She took a quick look around, and noticed Óengus, standing on his own near the mast, which meant Keiren was gone. Bedelia instantly deflated. She’d probably spoken to him first, viewing him as more immediately important to her plans.
Bedelia frowned, as she realized that some of her dizziness had subsided. Perhaps the tincture had worked, or perhaps it was the fresh air. Regardless, she felt good enough to stumble to the railings along the deck, far from where Óengus stood, to gaze out at the glistening sea.
She jumped as Óengus appeared at her side, then scowled. Had it not been obvious that she wanted to stand alone?
“Feeling better, I see,” he observed without emotion.
Bedelia nodded, wanting to question their new plan, but at the same time, wanting nothing more than for Óengus to go away. She might have stood some chance of swaying Keiren to a new set of goals, but with Óengus, well, mermaids were more likely to jump up from the calm waters to sweep Bedelia away to their undersea kingdom.
“We will reach our target location within a day,” Óengus continued as he gripped the railing beside her. “Your Lady hast forseen it,” he added with a smirk.
Bedelia shivered. Most would never dare make fun of Keiren, or her unusual gifts. “What will we do to him?” she asked, thinking of Finn, and what a nice man Keiren’s father must be to be valued so highly by her.
Óengus smiled wickedly. “All you need to know, is that the old man will not be leaving the island.”
A pang of guilt unsettled her stomach, as she remembered how excited Finn was to introduce her to all her friends. If only Finn knew her mission now . . . She shook herself away from guilty thoughts. Finn was not her friend. She’d run off, leaving her sick and alone. No. Maybe, she hadn’t run off. Maybe Finn was taken against her will, and was waiting for Bedelia to save her.
Bedelia shivered again as Óengus clapped his hand on her shoulder, bringing her attention once more to his face. His silver hair seemed darker with the ocean’s moisture clinging to it, and his cheeks showed signs of sunburn from his time spent on deck.
“I trust you’ll follow orders?” he questioned.
Bedelia nodded as she turned her gaze back to the horizon, feeling sick at Óengus’ touch. She sighed. She would do what she needed to do. If Finn found out, she would never forgive her. Yet, Bedelia knew if she faltered, she might lose Keiren’s attentions forever. It was a price Bedelia was simply unwilling to pay.
Chapter Twelve
Anders never thought he’d actually make it to the coast on his own. He’d walked all night to keep from shivering, giving the ruined city a wide berth. He didn’t want any lookouts to accost him with arrows or bolts of magic, thinking he was still part of An Fiach. While he’d run into a few other soldiers of An Fiach on his way, none had questioned him, given he was still wearing his uniform. He was just another soldier searching for the rest of his contingent after the catastrophe of their first battle.
He sighed in exasperation as he stood alone on the sandy beach, the first rays of sunlight peeking over the horizon. How could he have been so stupid? To blindly follow An Fiach into battle, thinking it would somehow bring back his twin sister? She was gone. He had to come to terms with that fact. Until she’d gotten kidnapped, there had never been a day that Anders had not spent with her. They were inseparable, even though they fought more often than they got along.
Now it was all over. Anders was now an only child, and as good as an orphan. He could never go back to his family in the Archives, even though all he wanted in that moment was to bury his nose in a good book, warm beside a fire. Well that, and to see his twin sister’s face again.
Now, to add to his troubles, someone had led him to the coast by way of a mysterious note, most likely a joke to take up his time until someone or something killed him. He would probably be better off dead, though he would have rather avoided the humiliation of waiting on the beach for someone who would never come.
Was he even in the right place? The note had not been terribly specific, but the beach was wide and open. He could see a long distance in either direction. While darkness had been clinging to much of the land, he’d convinced himself that he’d be able to see whomever he was meeting as soon as the sun fully rose. Now the sunlight was beginning to sparkle on the calm waves of the ocean, and Anders was still alone.
It was this surety that caused him to nearly fall on his face when someone tapped his shoulder. He gathered his wits and turned around. His mouth fell open, astonished. The note had not come from Radley, or Iseult, or anyone else Anders could have suspected.
The Traveler raised one of his unnaturally long, boney hands to his mouth as he laughed at Anders’ surprise. Instead of the flowing, white robes Anders remembered seeing upon their first meeting with the Ceàrdaman, this one wore charcoal gray. His bald head was bare to the cold morning air, emphasizing his unusual translucent skin and large, reflective eyes.
“What do you want?” Anders demanded, finally gathering himself enough to take a step away from the Traveler.
“Something quite similar to what you want,” the Traveler answered puzzlingly.
Anders wasn’t sure what to say. Part of him wondered if he’d fallen asleep back in the forest, and was now trapped in some strange dream. “I doubt that,” he answered finally.
The Traveler smiled, revealing sharp teeth. “You want information on what happened to your sister. You long to know if there’s any chance of saving her.”
Anders’ eyes widened in shock. “If you know where she is, you must tell me,” he begged. “Does she live?”
The Traveler tilted his head to the side, observing Anders like he was a small, entertaining child.
“Tell me!” he shouted, at his wit’s end.
The Traveler smiled again. “You know the price,” he warned. “My information is only given in exchange for a great boon.”
Anders’ heart thudded in his chest. He really had nothing else to lose. “Anything,” he agreed. “I’ll give you anything.”
The Ceàrdaman grinned wickedly. Anders felt like perhaps he would learn to regret his decision, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. If he could find his sister, he’d at least have some hope of his life going back to normal. It was more than he’d had just moments before.
The Traveler nodded, satisfied. “Your sister has become what my people call Éagann. Her senses have been taken over by an unseen force. They use her body like a puppet.”
“Who?” Anders pleaded. “Who has done this to her?”
“The Dair,” the Traveler answered simply. “They have returned to this land. I believe you are even acquainted with one, the girl who calls herself Finn.”
“Finn would never harm Branwen,” Anders defended. “She saved her from the Blood Forest. She swore to help her further if she could.”
The Traveler raised the skin where his eyebrow should have been, though there wasn’t a single hair upon it. “I did not say that Finn harmed your sister, only that her people did.”
Anders was exhausted and cold, and found that he’d lost any patience he might have had for word games, even from someone as imposing at the Traveler. “Just tell me how to find my sister,” he demanded, placing his hand on the pommel of his sword for emphasis.
The Traveler chuckled. “She is in a place that is not a place. The in-between, many call it. Trapped between the worlds of the living and the dead. At least, that is where her mind resides. Her body is cold and alone, quite near death.”
Hot tears stung Anders’ eyes. His emotions felt out of place on such a calm, sunny morning. He glanced at the ruined city in the distance, wondering if he could enlist Iseult to help him find his sister instead of the Traveler, but quickly dismissed the thought. Iseult had his mission, and it had nothing to do with Branwen. Of course, if he could find Finn, perhaps she could help.
The Traveler laughed again. As if reading Anders’ thoughts, he taunted, “Though others may be able to help you in returning her
mind, no one else knows where to find the physical body of your sister.”
He glared at the Traveler. “You found her, and you left her near death? You couldn’t have helped her?”
The Travelers eyes narrowed. “It is the Ceàrdaman’s place to watch, and to record. We have been watching the Dair closely since their return. Your sister’s condition was a secondary observation.”
Anders had the urge to throttle the Traveler, but resisted. If this monster really was his only hope of finding his sister, he needed him alive.
He clenched his jaw, wishing he could just turn away without speaking, but he had no choice. “What do you want in exchange for my sister’s life?” he asked.
The Traveler tsked at him. “Our deal was for information. I said nothing about helping you fetch your sister.”
Anders felt rage like he’d never known. In fact, he previously thought he hadn’t been capable of such intense anger. Branwen had always poked fun at him for being far too soft.
His fists clenched and unclenched as he resisted drawing his sword. “You will help me find her, or I will do my very best to kill you here on this beach. I have nothing left to lose.”
A strange look crossed the Traveler’s face. Anders almost thought it was a look of respect, but quickly dismissed the notion.
After several silent moments, the Traveler nodded. “I will have my people tend to your sister, and you will get her back after you’ve led me into your family’s Archives.”
Anders’ jaw dropped. When he’d promised he’d do absolutely anything, he never expected that. It was unheard of. The Archives were well protected, as many of the tomes were ancient and irreplaceable. While many had no respect for history or literature, there were enough lords and ladies that deemed the Archives a valuable enough venture to fund. Anders’ name alone would gain him entry, but the Traveler would be cut down as soon as he appeared.
“Deal,” Anders agreed, knowing he at least had to try.
The Traveler nodded. “Then let us depart.” He turned on his heel and began to walk away down the beach.
Anders had to jog to catch up. “I suppose I should at least know your name,” he grumbled. “We have many weeks of travel ahead of us.”
Never slowing his pace, the Traveler replied, “You may call me Niklas, and do not fear. There are modes of travel known to my people that your mortal brain simply cannot comprehend, and I have no desire to remain by your side for weeks.”
Anders bit his tongue to keep a snide remark from escaping his mouth. He could admit, if only to himself, that the prospect of learning how the Travelers seemed to move around faster than anyone else was more than enticing. In fact, it would be one for the books.
Iseult waited not so patiently in the lowest chamber of the tower. Upon finishing his speech, Conall had retreated to his chambers to rest, leaving Iseult no opportunity to question him on the way out of the city. Àed had never reappeared. Impatience eating at him, Iseult had once again considered escaping the city on his own, leaving Maarav, Ealasaid, and their horses behind. Àed was probably already on his way to Finn, having had the same idea as he. Still, he needed Maarav’s ship to reach her. He couldn’t waste the time it would take to employ someone back in Migris. He had no other option than to stay with the party.
At first light, having slept little, Iseult, Maarav, and Ealasaid entered the tower to speak with Conall. The attendants did not send them straight up as before, but rather, instructed them to wait in the common area. Iseult clenched his jaw in annoyance as he watched the attendants, several young women and one man, outfitting any settlers who’d damaged their decrepit gear in the battle. He had no time for any of it. Where in the horned one’s name was Conall? Iseult would either fight the man, or be shown a way out, but he would not wait around for the reivers to join them.
He had left his party’s three remaining horses with one of the settlers, promising payment if the man agreed to remain with them outside the tower, just in case. Àed’s mule creature was nowhere to be found, confirming Iseult’s suspicions that the old man had left them permanently. He only wished Àed had shown him the way out first. He would have gladly escaped with him.
Iseult rested his back against the rough, wooden wall, shaking away his thoughts of Àed. If the conjurer indeed was gone, his only hope of finding Finn was to meet her at the Archtree. If he missed her, he would have trouble locating her again without Àed’s unnatural senses to guide him.
He scowled at the unsavory thought. He had shunned the chair offered to him by the tower’s attendants, choosing to remain ready to leap into action. Beside him, Maarav had taken a chair graciously, as had Ealasaid, who remained unconvinced of Conall’s ulterior motives. Iseult himself was not entirely convinced. His judgement was speculative, after all. Hopefully the forthcoming meeting would clarify things.
Maarav, sitting in the chair nearest Iseult, glanced up at him with a raised brow. “It’s quite odd that we’ve been asked to wait this time around. It makes a man wonder who our glorious leader might be meeting with currently.”
He’d made his statement loud enough for the attendants in the chamber to hear. Rather than looking at Maarav, they glanced warily at each other, upping Iseult’s suspicions. They knew something, and were afraid to give it away.
Iseult nodded at Maarav, then turned his attention to the pair of female attendants descending the stairs. He recognized them as the ones who’d been assisting Conall with his meal the day before, though they seemed far more fearful now.
One of the pair, a woman around twenty, with icy blonde hair, approached and offered Iseult a slight bow of her head. “Lord Conall will see you now,” she said softly.
“Ah,” Maarav muttered behind Iseult as he rose to his feet, “so he’s a lord now.”
Iseult followed the attendant as she turned to walk back up the stairs, leaving the dark-haired woman who’d accompanied her to come up the stairs after Maarav and Ealasaid. Those remaining in the room watched the whole scene with wide eyes.
By the time Iseult had reached the top of the long, spiraling staircase, a quiet rage had begun to simmer in his gut. It was not his job to save the people who remained in the city, hoping their great lord would protect them, but he found it difficult to remain uncaring. He knew what it was like to be left defenseless, and without a home.
He stepped away from the staircase as he entered the throne room, moving to stand in front of Conall, who now eyed him from his wooden dais. As Iseult looked down at the aged reiver with his full beard and wily eyes, he knew he could not simply leave the city as it was. He might be able to chill his emotions toward those ignorant enough to believe that any leader really did things for his or her own people, but he could not chill his fresh hatred for the man before him.
Iseult’s life had been a long stream of watching the innocent lower class as they repeatedly fell beneath the boots of the upper. It was an entirely new insult to see refugees fighting for a man who would ultimately sacrifice them if it suited his needs.
Cold realization shone in Conall’s eyes as he stared at Iseult, unspeaking. He had recognized one of his own, a predator, unwilling to be ruled.
Maarav strolled up to stand beside Iseult. He flashed a smile at Conall’s remaining female attendants, then turned his gaze back to Conall. “I must advise you to dismiss the extra ears in the room, Lord Conall,” he began happily. “There are things, I’m sure, that you would not like them to hear.”
Conall smirked, then nodded his head toward the stairs. The small gesture was enough to dismiss the women, who hurried from the room as if flames licked at their heels.
“I find it fair to warn you,” Conall began, his smirk remaining, “since you assisted my people in yesterday’s battle, that we are not as alone as we appear. I would not make any sudden movements.”
Iseult glanced around the room, really looking at it. The wall behind the throne came too far into the space, far enough to not simply be a divider between the room and th
e staircase. It had been roughly assembled for a reason, he realized. The mismatched planks of wood hid the seam of a door. Anyone could be hiding behind it.
Iseult looked back to Conall, feeling an odd mixture of respect and hatred. “We’ve come only to talk,” he stated blandly.
Conall’s pudgy face broke into a crooked smile. “To talk?” he questioned. “Or to make false accusations?”
The reiver really wasn’t as stupid as Iseult first imagined. He knew not all would believe his story of being a magnanimous ruler, and he was fully prepared for any accusations that might come his way.
Ealasaid, who’d been listening to the exchange silently, took a subtle step toward the stairs, giving herself a clear line of escape. Perhaps the girl wasn’t as naive as Iseult had originally believed either.
He gritted his teeth. What he wouldn’t give to just skewer Conall, ending things quickly and cleanly. Unfortunately, such an act would likely bring reivers rushing out of the walls.
“You have made enough use of the settlers,” Iseult stated. “Let them go in peace before the rest of your men arrive.”
Conall raised a bushy eyebrow. “You really jump right past pretenses, don’t you?”
Ealasaid looked around the room nervously, making Iseult worry that the girl might do something stupid, but at a quick look from Maarav, she stilled.
He turned a stern gaze back to Conall, unwilling to be led away from the subject at hand by useless observations of ceremony.
“No, I will not release the settlers” Conall answered simply. “We have many magic users among our ranks. The settlers will prove useful.”
Iseult glared. “Not all of them have such skills to offer. Many were simply forced to leave their ruined villages. Let those ones go. They are of no use to you.”
Conall rolled his eyes. “And when the ones I want to keep ask why their family members are being sent away?”
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