since the day she regained consciousness. Alistair had come to see her on several occasions, making apologies for his earlier outburst. He’d also recounted the horrible events of Dorusduain. Philip and Alan had been the only Guards lost, but others had suffered grave injuries, and the sickening fate of the villagers cast a pall on all the souls at Tearmunn. Even Lady Cian had taken ill.

  Ember was grateful for Alistair’s company. He was her link to the outside world. Every time he appeared, bearing news of the Guard or other business of the keep, Ember hid her disappointment that he’d become her regular companion while Barrow had for some unknown reason given up his daily visits to her sickroom.

  “I have good news.” The healer’s cheerful smile was a welcome relief from Ember’s tumble of thoughts.

  Ember sat up, noticing with satisfaction that doing so no longer took effort nor caused her pain. She brightened further when she saw that the healer was carrying her clothes.

  “Am I free?”

  The healer laughed. “I truly hope your stay here hasn’t felt too much like a prison. But you are free to return to your own quarters and to move about Tearmunn as you wish.”

  Ember rolled from bed, snatching the clothes from her.

  “Before you flee . . .” The healer clucked her tongue. “You must continue to exercise your back and shoulders and I don’t want you to leave the keep for another five days.”

  Ember’s face fell. She’d wanted to escape Tearmunn on Caber’s back, hopefully with Barrow and Toshach as companions. But even with these restrictions it would be wonderful to leave her sickroom. While the healer continued to fuss over her, checking her healed-over wounds one last time and reminding her not to exert herself too much, Ember pulled up her hair, securing it with the ringed braid Sorcha had taught her. She exchanged her sleeping shirt for a clean chemise and chausses and belted on her tabard. Even if she couldn’t leave Tearmunn, she was eager to return to a semblance of normalcy. She might not be able to perform all her duties with the Guard, but she could at least look like she belonged with them.

  She looked about, frowning. “Where are my weapons?”

  “Have you not listened to anything I’ve said?” the healer scolded. “You’ll have no need for them until Sunday.”

  “Not to use,” Ember said. “I want to be sure they haven’t been lost.”

  The healer laughed. “If I know anything about the Guard, it’s that they do not allow any weapons to be lost. I’m sure they’re in the barracks, awaiting your return.”

  Her words reassured Ember, but only slightly. She’d feel better with Silence and Sorrow hooked to her belt where they belonged.

  After thanking the healer for her care and making several more promises not to return to the field too soon, Ember escaped the sickroom and hurried from the manor. When she burst through the doors, she gulped the spring air. The day was warm and further lightened her already buoyant spirit.

  Despite her promise to remain within the keep, Ember walked quickly to the stables. Even if she couldn’t ride, she wanted to see Caber, and she hoped she might encounter Barrow with the horses too. His sudden absence chafed at her, making her worry she’d done something to offend him.

  “Lady Morrow!” Ian was leading a frisky dun colt from the stables. “It’s good to see you well again. The rumors about your battle with the striga are impressive.”

  “It’s good to be well. And I’m sure the rumors are much embellished from the truth,” Ember said, though she was pleased to think that her first foray into the field might have bolstered her reputation throughout Conatus. She smiled at him and then looked at the prancing colt. “Who is this?”

  “A troublemaker,” he said. “We’ve just started his training and he’s due out on the longe line today.”

  The colt reared, jerking Ian back. He swore, examining the fresh rope burn on his palm.

  “Looks like you’ve got your hands full,” she said as Ian calmed the skittish young horse.

  “It’s going to be a long morning.” Having gotten the colt under control, he stroked the dun’s bowed neck. “But well worth it. He has a fine spirit and will make the best of horses once we understand each other. Speaking of which, Caber will be happy to see you. He’s been in quite a foul temper since you took ill.”

  Ember sighed. “I’ve been ordered not to ride yet.”

  “That’s a shame,” Ian said. “When Caber’s unhappy, he likes to bite.”

  “Oh, dear.” Ember spared the stable hand a guilty smile.

  “No worries, my lady.” He laughed. “We were accustomed to Caber’s moods long before you arrived. The only difference now is that his temper is tied to you.”

  Ember couldn’t help her smile, which Ian returned warmly. “It’s always good to see a strong bond between horse and rider.”

  She nodded, more eager than ever to visit the stallion.

  “Are you looking for Lord Hess as well? Or just Caber?” Ian asked.

  Not expecting his question, Ember looked at the ground, hoping Ian didn’t see the heat creeping into her cheeks.

  If he noticed, he gave no indication, only saying, “I think he’s getting ready to take Toshach out, but you can probably still catch him.”

  Keeping her head ducked, Ember murmured her thanks and hurried past Ian into the stables. The rich scent of hay and sweet bite of grain eased her frantic pulse. As she walked along the stalls, horses poked their heads out, ears flicking in curiosity as she passed. When a familiar well-shaped chestnut face appeared, Ember called out.

  “Caber!”

  The stallion bellowed in return, craning his neck out of the stall and tossing his mane. When he began knocking his front hoof against the stall door, she ran forward. Caber gave another high-pitched whinny and banged on the door again.

&
nbsp; “I’m coming!”

  When Ember reached the horse, he blew into her face. She stroked his velvet cheeks and scratched his ears. He leaned over and gave a firm nip to her shoulder, enough so that it hurt but didn’t break her skin.

  “Hey!” She rubbed her shoulder and he snorted, pinning his ears back to show his disapproval. Then he lifted his head and tried to chew on her braid as usual.

  She twisted her head away but stroked his neck when he bowed his head close to her. “Will I be forgiven if I sneak a handful of grain to you?”

  He answered with a hearty, low sound. Laughing, Ember planted a kiss on his nose. Approaching hoofbeats turned her head. The sound stopped as Barrow came to a halt with Toshach just behind him.

  Ember’s heart jumped into her throat. It only took a moment of looking at Barrow’s dark hair and the gap where his shirt opened below his throat, giving the slightest hint of his chest, to plunge her back into her dream. She looked away as her skin heated up.

  “Ember.” Barrow sounded as uneasy as she felt. “Have you recovered?”

  Still not sure she could bury her embarrassment, Ember returned her attention to Caber, who had begun banging on the stall door again now that Toshach was near.

  “Almost,” she answered him. “I’ve been told not to fight or overexert myself. But I feel well enough.”

  “Good,” he said.

  She glanced at Toshach. The stallion was saddled and bridled.

  “Are you going out for the Guard?” she asked. “Or just for a ride?”

  Barrow shifted his weight. “I’m just taking Toshach into the glen. We both could do with a bit of exercise.”

  Ember nodded, wondering if he would go to the hidden waterfall he’d shown her. She half expected an invitation to join him even though she knew she’d have to decline. But Barrow stood quietly, leaving Ember to deal with the hollowness that carved out an empty space beneath her ribs.