The Staff and the Blade

  “Then probably there is something different about her. About her magic.” About her blood.

  Orsala seemed to understand what he had not said. “I thought she was of an ancient line of Irin at first, but… Is it possible?”

  “That her magic is of the Fallen?” He shifted in his seat “Anything is possible, matka. We know her mother, but her father is a mystery. Her magic is…”

  Indescribable. Damien didn’t know how to classify what Ava had done at the sing. No seer he’d ever met had been able to show others a vision as Ava had.

  Orsala paused. “I don’t know what to think.”

  “I think things are changing. I don’t know how or why. But the impossible has become real. A woman with no connection to our race has been marked and mated to one of our blood. Her magic is unlike any other. Perhaps this is a sign from the Creator, or perhaps it’s something else.”

  “If there are more women like Ava out there, more women who have survived in the human world…”

  “Trust me when I say every Irin scribe with no hope of a mate or family will think of this,” Damien said. “I have a mate and I thought of it. If there are more Irina out there—women who can join our race—every scribe in the world will be looking for them.”

  “But we don’t know enough about her.” Orsala shook her head. “As I said, she’s not evil, but there is something different. Her heart is good. It’s filled with incredible sadness right now, but her heart is a good one.”

  “So we watch and wait,” he said, taking a gulp of tea and wishing it was spiked with whiskey. “It’s the only thing we can do.”

  Orsala rose to refill their cups. “What happened with Sari? You were together after the sing and now she’d not speaking to you.”

  “I talked to her about the baby,” he said. “She asked me to leave. I was not shocked.”

  Orsala’s face went blank. “Well, no one can ever say you avoid the thick of battle.”

  “We never talked about it, matka. Not once.”

  “This is Sari. She doesn’t talk about any of it.”

  He huffed. “Do any of the singers?”

  “Do the scribes?”

  “Yes.”

  Orsala blinked. “Really?”

  “Orsala, there is a generation of Irin scribes with no mates. No children. And no hope of either. Of course they want to know why.” He tried not to let his frustration get the better of him, but there was anger too. “I have two scribes in my house who were babies when their parents were killed. This world, this twisted reality, is the only life they’ve ever known. Irina are myths to them. When Malachi brought Ava to the house, you’d have thought they saw a ghost.”

  He glanced out the window at the small row of houses on the edge of the haven. Set back in the trees, they were populated by rogue scribes and the mates they refused to leave behind. Men who had abandoned posts and assignments when their singers needed to flee. To the Irin Council, they were rogues. To Damien, they were an example of what he should have done.

  “You don’t have many scribes here,” he said, “but you do have them. The few children who are born see mates and families around them. The generation of scribes that were abandoned by the Irina have never known what it is to live in a world where they aren’t isolated and alone.”

  “We did what we thought was right,” Orsala said. “We took the children we could find.”

  “And you left many behind.”

  “What were we to do, Damien? Take children away from their fathers? We could never do that.”

  “I don’t know!” He raked a hand through his hair. “But I wish we were not judged for the sins of our fathers.”

  “Were they not your sins too?”

  He turned toward Sari’s voice. She was standing in the door, black sunglasses protecting her eyes.

  “Grandmother, Karen was hoping you could help her with a recipe. I was sent to find you.” Her head angled slightly toward Damien. “And now I’ll be going.”

  No. Dammit, no.

  Damien followed her, fed up with her avoidance. He reached out, but she turned and raised a hand.

  “Ya sala domem.”

  He halted at the spell. He could feel his body straining against her magic. She wouldn’t be able to hold him long, but if he were an enemy, it would be enough for the advantage.

  “A new spell. I approve,” he managed to say. It felt as if he were talking through mud.

  “I’m so glad you do.”

  “What have I done to earn your ire this time, my dove?”

  “The sins of your fathers? But none of your own?”

  “I know my sins better than any other,” he said. “I have lived with their consequences for centuries.”

  “So have we.”

  “I can admit it when I’m wrong,” he said. He stretched his shoulders up as he felt the spell ease. “It was never my intention—”

  “Intentions don’t matter when the outcome leaves you dead.” Sari backed away from him, walking farther down the path. “That’s another lesson we learned.”

  “The scribes learned lessons too, you know.” Damien spoke quietly. “We learned what it means to lose our hearts. To lose our minds. We learned what it is to be alone.”

  “Alone, maybe. But alive.”

  “Do you know how many surviving warriors took their own lives in the decades after the Rending?” Damien said, his anger building as her magic waned. “Two in ten. Twenty percent of our men were unable to carry on. And it wasn’t only grief, Sari. It wasn’t only those who had lost mates and children. It was guilt. It was shame. That we had been blind to the plans of monsters. That we had never conceived of that level of brutality.”

  “You should have.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” he yelled. “That they didn’t? They killed themselves because they failed. Is that not punishment enough in your eyes?”

  Sari blinked back tears. “What do you want me to say? That I grieve for them? I do.”

  “They didn’t want your grief!” he said. “We only ever wanted your forgiveness. But we knew we didn’t deserve it.”

  “Damien—”

  “I see them in my sleep,” he continued, the pain rushing back to the surface. “I see the blood and the dust and the smoke from their fires. Because I failed them too. I failed you. I failed Tala. I failed our child.” He felt tears on his cheeks, but he did not wipe them away.

  Show her, Orsala had said. He’d show her. He’d show her every black thought and twisted shame. Then she could rip him to pieces if she wanted. It was the least he could offer after killing her sister and her babe.

  “After I failed my mate, my child, and my sister,” he continued. “I failed my men. Because I was their watcher and I didn’t see. It wasn’t their fault they weren’t in the village to protect their families. It was mine.”

  She took her sunglasses off. Her eyes were bloodshot. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. “The Rending was not your fault,” she whispered. “We all should have seen the signs. I was a warrior too.”

  “And I was your watcher. In the end, it was my responsibility. What good is a watcher who does not see? He is nothing. Nothing.”

  “I never said that! Don’t put words in my mouth.”

  “You’re not the one saying it. I am.”

  “Damien—”

  “I don’t blame them, you know. The ones who killed themselves. I can’t blame them. Not when I’m the one responsible for their deaths.”

  “No.” She rushed to him, wiping the tears from his cheeks as if they didn’t have the right to touch him. “Damien, no.”

  “I failed them all, Sari.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away. “I failed you, and you won’t forgive me. I don’t blame you.”

  Damien turned and walked into the forest, losing himself in the trees and leaving Sari behind. She did not call him back.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SARI sat staring at the empty bed in her room. She hadn??
?t followed Damien. She needed to calm down, and he needed to know she was thinking about what he’d said.

  Tala’s death.

  The council’s inaction.

  Why did the wound still ache so badly?

  She had never doubted Damien’s sorrow. Never doubted his pain. But the well of guilt that consumed her mate was something he had hidden from her. Knowing Damien, she shouldn’t have been surprised.

  Sari was as angry at herself as she had ever been with him. She knew there was no way any of them could have known. They had all been taken unaware. He was no more responsible for the Rending than any other scribe.

  “We only ever wanted your forgiveness. But we knew we didn’t deserve it.”

  How could she forgive Damien when she couldn’t forgive herself?

  She rose and wiped the tears that had fallen down her cheeks. She’d been still for too long. All she needed to clear her head was a good bout with a training dummy. She strode out the door and headed for the barn.

  Maybe neither of them deserved forgiveness. Maybe that wasn’t the point. What would happen if, instead of fighting for her own forgiveness or withholding it from her mate, she just gave in? Accepted it. And him. And moved forward.

  Renata fell into step beside her while she walked toward the barn. “I want to talk about Ava.”

  “Reni, I can’t right now.”

  “Because you’re fighting with your mate?” Her friend snorted. “You both need to get over it.”

  “Get over it?”

  Renata usually wasn’t so flippant.

  “Yes,” she said. “Get over it. It’s not Damien’s fault the Grigori are bastards.”

  “I know that.”

  “And it’s not his fault your sister died.”

  Sari stopped. “You don’t know anything about that.”

  “I know what Orsala has told me about her, and I know she was a seer.”

  “So?”

  Astrid must have been drawn to their raised voices. She walked over to them, her hands in her pockets and her collar raised against the whipping wind. “What are you two arguing about? Renata, it wasn’t only Sari who wanted you back. All of us thought you needed a break. So stop—”

  “That’s not what we’re talking about,” Renata barked. “Sari, if anyone could have prevented the Rending—anyone at all—it was the Irina seers. If they didn’t see the signs, why on earth would the watchers have seen? Why didn’t the elder singers see it?” Renata crossed her arms. “I have more anger for the elder singers than anyone else. They are the ones who allowed the council to isolate us. They are the ones who scoffed at martial magic. If anyone is to blame, it is ourselves.”

  “We were following the leadership of our elders!” Sari said

  “So were they!”

  “So we all blame ourselves?” Astrid asked in an acidic tone. “Excellent. Now we can all go punish ourselves and be miserable. Honestly, isn’t there anyone who would just rather blame the Grigori?”

  Sari and Renata turned to the healer.

  “We all lost,” Astrid continued. “Every single one of us. There was no one unwounded by the Rending. Even scribes in isolated libraries who’d taken vows of silence and celibacy felt the loss. And then we did exactly as the Grigori wanted. We turned on each other!”

  Renata said, “Astrid—”

  “Wouldn’t Volund be pleased?” The healer continued to rail. “I’m no better than anyone. I have blamed the scribes. Blamed the council. Blamed myself. Meeting Ava has reminded me that there are honorable scribes in our world. Beyond the council. They are waiting for their partners and sisters. If we hide in our safe havens and do not join them in this fight, then we have allowed the Fallen to win.”

  Renata said, “It’s not as if we do nothing. We have killed as many Grigori as the scribes.”

  “So why do we hide?” Sari said. “Why do we keep this a secret? It’s not a secret from the Grigori. They can spot an Irina assassin on sight. We only keep it secret from the scribes. As if what we do is shameful.”

  Renata said, “I have no shame in it.”

  “Then why are we hiding?”

  Renata had no answer. But Astrid did.

  “Because we’re afraid,” she said. “Because we are still afraid.”

  ※

  Sari watched the small cottage where Damien and Ava were staying from her vantage point on the porch of the main house. The lights glowed, and she could hear the faint sounds of laughter. Her friends were there. Karen and Bruno. Renata and Astrid. They had welcomed her mate and their new sister to the haven with an openness that Sari lacked.

  Perhaps the hospitable part of her had died in the Rending. Perhaps it had never existed at all. She was not a creature of the hearth and the home, despite the earth magic that ran in her veins. She was made to protect. Made for war. Once, Damien had loved that about her.

  Mala stepped out the front door and came to stand in front of her. Go to him.

  Sari shook her head. “He’s enjoying his night. He needs a good night.”

  His tortured confession still haunted her. She did not fear her mate taking his own hand to harm himself, but self-destruction could come in other forms. Perhaps he would go to the council and offer to bear the heaven-forged blade again. Perhaps there was one battle from which he would simply not return.

  Go to him, Mala signed again. He needs you more than he needs peace.

  Sari laughed then, a pained sound that cracked the night air. “Do you know how often I have wondered what the heavens were thinking? One reshon in the world, and I was chosen for him.”

  Mala said, As he was chosen for you.

  Damien was a scribe among scribes. Battle-tested and honor-bound. The finest of Mikael’s blood. The hope and pride of his family. She heard his low murmur cross the space between them and wondered what stories he was sharing.

  “Any singer would be honored to mate with such a man,” she said softly.

  If you won’t go to him, then you need to go to Renata, Mala signed. Our contact in Bergen called. There were three Grigori spotted there.

  Not unheard of, but coming on the heels of Renata’s return, Ava’s appearance, and her mate’s presence, it seemed significant.

  So go, Mala signed. Tell Renata and let her hunt closer to home. She’s getting on my last nerve.

  Sari nodded and descended from the porch, crossing the space between her mate’s cottage and her home. She knocked on the door, surprised to see Ava, not Damien, answer.

  “May I come in?”

  Damien appeared in a flash, standing behind the small woman holding the door. “Sari?”

  It was only then that she remembered his words: When you are ready, milá. When you can find forgiveness in your heart for me, come to me. Knock on my door, and I will always open it. Always. Come to me when you are ready to take me back.

  Oh damn.

  Damien’s mouth hung open.

  Panic stole her breath for a moment. No. She hadn’t meant… There was still so much to talk about.

  Damien’s eyes were ablaze with the most painful emotions she could have seen on his face.

  Hope.

  And incandescent joy.

  Panic fled and peace whispered in her ear, It is time.

  Enough.

  Sari knew that nothing could keep her from him when he looked at her as he did. No anger, no pain, no fury was worth the loss of this man’s joy.

  And they were surrounded by five of their friends.

  “Sari!” Renata called. “Come in! Wine or coffee?”

  She had to do something. She stepped into the house. “Kaffe, thank you.”

  “Of course.”

  It was Ava who finally closed the door after Sari moved into the cottage and took a chair Bruno dragged to the table for her. Karen set a cup of coffee in front of her, and Sari drank it mechanically.

  Moments later, Damien sat across from her, shock gone, a wicked teasing happiness in his eyes. The corner of his mout
h lifted because he thought she had surrendered.

  The fact that she had did nothing to soften her mood.

  “My dove, what brings you here—to my door—tonight?”

  If he hadn’t called her “my dove,” she might have resisted the urge to antagonize him. She sipped her coffee as if her body wasn’t already rioting. “You know, this is my land. My guesthouse. So technically, I don’t think this is your door.”

  “I believe that’s what they call ‘splitting hairs.’”

  Astrid said, “Well, this is entertaining, but I do think there might be some larger purpose to this visit than just coffee and cake.”

  Trust Astrid to understand when her emotions were in chaos. “There was a group of Grigori spotted in Bergen.”

  Damien’s mood shifted immediately.

  “How many?” he and Renata asked.

  “Three that we know of. But I’d not be surprised if there were more. There’s an Irin couple who lives there, among the humans. No children. They watch for us.”

  Renata said, “I’ll go.”

  “I’ll go too,” Damien said.

  “No,” Sari said, surprising herself. Damien and Renata would work well together. But…

  She could not see him leave again. Not when nothing had been resolved.

  “This is our territory,” Sari said. “Renata will take care of them.”

  Damien obviously thought her pride was getting in the way of her sense. “Sari, this is no time for—”

  “Besides, I’d like you and Bruno to start doing patrols around the perimeter of the haven. Orsala has sensed some outside magic, and she wants us to be careful. Some protective spells written on the trees would be appreciated.”

  It was true. The fact that Orsala had asked Bruno to do it and mentioned nothing about Damien was something she didn’t need to share.

  He was still irritated. “Fine. And Bruno and I will start patrols. It’s only three Grigori. I’m sure Renata can handle that on her own anyway.”

  Renata teased him. “You just wanted to steal my fight.”

  “Obviously.”

  Sari glanced at Ava, the woman her grandmother told her was a seer. She saw nothing of Tala’s skill or confidence about her, but who knew what might be lurking behind that inscrutable facade?