The Silent Tempest (Book 2)

  As if in response to her thought, his head rose from his arms. Ice blue eyes stared into her own. They were like twins, male and female images mirrored against one another. Tyrion smiled.

  “You’re awake.”

  She clenched her jaw, and her eyes darted once more to the sword lying on the floor across the room.

  He followed her gaze, “Have you been watching me sleep?”

  Brigid didn’t answer.

  A flicker of something passed across his face, like a cold breeze across an autumn lake. For a moment she saw something. Pain? It vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by a satisfied expression.

  “Were you thinking about killing me in my sleep?” he said teasingly.

  She looked away.

  A hand reached out, stroking her hair, sending waves of nausea through her as the motion jostled her skull. “You really are my daughter, heart and soul.”

  Standing, he walked across the room to retrieve the sword and brought it back. He drew it from its sheath and reversed it, putting the hilt in her hand. “Does that feel better?” he asked, and then he sat down again, bringing his bare chest within reach.

  Brigid’s baleful gaze burned into him as her hand closed around the weapon. Clenching her fingers sent shivers of agony down her spine, but she ignored them. Her arm shook as she lifted the blade, pointing it toward his heart.

  “That’s the spirit,” said Tyrion, encouraging her and leaning closer. “It must be terribly difficult to coordinate your movements right now. You took a bad blow to the head. I can appreciate your determination. All you need to do now is thrust. This is your chance.”

  Her anger pulsed, white-hot. Surging up from the bed, she drove her arm forward with all the strength she could manage, ignoring the blinding pain. Darkness overwhelmed her, and she lost awareness of her surroundings for a moment. When it receded, she found herself still lying in the bed, her head throbbing. The hilt was still in her hand.

  Opening her eyes again, she saw him holding the blade in his hand. Blood oozed from it, running slowly down the blade to gather on the quillons before dripping to the sheets.

  Tyrion didn’t release the sharp wood, instead he pulled it closer, using the razor edged tip to cut a bloody ‘x’ in the skin of his chest, over his heart. “There’s what you want—right there. I’ve even marked it for you.”

  She tried once more to push it in, but his grip was like iron, the blade never moved. Brigid growled at him as more tears ran down her cheeks. The pain of her effort finally became too great, however, and she released the hilt, sagging back down into the bed.

  Tyrion lifted the weapon, taking the hilt in his other hand before cleaning it on the sheets. Then he sheathed it and healed the cuts on his hand and chest, leaving thin silver lines where he had marked himself.

  “I wish I could let you have what you want,” he told her, “but I need you to do something for me first.”

  She gave him a tired stare.

  “You have to kill Haley,” he added.

  “No,” she answered, using her voice for the first time since she had awoken. Her tongue felt clumsy, and the sound sent more pain echoing through her skull.

  “You must. If you don’t, she will kill the others, one by one.”

  “She’s my friend.”

  “She understands the arena. They’ll put her in there, and she will cut you apart, just like she did with Gabriel,” he explained.

  “Then I would rather die,” argued Brigid.

  “It won’t just be you. It will be all of them. Kill her and you can save them,” he said, before pausing. Tyrion pointed at the ‘x’ on his chest, “Kill her and I’ll give you what you want.”

  “You lie.”

  He pointed to the tattoos that lined his arms. “I will give you these. Use them and you can cut through my defenses, if you try hard enough.”

  “You won’t let me.”

  Her father shook his head, “I will let you, but even if you don’t believe me, you know that at the very least, it will give you a chance, even if I tried to renege.”

  “I hate you.”

  “Do we have a deal?” he asked, ignoring the statement.

  She gave a single nod.

  “I’ll start the tattoos tomorrow, while you’re recovering,” he told her. “We only have a few more days before they call us back to the arena.”

  Chapter 26

  Abby was waiting outside as he emerged. She immediately noticed the blood on his skin. “What happened?” She looked into the room, noting the stains on the sheets and the tears on her sister’s face. “What did you do?!” She ran in to check on Brigid.

  Tyrion ignored her, walking out past the others gathered in the front rooms on either side of the hallway.

  Kate followed Abby inside the room, a question in her eyes as she passed him, though it went unsaid. He heard her gasp after she went inside. “There’s blood all over the bed.”

  The others were giving him worried looks, but he blocked their path to the bedroom. “It’s not hers,” he said simply. “Get outside, we have work to do.”

  Anthony Long was already there, vomiting to one side of the front door. His aythar was flickering madly.

  “Looks like someone else is awakening,” said Tyrion. “Go lie down. You’ll join the others tomorrow,” he told the boy before looking around. “Where’s Layla?”

  “In the other bedroom,” said Ryan.

  “Tell her to come out,” he ordered, but then he thought better of it. “Nevermind, I’ll fetch her myself.”

  Going back inside, he found the female warden. “I need your assistance today.”

  “You said I couldn’t be seen without the collar,” she reminded him.

  “I’ve changed my mind.”

  “And if one of the She’Har visits?”

  “Get inside, hopefully before they notice.”

  She frowned, “And if they do notice? I could be killed.”

  Tyrion shrugged, “I’m willing to take that risk.”

  He got them started with new exercises, forcing them to stretch their imaginations, visualizing and creating shields in ever more complex shapes. Layla focused on Ashley, Ian, and Violet, since they were the newest to their powers and hadn’t yet been blooded in the arena.

  After a quarter of an hour he addressed them again, “Keep at this for another two hours, and then I want you to resume work on your dormitory, except for you three.” He pointed at Layla’s three charges. “I want you to keep them working on the basics until dinnertime,” he told her. Then he turned and began to walk.

  “Where are you going?” asked the warden.

  “There are some things I need to take care of in the grove,” he answered without looking back.

  A half an hour later and he was deep within the Illeniel Grove. He walked without purpose, but his feet led him once more to Lyralliantha’s home. Ascending the great trunk, he found her sleeping platform and lay down on the bed he had shared with her so many times. Only there did he ease the grip he had on his thoughts.

  Visions of Brigid filled his mind, her vivid blue eyes burning into him once more; the same eyes that had once looked at him in awe while he played the cittern so many years before. A little girl then, she had played with his parent’s dog and smiled with an innocence that was truly gone now.

  Her hatred burned. It ate at him in a way that left his stomach cold and his body restless. His years with the She’Har had been largely devoid of strong emotions. Even when he had first been trained by Thillmarius, the lore-warden had punished him with passionless efficiency. The only hatred he had faced had been from some of his human opponents in the arena, and that never bothered him.

  Even Kate’s disdain, as painful as it was, didn’t bother him as much. She didn’t want him dead, but Brigid did. She stared at him from his memory with a face that might have been his own, if he had been born a woman, and in her heart he could see nothing greater than her desire to erase his existence.

&n
bsp; I wanted them to hate me, he reminded himself.

  But he had known Brigid and Haley better than the others. He had known of them before he returned to the She’Har, ten years ago. The other children he hadn’t met until a few weeks past, but those two girls he had known about. He had met them, he had dreamed of them, and he had hoped for them for the past ten years.

  Now he was about to force one to kill the other, and she hated him for it. She despised him even without that fact, and she wanted nothing more than to end his life.

  His stomach twisted. I feel nothing.

  He was exhausted from his long vigil at his daughter’s bedside, yet it still took hours before he slept, and when the darkness finally claimed his consciousness, it did not offer much relief. His dreams were troubled with nightmares of what the future held.

  ***

  It was midmorning the next day before Tyrion returned to Albamarl. He hadn’t intended to spend the night away, but his body had had different ideas once he had lapsed into deeper slumber. His mind was clearer now, and his inner turmoil had faded somewhat.

  He hadn’t realized how exhausted he had been, but things seemed better now that he could face the world without a mental fog behind his brow. Thinking of his promise to Brigid brought a curious kind of peace with it now. He had done what he could. He would make her ready, he would give her the tools she needed to win. Once that was accomplished he could let her take his life with fewer regrets.

  Once Haley was out of the way, the others would have much better chances of surviving. Some might die, but he couldn’t take responsibility for everything the She’Har did. Most of them would live and eventually become wardens, no longer required to fight in the arena.

  Most importantly he could lay down his burden. His hatred for the She’Har, for what they had done to humanity, to him, to his children, he could set it aside and let death erase his past, present, and future.

  It wasn’t that he wanted to die, but if that was what was required to get Brigid to play her part, then it was a worthy price to pay, and one that would release him from his personal suffering in the bargain. He was tired of anger, tired of driving the people he cared for away, and most of all, he was tired of remembering his sins whenever he looked in their faces.

  The sun was halfway up now, brilliantly highlighting the world around him. The wind sang in the trees and whispered its secrets in his ears, while birdsong floated by, a friendly accompaniment to a world so beautiful that it made the soul ache. A world that lived and breathed to serve the She’Har.

  “Go fuck yourself,” he said, addressing the universe in general, and then he smiled.

  “Good morning to you as well, my lord,” responded Layla who had just come within earshot.

  “That was for the rest of the world,” he explained before adding, “but feel free to include yourself as well. I wouldn’t want anyone to feel left out.”

  She gave a short laugh, sensing his good humor. Humor in itself was an unusual thing for Tyrion.

  He began rattling off orders, “Keep them moving today, same routine as yesterday. Two or three hours practice for those that have already been blooded and all day for the new ones. Start working with Anthony as well, he will be unsteady, but one of the others can work with him individually to get him acclimated. I would suggest Abby or Emma for that task. After lunch, have the experienced ones work on the dormitory again.”

  Layla absorbed his words before responding, “You sound as if you won’t be there.”

  “I will be working with Brigid today.”

  The female warden frowned, “She is still weak from her ordeal. Shouldn’t she rest another day or two?”

  The irony of a warden suggesting leniency almost made him laugh, but he suppressed the urge. “She won’t be doing much. You’ll understand later.”

  Layla had questions, but she kept them to herself, which was a quality that he often wished Kate and the others from Colne would cultivate. Leaving her behind, he made for the house, but Ryan Carter ran up to him before he could get to the door.

  “Sir,” said the boy.

  “Call me Tyrion,” he told Ryan. “Or, if you’re feeling formal ‘Lord’,” he paused then before adding, “Or if you want to be formal and familiar at the same time, I will even accept ‘Father’, but only if you are willing to accept the burden of being an heir of my blackened heart.”

  Ryan stared at him, mouth half open, unsure how to respond. Tyrion sounded as though he was making a joke, but he had learned to never assume such things where the older man was concerned. Mistakes could have painful consequences.

  Tyrion took pity on him, “Tell me what you needed to say.”

  “Uh—my lord, the dormitory is progressing, but we need other materials to finish it properly,” said the boy at last.

  “What materials?”

  “Iron. Simple pig-iron will do, and the shape doesn’t matter. We can shape it ourselves, but we can’t make hinges and door fittings with only wood and stone,” answered the teen. “Well, we could, but it would be much better if we could make them from iron. I’ve seen the fittings in your house, but I don’t know where you obtained the metal.”

  Tyrion nodded, “How much do you need?”

  “A hundred pounds at least,” said Ryan immediately. “But we can use as much as you can provide. I can find a use for a lot more than that, if it’s available.”

  As much as I can provide, eh? thought Tyrion. Somehow I doubt that.

  “It will be in the yard by the lumber pile in the morning,” he told the skinny lad.

  Ryan’s brows knitted together in confusion, “Where will you get it?”

  Tyrion graced him with a genial smile and wordlessly left him, entering the house and closing the door behind himself. Once inside he almost stumbled directly into Kate, and there was an awkward silence as the two of them stepped clumsily around one another.

  The others were all outside now, except for Brigid who still occupied his bedroom, so the two of them were completely alone. Tyrion spoke first, “I didn’t intend for you to hear that yesterday.”

  Kate frowned, unsure why he would apologize for kind words. “I shouldn’t have been listening.”

  Another pause ensued while he tried to figure out where to go from there. “I know coming here has been hard for you, and I made things worse by interfering with you and Layla, but that was just my frustration coming out. She only did what I forced her to do. You shouldn’t hold it against her.” He knew the two of them hadn’t been intimate since he had ‘borrowed’ Layla, and he thought it would be good if they could smooth out their differences. It was all the more important now that he didn’t expect to be around much longer, not that he could tell Kate that.

  “What?”

  He repeated himself.

  She gave him a look that seemed less than flattering, “You think I’m angry with you for what happened with the two of you?”

  Tyrion laughed, trying to cover a sudden feeling of uncertainty. “No, you have plenty of other reasons to be angry with me. I just don’t want you to hold it against her. Friends are rare in this place, and you’ll need her in…”

  Kate held up her hand, “Just shut up a second. You had sex with yet another woman, and you are worried that I might be angry with her? Do I have it right this time?”

  His uncertain footing was making him irritable. He felt vulnerable talking to Kate, and over time he had come to truly hate feeling vulnerable. “Yeah, that’s about it,” he said. “I was angry, jealous, tired, and horny, and I took it out on you and Layla the only way I knew how, so don’t hold it against her.”

  Her eyes narrowed, “I gave up everything to follow you here, my family, my son, everything, just so I could keep an eye on Brigid, and maybe, just maybe, help you. And now you suggest that I am jealous of yet another of your conquests? After fifteen years in Colne, after all the women you impregnated, you think I’m upset about Layla?”

  He lightened his tone, “You certainly s
ound angry.”

  Her eyes flashed with green fire, “I’m angry because you are a complete ass!”

  The challenge was thrown now, and he was more than glad to take it up. Anger he understood, anger was his close companion. It was certainly more comfortable to him than vague feelings and uncertainty. “No,” he insisted, “you’re jealous. The only real question is, were you jealous because I fucked your girlfriend, or were you jealous because your girlfriend fucked me?”

  Kate’s face went through a remarkable transformation. Furious, she struggled to restrain her temper as her hands clenched and unclenched. She could feel her lip starting to tremble so she bit down on it and closed her eyes before taking a deep breath. “I have other things to do,” she replied in an even tone.

  Tyrion watched her walk away. His anger was draining away, and he mentally reviewed his remarks. It was clear that he hadn’t made the best use of his words, not if his intentions were to make peace with Kate. I seem to be the world’s worst apologist. The next time I think about saying ‘I’m sorry’ to someone, I should just walk up and slap them. It will be faster, and the same thing will be accomplished.

  He went into his bedroom, closing the door behind him. After a second thought, he uttered the word to seal it as well. It wouldn’t do for them to be interrupted. Facing the bed, he found Brigid sitting on the side, spooning something from a small bowl into her mouth.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “It doesn’t hurt to move anymore,” she replied, “but my head feels delicate. No pain, but I’m being careful with it.”

  Tyrion nodded, “You won’t need to do anything today but listen, watch, and remember.”

  Brigid set the bowl aside, giving him her full attention. Her face was clear today, empty of the strong emotions he had witnessed the day before. It was unsettling to see her looking at him with such an earnest expression, as if her true feelings were not so dark.

  He pushed those thoughts aside and began, “We are going to tattoo your arms with symbols similar to these. I call them ‘runes’, and it will probably take us two or three days to finish. While we work on that, I will explain what they do and how they work.” Moving to one side of the room, he opened a small box he kept in a drawer there. Inside it were several small bottles. They contained alcohol, water, and pigments, along with a small bowl to mix them in.