There Erland was, still commanding his men, though now his back was to her. She was relieved. She wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea about her.
She strode to the door and let herself out.
To her relief, Arik was not at breakfast this morning. Except for the guard standing watch, she ate in solitude. She had a momentary temptation to invite the man to sit down and join her but then thought better of it. Instead, she occupied her her mind with plans for the day. Two years ago, she had taken it upon herself to catalog the artwork throughout the castle. Tapestries, paintings, sculptures, even the art carved into walls and banisters. Most days were spent meticulously sketching a particular piece and then recording what information she could about the art and artist. Sometimes the information was found pasted onto the back of a painting, though the sculptures and other work were more difficult to track down. There were several places throughout the castle where such records had been kept by previous administrations but had long since been forgotten. It required hunting through dust-layered chests of documents or perusing through hundreds of scrolls to find out when each piece had been brought to the castle and by whom. Some had been here hundreds of years, others arrived more recently. Her self-imposed mission kept Ivanore busy and helped the days pass a little faster.
Sometimes, in the spring, Arik allowed her to garden. He had designated a small plot in the castle’s kitchen gardens for her to grow flowers, which she then cut and placed on the dining table or in her room to brighten things up. But spring was long past now, and with winter expected in the coming weeks, Ivanore’s garden was neglected. She didn’t mind, for she had discovered a treasure there two years ago while pruning the jasmine, and now she wanted more than anything to keep its secret from Arik and his guards. Letting the garden alone was the best mask she could think of for it.
So, Ivanore put the garden out of her mind and focused on the tapestry hanging on the west wall of the meeting room on the second floor. It was over a century old, woven with wool and silk threads in subdued hues of blue and red and gold. It depicted an Hestorian warrior, his foot on the neck of his vanquished foe, sword in one hand and the severed head of the enemy in the other. It was a gruesome scene, yet beautiful in the delicacy of its detail.
Ivanore spent hours sitting in the same chair sketching the image with a quill pen on parchment, which always brought back memories of the day she’d fled Imaness. She had been writing then, a letter to her sons, which she hoped they’d find one day.
Once the sketch was finished, she enjoyed her lunch, again without Arik, and then moved to the library to search for any record among the journals there for the name of the artist. By the end of the day, she’d had no luck. She would try again tomorrow. She rolled up her sketch of the tapestry and secured it with a strip of leather, and then she added the scroll to the growing pile in her private corner of the library. There were dozens of them now. She suspected that by year’s end she would have cataloged everything there was to catalog, except for the dragon statue in the entry hall. She had avoided him until now and would save him for last.
The day done, Ivanore requested to have her dinner sent to her room. She would eat alone and decide where next to search for information on the tapestry. Then she would retire to bed and fight off the horrid visions and memories that came to her night after night. It was the nights that were the most painful, because they were filled with Jayson, and her sons, and Arik, and the lives that he had taken and would soon take. She felt vulnerable in the night and helpless.
Ivanore waited while the guard opened her door, then nodded politely at him as she entered. She stood, her eyes closed, as the lock clicked into place behind her. Then she sighed and took a step into the room. But as she did so, her toe bumped against something on the floor. She opened her eyes and looked down. There, lying on the floor, was a bouquet of Rosemary tied with a bow of red silk. Ivanore picked it up and held it under her nose. Its leaves were fresh and fragrant. Someone had picked it for her from the kitchen garden and slipped it under her door.
She breathed in the scent of the herb again as she stepped to the window and looked down into the courtyard. It was empty now, except for the still statues. But she remembered the moment Erland had looked up at her that morning, how her heart had sped up, how she slid back into the shadow of her room.
What had she been thinking? How could she let him think there could be anything between them? She had been lonely, she told herself, and appreciated the company that day in the courtyard. He had only been polite to her because she was Arik’s sister. Nothing more. That thought relieved her mind, but still as she stood by the window listening to the waves crashing on the other side of the stone wall, she pressed the Rosemary to her cheek.
11
Teak and Jayson rode late into the night, stopping only when it was time to let the horses rest. Then they pulled to the side of the road, laid blankets in the back of the wagon and slept like the dead. Only when the earliest rays of sunlight kissed Jayson’s skin did he yawn and blink open his eyes to the new day. He sat up and climbed out of the cart, careful not to disturb Teak whose jaw was slack with deep sleep. Jayson set his bare feet on the hard, packed earth of the road. For a moment, he just stood there relishing the sensation of the cold, unforgiving ground and the smells of dirt and the horses in the air. They reminded him of when he was a youth growing up in the swamplands of Taktani. Like so many other Agorans, he and his mother had few worldly possessions. He hadn’t owned a pair of shoes until he was nearly ten and had spent his days as a child roaming the woods like a wild animal. He had grown to love the land, had learned to read it like reading the heart of a woman. He knew when the earth was angry by the tremors that moved through it, often too insignificant for others to notice. He knew when it was happy, when the rains came and filled its soul with joy. As Jayson grew, his emotions often mirrored the earth’s emotions. His mother said he was always either brooding or getting into mischief.
Jayson reached for his boots and slipped them on, then he laced and tied them. He noticed how the soft leather strips were thinning in spots. Soon he would have to replace them. In fact, the boots themselves seemed ready to give up the ghost. He would take them to Nira, his housekeeper, and ask her to pick up a pair next month on her trip to town for supplies. She would grumble about it, but she grumbled about everything. In the past few years living on Ashlin, he’d learned not to take Nira’s complaints to heart.
Along the side of the road, the branches of the trees swayed gently in the morning breeze. They sounded like the reeds of Taktani brushing against each other, the wind teasing them like children. His mother had sometimes gathered reeds and bundled them into a clay pot and set it on their table during their meager meals.
“No roses in the swamps,” she’d say with a longing smile, “but the green of the reeds is color enough.”
She would brush her hands through Jayson’s shaggy unkempt hair and set a plate of stewed potatoes or turnips in front of him. She remembered the days before Taktani, when the Agorans were free and lived scattered in separate tribes all across Imaness. She remembered too when the humans, who had migrated from the mainland and wanted land for themselves, tricked the Agorans into giving away bits of land until so little was left that it took only a final decree to push them off altogether and lead them to the marshlands, the only land the humans didn’t want.
Jayson wasn’t even born yet when they had migrated there, when his father, a human, decided it was best to stay behind with his own kind. And maybe it had been. Even now, where could an Agoran and human find peace together?
In the wagon, Teak stirred. His mouth stretched open in a lusty yawn. Jayson slapped the bottoms of his feet.
“Get up,” said Jayson, snatching his cloak from the wagon and throwing it over his shoulders. “It’s time to go.”
A few minutes later, with the horses watered and fed, they were on their way. They said little to each other throughout the remainder of the mor
ning, though Jayson was certain what was on both their minds. The sun was high overhead by the time they passed the worn wooden sign bearing the words DASTENE AL ASHLIN—Welcome to Ashlin in the old tongue. Jayson noticed that the post was beginning to lean to the left, and he made a mental note to find time to reset it.
As the wagon turned onto the lane along the side of the cleared fields that had boasted tall ripe crops only days earlier, they were greeted by the happy shouts of children and the hails of men and women involved in various activities about the plantation. They had been expecting Jayson and Teak any time and were ready for them when the wagon came to a stop in front of the big house.
Instantly, several young boys climbed up the spokes of the wagon wheels and toppling among the blankets in the bed, laughing joyfully in their new game.
“Did you bring us anything?” asked one of the boys with thick tight curls and curious dark eyes.
Teak grinned and patted the boy’s head. “Of course, we did,” he said, reaching for a lumpy sack under the wagon bench. A swarm of children had gathered by now, boys and girls of all ages, their faces eagerly anticipating their treats. Teak reached in and pulled out a single stick of hard candy.
“There’s enough in here for all of you. Take one now, and whatever’s left comes back to me. Your moms deserve something sweet too.”
He held out the bag to the tallest child, a quiet girl with a shy expression. “Here,” he said. “You’re in charge, all right?”
The girl nodded bashfully but accepted the responsibility. The children turned their attention to her. “C’mon now,” she shouted over the din, her sudden authority filling her with courage. “Line up or you won’t get nothing at all!”
Jayson laughed at the way the children obediently fell into line in front of her, and the divvying up of the candy commenced.
Jayson and Teak jumped down from the wagon. Before their feet had barely hit the ground, a man had both horses by the reins and was leading them off toward the barn.
On the steps of the big house stood a short aging man with a head of white hair and a belly round with a lifetime of ale. He grinned at the two returning businessmen and opened his arms wide.
“Empty wagon, I see! I hope you weren’t robbed!”
“No such luck, Gerard,” said Jayson, giving the man a firm handshake. “Just a good sale instead.”
Teak greeted Gerard with a quick embrace. Jayson noticed Teak’s ears turn red as the old man returned Teak’s hug with a giant squeeze.
“Teak, my boy!” said the man gleefully. “Dianis has been gnawing her fingernails down to nubs waiting for you to get home.”
“Is she still upset we didn’t take her with us?” asked Teak.
Gerard scratched at the white stubble at his chin. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. She’s got to have something to complain about or else she doesn’t feel useful. No, don’t mind her if she carries on. Let’s go on inside and see what you’ve brought home.”
Jayson stepped up to the door, but Teak held back. “I think I’d better find Dianis first,” he said apologetically. “I’ll join you two a little later.” Then he stepped off the porch and headed in the direction of a cluster of small cabins.
Jayson watched Teak’s back until it disappeared inside one of the cabins, then he pushed open the door to the big house and stepped through it.
“Come on in, Gerard,” he said. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
12
The night had turned bitterly cold. Ivanore gripped the shabby quilt tightly around her shoulders. She had tried to fall asleep, but the vision of the boy and Arik scratched at the back of her brain like an animal clawing its way out of her skull. She had had visions like this before, of death and destruction, the handiwork of Arik’s obsession, and they all ate at her. But this was something more, something she could not push out of her mind.
The straw mattress crunched beneath her as she rolled to her side to face the wall. She shivered and drew the quilt up around her chin.
She had seen him many times before. Her visions of Jayson are what had brought her to Hestoria. Then, the visions had been of him in tortured agony. They had driven her to leave her family in the care of Jayson’s father, Zyll, and come to the mainland to search for her husband, to save him if she could. But she hadn’t saved him at all. If anything, her recklessness had set the stage for the visions to come true. She had been captured by the Vatéz, and Jayson had come for her. She had been forced to watch him whipped, beaten. She would never forgive herself for that.
She would never forgive herself for so many things.
Jayson’s face swam in front of her eyes even now. Did he know? she wondered. Did he know she never made it home to Dokur? That Arik had betrayed them both, had kept her captive in this lonely palace by the sea? Or had he assumed she was safe on Imaness, resigned to their permanent separation.
Jayson. Oh, Jayson.
Ivanore moaned, the ache for him clutching at her heart. This vision was not of torture, nor of pain. In this vision his form was bruised, broken—and still. He lay on a blackened, smoldering field surrounded by other bodies as still as his. Had there been a battle? Ivanore couldn’t tell. Nor could she tell if the vision was in the past or the future.
For as long as she had been here, Ivanore had been seeing Jayson. Arik knew about her visions and had tried many times to coax them out of her. But she had never given him what he wanted, what drove Arik mad in wanting—she never gave him Jayson. Sometimes, to avoid Arik’s wrath, she would claim that the images that came to her were too vague, too blurry to decipher. But it was a lie. Her visions of Jayson were the clearest of all, and she horded them like secret jewels.
For a long time, the visions had been simple—long, thoughtful walks in the woods, tilling the fields, weeping alone at night in his bed. It was painful to watch him, knowing that he believed she was far away from him. But then the visions began to shift into something else, something dark and destructive. She felt the same pull, the same dread that had driven her from Imaness and brought her to Hestoria. But she was helpless now, confined by these stone walls and her brother’s unrelenting drive for vengeance, and her helplessness was tormenting.
Ivanore heard the lock click seconds before the door to her chamber creaked open. Arik’s presence sent a shiver down her back.
“Ivy,” her brother whispered from the doorway. “Ivy, are you asleep?”
She was not asleep, of course. How could she sleep when haunted by such visions?
“No,” she said, but remained turned to the wall.
She listened to Arik’s steps as he crossed the floor to her bed. He stood over her, and she felt his eyes on her, heavy as lead.
“What do you want, Arik? It’s late. You should be sleeping.”
“I’ve got too much on my mind to sleep,” he said. He sat on the edge of Ivanore’s bed, and the mattress shifted under his weight. “I need your help, Ivy.”
“You always need my help.”
Arik did not reply. Ivanore finally gave up and rolled over to look at him. He didn’t look well, she thought. His hair was disheveled, and his face was pale. His blue eyes were rimmed with red. He hadn’t been sleeping well either.
Served him right.
“Can’t this wait until morning?” she asked.
“It could,” said Arik, rubbing the back of his hand across his eyes as if to wipe away any sleep that might remain, “but you and I both know this night will be a long one, so we might as well pass through it together.”
With the possibility of sleep completely gone, Ivanore threw off her quilt and got off the bed. She went to her nightstand and poured herself a cup of water from the pitcher and drank it down. She wished it were something stronger, something to dull her senses—and her heart.
“Things are progressing,” said Arik, still sitting on her bed. “I’m building ships, Ivy, ships that can carry an entire army to Imaness.”
“You are building ships
, Arik?”
“My soldiers. There’s nothing much else for them to do anyway, so why not put them to work?”
“Because they are untrained and unmotivated.”
“They are being trained, and I’ve increased their wages. Things are changing, Ivy, for the better.”
Ivanore set her cup on the nightstand. She turned to face Arik. For a moment, he reminded her of the brother she once knew, the boy with whom she had played hide and seek in the Fortress halls and hunted for imaginary monsters by the sea. But no, that boy was gone. The man who sat in front of her now was someone else entirely.
“For that many ships, you will need a lot of timber,” she said.
“We have forests.”
“And weapons, supplies.”
“I’m taking all that into account, Ivy.”
“It will take years.”
Arik pressed his palms together and touched his fingers to his lips. “It’s a huge undertaking, I know, but it’s going to happen. I will invade Imaness. I will have Fredric’s throne.”
Despite the cold air in the room, Ivanore felt the heat of her blood pumping through her veins. An invasion meant death. Always more death. And the thought of her father—their father…
“Arik, please don’t do this. It’s not too late to stop this foolishness.”
Arik abruptly stood, his face reddening in anger. “It’s not foolishness! The throne would have been mine, should have been mine—if not for you!”
The sudden shift in her brother’s temperament sent a chill through Ivanore. From her visions, she knew what he was capable of, what he was bound to do. Despite her best efforts to brush them aside, she feared him.
“Fine,” she said, masking her unease. “If I can’t persuade you to consider the welfare of Hestoria or to spare the lives of your own people on Imaness, then what could you possibly need me for?”
Arik, regaining his composure, stepped to the ceramic bowl on Ivanore’s bureau and circled it with a finger. “I need the crystal. I need to know how this will all turn out. I need to see it for myself.”
The Crystal Keeper BoxSet Page 5