Rise

  Cian hissed through her teeth. “It binds them to him.”

  Her brow still furrowed, Ember looked at Cian.

  “To Bosque,” Cian said, anticipating Ember’s question.

  “Lord Mar?” Remembering the reach of his silver gaze, Ember fidgeted, suddenly anxious.

  “He calls himself lord,” Cian told her. “And he walks and speaks as a man, but his body and his words are an illusion that he used as a net to snare my sister and those guileless enough to be drawn in by his promises.”

  “What does he offer?” Ember asked.

  “What men desire the most,” Father Michael said. “An easy path paved in gold.”

  Ember shifted her weight, unable to fight the cold seeping beneath her skin. “But there must be a cost.”

  “The cost is everything we are,” Cian said. “The sacred tree is profaned. We are cut off from the magics that sustain us.”

  Father Michael nodded, looking at Ember. “Any who take Eira’s oath lose the gifts offered by this earth. All we’ve studied. The crafts we’ve honed.”

  “Then why would anyone take this oath?” Ember asked.

  “The price wasn’t clear at first,” Father Michael said. “It wasn’t until the clerics found themselves unable to weave portals that we learned how strong this Bosque’s poison is.”

  Ember looked back and forth from knight to priest, trapped by her own disbelief. “And there was no outcry against this?”

  “By then Eira had too many followers for those who balked to sway,” Father Michael said.

  “And my sister’s pet had other enticements to assuage those who were disturbed by the loss of their magics,” Cian added.

  Ember’s mind beckoned images that she’d buried, knowing that to revisit them would be like opening scabbed-over wounds. The shadow creatures in the forest.

  Watching as Ember went still, Father Michael said, “I wish I could allay your fears, Ember, but your mind has settled on the truth. Those who take Eira’s oath are instructed in arts darker than those practiced by any conjurer the Guard ever hunted.”

  Appalled as she was, Ember could understand how Bosque had lured so many followers. Whoever commanded an army of invincible warriors had no earthly enemy to fear.

  “But to do this, Eira has allied herself with the very thing Conatus is sworn to destroy,” Ember protested weakly. The appeal of power aside, Ember couldn’t forget Eira’s strength and courage. Her thirst for justice.

  Cian slumped against the door. Like Eira, Cian had been changed in Ember’s absence. But while Eira seemed taller, more alive, Cian had diminished. Her eyes were tight with lines and deeply shadowed, her skin sallow.

  “The fault lies with me,” Cian said.

  Father Michael shushed her.

  “No.” Cian looked away from the priest. “I knew how thin Eira’s patience wore with Crichton’s abuses and the fight to give women more power in Conatus. I didn’t watch her closely enough. I didn’t see.”

  Cian closed her eyes, and a tear slipped along her cheek.

  “Eira made her own choices,” Father Michael said, “as we all must do—and one day she will answer for them. But that burden does not rest upon your shoulders.”

  “Is there anything we can do?” Ember thought of Barrow, Lukasz, and Kael, exiled in France and awaiting news. Thus far, Ember had nothing but grief to offer them.

  Father Michael rose and went to Cian, taking her hands in his. “Please sit, my lady. I know how rarely you rest.”

  Cian let him guide her to the chair, and she sat, silent but shedding no more tears.

  Turning to Ember, the priest said, “We search day and night for a means to defeat Bosque, for he is the vessel that carries us into shadow.”

  “That’s what the others do as well.” Ember nodded. “They’re at a safe house in La Rochelle.”

  “Not the hidden sanctuary?” Father Michael asked in alarm.

  “No,” Ember told him. “We sought refuge there after our ship was wrecked, and a longtime friend of the commander’s, a knight by the name of Jérôme Fauré, came to us. He gave us aid but also told us that any site associated with Conatus or the Templars would be unsafe.”

  “Your ship sank?” Cian broke in. “When you said Sawyer was lost at sea, I didn’t think… how?”

  “A sea monster,” Ember answered. “Barrow called it a kraken, Leviathan. It tore the ship to pieces.”

  “By God’s mercy alone, you survived.” Father Michael made the sign of the cross.

  Ember couldn’t disagree. That she’d made it to the beach with Barrow in tow was nothing less than a miracle. “We made it to shore, but we lost everything except the horses.”

  “Another mercy,” Father Michael said. “Without horses, you might not have reached La Rochelle.”

  Returning to her hidden companions, Ember said, “Jérôme advised Lukasz to try to contact the clerics of the Holy Land. He believes that only the oldest, most secret tomes will reveal the means to defeat our enemy.”

  “I hope he’s right,” Cian said. “We’ve found nothing here. At least nothing good. So far we’ve learned more about Bosque’s power by his own hand than our studies.”

  “Have you received word from Lukasz?” Ember asked. “Will he be able to safely contact you if they find something?”

  “We’re still working on that,” Father Michael admitted. “The success with which Eira has recruited followers took us by surprise. Your friend Jérôme was right. Any of the usual places we’d send word have been compromised. Perhaps this safe house in La Rochelle will suffice.”

  “That’s what Lukasz hoped for,” Ember replied.

  “How do you plan to fit in here, Ember?” Cian said bitterly. “Do you think to return to the Guard?”

  “No,” Ember answered. “I serve Lukasz, not Alistair.”

  “You speak like a true knight of Conatus.” Cian’s tone remained sharp.

  Ember stood up straighter. “Do you think I am not?”

  “Eira favored you,” Cian answered her. “And those Eira favored have become her greatest supporters.”

  Nodding, Ember said to Cian, “Alistair spoke of Eira’s hopes for me, but I never aspired to win her admiration. All I wanted to do was serve Conatus with my blades.”

  “And how will you serve Conatus now?” Cian asked.

  “I must convince Alistair that I returned not only for Agnes, but for him,” Ember said calmly, though her heart gave a heavy thud as she spoke. Before she’d come to Tearmunn, her plan had been nothing more than words spoken with conviction. Now that she was here, she would have to act.

  “That’s a dangerous game.” Cian returned Ember’s steady gaze. “Are you prepared to see it through?”

  “I have to be.” It was the most truthful answer Ember could give.

  Father Michael clasped his hands as if in prayer, holding them to his chest. “It’s a great risk you take, but if you gain Alistair’s trust, it may help us immensely.”

  “That thought occurred to me as well,” Cian added.

  Ember forced herself to smile, affirming their words. Inside she was a jumble of doubts and second guesses. Since her return, Alistair hadn’t so much as looked at her with warmth. Her offers to aid them by becoming Alistair’s confidante might prove empty.

  Cian rose, gesturing to the door. “I’ll take you back to Agnes’s room. You’ve had a long journey already, and I’m afraid the road ahead grows only rougher.”

  Before she followed Cian’s direction, Ember asked, “This oath. Does Eira not press each of you to take it?”

  “My faith is my shield,” Father Michael told her. “I cannot take an oath that would compromise the vows I’ve already taken in the service of the Church.”

  Ember suddenly was very afraid for him. “And Eira doesn’t object?”

  “Fortunately, Eira and Bosque see me as a doddering old priest and not a threat,” Father Michael said. “Since they think I have nothing to offer them, they care not wh
ether they take something from me.”

  A bit relieved, Ember looked at Cian.

  “I currently enjoy a reprieve,” Cian said. “Due to my general stubbornness and the fact that I am Eira’s sister. But my time will come.”

  For several heartbeats, Ember found her eyes locked with Cian’s. She realized that they shared a common goal beyond that of saving Conatus: each woman remained within Tearmunn at her peril, all in the hopes of saving her sister. Cian broke their gaze first, reaching for the door handle.

  “If I need to speak with you…” Ember trailed off, thinking herself ill advised to go knocking on Cian’s door or sneaking into Father Michael’s humble quarters near the chapel.

  Cian and Father Michael exchanged a knowing look.

  “Where else, my child?” The priest smiled at Ember. “Confession.”

  A WEEK PASSED BEFORE Alistair sought Ember’s company. In those seven days, Ember became increasingly convinced that she’d traveled backward through time. Had it not been for the sight of the steep highland slopes that she could spy from Agnes’s, and now her own, window or the fact that Ember and her sister had grown into women and were no longer young girls, Ember could have been convinced that she was again at her father’s estate, living out the life that she’d known most days of her childhood. Even her dresses were familiar. On Ember’s first morning after her return to Tearmunn, all the chests her father had insisted accompany Ember to the keep had appeared.

  Ember wasn’t happy at how quickly she remembered why she’d hated the days spent cooped up in her father’s manor. Since their movements were restricted, Agnes had suggested that they embroider clothing for her unborn child. Wanting to please her sister, Ember assented before she recalled how much she despised working with a needle and thread.

  When enough of her fingers were bleeding from tiny, invisible needle pricks, Ember gave up. Her embroidery sat in her lap, unfinished, while Agnes chatted or sang sweet songs. Ember gazed out the window, knowing she must be in this room, in this keep, but wishing she were not. After the first clandestine night visit, Ember had no further contact with Cian or Father Michael. Though she offered Agnes placid smiles, Ember’s thoughts more often than not were of Barrow. Sometimes she closed her eyes, trying to remember what it was like to pass the night in his arms, waking to the scent of his skin on hers. She captured brief glimpses of his face in her dreams—the softness of his lips and the rough stroke of stubble on his jaw, the color of his eyes as dark as the winter sea, the strength of his hands.

  Knowing she couldn’t lose herself in the fantasies of elsewhere, Ember tried to keep her attention on Agnes. Surprisingly, given the circumstances, Agnes blossomed with her pregnancy. The sickness that had plagued her early on had passed, and while her belly grew, so did the glow in her cheeks. Though Ember was happy to see her sister well, Agnes’s condition raised troubling questions. Alistair had offered to care for her now, but when did his hospitality come to an end? Would he provide for her child as well? Would Agnes live forever at Tearmunn?

  Even if such an arrangement had been made, Ember knew it wasn’t viable. Tearmunn could never be a safe place for either Agnes or Ember. Not so long as Eira ruled and Bosque stood at her side. Because of this, Ember set herself another task. Not only must she find a way into Alistair’s good graces, but she also needed a way out of Tearmunn for Agnes.

  Ember pondered these two problems while Agnes embroidered the hem of a minuscule shirt. Both sisters looked up when the door opened. Agnes’s maid curtsied and stepped aside. When Alistair walked in, Ember jumped to her feet, smoothing her pale blue gown. Bosque followed Alistair through the door, but Ember managed to keep a pleasant smile on her face.

  Agnes set her embroidery aside and rose with much more dignity and grace than Ember had shown. Since it was her room and she was the elder sister, Ember deferred to Agnes, leaving her to greet their visitors.

  “Good morning, Lord Hart and Lord Mar.” She curtsied, and Ember mimicked her sister’s action.

  Alistair gave a brief nod. “Good morning, Agnes. I hope you are well?”

  “I am, Alistair.” Agnes blushed when she beamed at him, picking up her nearly finished shirt. “Look at what we’ve made.”

  Ember offered Alistair a wry smile. “My sister is being too generous with her use of we.”

  “I’m sure she is,” Alistair answered, barely looking at Ember.

  The smile vanished from Ember’s face as quickly as if Alistair had slapped her. She didn’t understand. Joking had always been their way, and his brusque manner was strange. Ember was surprised at how deeply it stung her.

  Bosque came forward, leaning down to examine the hem. “How lovely. You must have delicate hands to create such fine needlework.”

  Agnes curtsied again. “You’re very kind, Lord Mar.”

  “I hate to trouble you, Agnes, but I’d like to ask for a bit of time alone with your sister.” Alistair didn’t look at Ember, though he was speaking about her.

  Under any other circumstances, Ember would have shouted at Alistair until his ears were red for treating her thus. But now she felt helpless; she could do nothing but stand quietly while plans were made about her. Her nightmares offered more kindness than this.

  “Of course.” Agnes put the shirt down, but clearly didn’t know what to do with herself.

  Bosque offered her his arm. “I thought I could take you for a walk around the grounds. The day is fine, and some air would do you good.”

  Agnes smiled up at the tall man as though he were the sun itself. Ember wanted to stomp her feet and scream. Wooden and miserable, she watched Bosque lead her sister from the room. Before he passed through the door, Bosque cast a glance back at Ember, one corner of his mouth curving up in a way that made Ember’s legs quake. She dropped back into her chair, feeling cold and breathless.

  “Are you ill, Lady Morrow?” Alistair hadn’t moved from where he stood.

  “No.” Ember sat up, pretending she wasn’t as unsettled as she felt. “I slept poorly, that’s all.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Alistair made a show of looking the chamber over. “Perhaps you require a separate room.”

  Ember chewed her lip. A room of her own would give her privacy, both for attempting to win Alistair and for sneaking out in the night if need be. But she was also instinctively protective of Agnes and reluctant to create distance between them.

  “I’ve shared a room with Agnes all my life,” Ember told him. “You needn’t make special arrangements for me now.”

  “No arrangements would be needed,” Alistair replied. “We have an empty room that you may use if you like.”

  “I—” Again caught off guard by Alistair’s cold demeanor, Ember struggled for a new approach to their conversation.

  “And you might consider that when you shared a room with Agnes, you were both girls,” Alistair continued. “If you haven’t noticed, your sister is a woman with child, and you… well, I can’t say what you are.”

  Ember blanched, completely unsure of herself. The man speaking to her now was nothing like the Alistair she’d known. Gone was the teasing boy who’d taught her to fight with a sword.

  Alistair gave her a tired look. “You’ll still have ample time to spend in Agnes’s company, but you’ll conduct yourself as a woman of your station should—at least on the surface of things.”

  “If you think it best—” Ember began, but then she could no longer help herself. A sob welled from the very pit of her stomach, bringing with it tears that required no playacting to summon. “Why are you acting like this?”

  She felt exactly like the petulant little girl Alistair accused her of being.

  Stiffly, Alistair said, “Ember, collect yourself. You’re better than this.”

  That only made Ember sob again. Not only was she confused, she was mortified by her own unexpected outburst.

  With a noise of disgust, Alistair finally broke from his watchful pose and came to her. Grabbing her arms, he
forcefully lifted her to her feet.

  “Stop, Ember.” Alistair gave her a light shake. “You shame yourself with this display.”

  Ember couldn’t halt her tears, but she choked back another sob. Through her blurred vision, she met Alistair’s sky-blue eyes and found them judging her.

  He held on to her arm with one hand while the other took her chin. His thumb raked tear tracks from her right cheek. Shaking his head in disappointment, Alistair frowned. “Why did you come back?”

  Ember stared at him, her eyes brimming. “I thought you wanted—”

  “When have you ever cared about what I want?” Alistair snapped.

  “I was wrong.” Ember had begun to tremble all over. “I didn’t know.”

  Alistair’s arm slid around her back, gripping her tight at the waist and hip. “Where did you go?”

  “To La Marche.” Ember tried to focus, to recall the story she needed to tell. Her mind was drowning in tears and cruel words. She could barely sense the room around them. All she could see was the piercing blue of Alistair’s gaze.

  Alistair’s lip curled, haughty. “Why?”

  “You told me… you said…” Ember was shaking so badly that she couldn’t stand up. She didn’t need to, as Alistair was now holding her against him.

  “Did it ever occur to you that I might have regretted what mercies I offered you that night?” Alistair hissed into her ear. “Did a single thought cross your mind other than what would make your life the easiest? What you wanted?”

  “Stop.” Ember grasped Alistair’s shirt, clinging to him. “Please.”

  “Tell me why you left the others.” Alistair spoke in a low, harsh voice. “Are they dead?”

  Ember’s throat closed. Her head was spinning. What was she supposed to say? What should have befallen her companions? What story would keep them safe?

  “Or did they leave you behind?” The sweetness of Alistair’s question was like venom. “Did you prove too great a burden, the maid who held back such great knights of Conatus?”

  Shutting her eyes, still burning from her tears, Ember said, “I left them.”

  Was that wrong? Should she have told Alistair they’d perished, drowned? Barrow’s face glared at her, accusing. Ember buried her head against Alistair’s shoulder.