The Silent Tempest (Book 2)

by Michael G. Manning

  The female warden frowned, “Yours or mine? I cannot obey anyone if I am dead.”

  Her practicality made him smile faintly. Trust a warden to ask such a question. “Mine.”

  “I do not think there is anyone alive who could kill you, my lord,” she replied proudly before lowering her voice, “but death aside, I think I have become a ‘fool’ for you.”

  Her statement was the last thing he had expected to hear. It was probably the closest a warden could come to professing love or friendship. It was also the sort of thing they despised admitting, since such feelings were considered a sign of weakness among the slaves of the She’Har.

  He looked away, unable to respond for a moment. Kate would have understood his emotion as gratitude, but Layla would take it as embarrassment. The warden was already turning red as she realized what she had said. “When you return, I want you to take care of Kate for me,” he told her. “She will be understandably upset. You may also need to protect Brigid from her, or the others. Make sure none of them hurt one another.”

  Layla’s voice turned serious, “What are you planning?”

  “I will be going away for a while,” he said, as drops of rain began to fall. Fat drops that seemed swollen with all the regrets that even something as large as the sky could no longer contain.

  “Where will you go?” asked the warden, but he ignored her question.

  Carrying his daughter carefully, he made his way through to the trees of the Illeniel Grove, for they bordered the Prathion Grove near the arena, and from there he began the hour long trek back toward Albamarl.

  Once they were among the massive god-trees, the rain seemed to vanish, for it would take a while before the great limbs and leaves above them had taken on enough water to begin to drop the excess to the ground below.

  “I can walk,” said Brigid, stirring in his arms.

  “I know,” he returned, reluctant to let her go. He wanted to pretend, if only for a short while longer.

  “Let me down,” she added.

  They walked together in silence, separated by only a few feet. A few feet that represented an impossible gulf between them. The rain found them again as they emerged from the forest and began to cross the rocky field that led to Albamarl.

  He warmed the rain and funneled more of it toward her as they went, using it to wash the blood and dirt from her skin.

  Brigid looked a question at him.

  “You have to clean the cuts before sealing them. Even so, you may develop a fever over the next few days,” he told her. “Don’t push yourself before you finish recovering.”

  “Has this happened to you before?” she asked.

  He nodded, “Similar things.”

  “Is this your kindness?” suggested Brigid.

  Tyrion shrugged, “I have been among the She’Har too long. I am not sure I know the meaning of that word anymore.”

  “I won’t forgive you,” she told him. “I know the She’Har are to blame for today, and for so much more, but I can’t forgive you. The hurt runs too deeply.”

  “I would never ask for that,” he replied before stopping. They stood outside the house now, in the empty yard near what had become a permanent fire pit after Ryan had worked on it. He reached out to her, but she flinched away at his touch now, suddenly shy of contact.

  “Don’t.”

  “Let me close the wound,” he said. Touching her scalp, he used his magic to draw the torn edges together, sealing them shut.

  She hissed at the pain, and fresh tears began to roll down her cheeks, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he reached down, tracing the ripped skin along her ribs, the cut on her hip, and then her thigh, closing each in turn. Those were the worst of her lacerations, and after that he drew back.

  Brigid looked up at him with wet, swollen eyes that seemed to mirror completely the rage and agony that had filled his heart over the years.

  He knelt in front of her.

  “I don’t think I have enough strength left,” she lied, holding up her tattooed arm.

  He could see quite well how much she had recovered already, but instead he told her, “I wouldn’t make you do that.” Reaching across his body, he drew the wooden sword before handing it to her, hilt first. “Use this.”

  The sword shook in her grasp, but it wasn’t just her arm that was shaking, it was her entire body that had begun trembling. “I’m too tired,” she told him. “If you changed your mind, I couldn’t hope to kill you right now.”

  “I want you to do it, Brigid. I want your face to be the last I see. You deserve this more than anyone,” he replied, taking the point of the blade and setting it to his chest so that it rested against the ‘x’ scar he had created there previously. In the distance he sensed the others. They had come within the range of his magesight. They would reach them within minutes.

  “We don’t have much time,” he added, creating a shield around the two of them to prevent interference.

  Brigid looked straight into his eyes. “I hate you Daniel Tennick,” she said, using his birth name. “I hate what you did to my mother, what you did to the people of Colne. I hate you for what you did to so many women. I curse you for bringing me here!” As she spoke, her voice rose, gaining volume and vehemence.

  She was pressing forward now, leaning against the sword, its tip cutting through the skin of his chest. Razor sharp, it would only take a bit more pressure to drive it home, to slip betwixt his ribs and pierce his beating heart. Brigid’s voice was ragged now as she yelled the last, “Most of all I hate you for choosing me to kill Haley! Damn you!”

  Kate, Layla, and the others were running toward the house now. They could see the scene in the yard, and while none of them understood what was happening, Kate knew they needed to stop it. Her voice split the air as she ran, but whatever she was saying was incomprehensible.

  Brigid took another breath and gave forth a deep guttural growl that rose from the depths of her belly and echoed the frustration that ran to her very core. Her hands gripped the sword tightly as the sound climbed in pitch and turned into a wretched sob, her belly clenching so hard, she could scarcely draw breath.

  She wept tears of anger as blood ran from the cut in his chest, but she found herself unable to thrust the blade home. Staring into her father’s mournful, cerulean eyes she saw herself there, a soul ravaged by anger and fury.

  In the back of her mind, she could still hear Haley’s words, “Don’t hurt him. He loves us.”

  Her hands opened, and the weapon fell from her nerveless fingers. Furious with her own weakness, she struck him hard in the chest, her fist slipping across the blood there. “I hate you so much,” she sobbed, dropping to her knees in front of him. “I hate you, I hate the She’Har, I hate everyone!”

  Tyrion’s arms went out, pulling her toward him while she fought, twisting and clawing. “It’s too late for that. You should have killed me when you had the chance,” he whispered, drawing her in against her will.

  “I hate you…,” she said again, and then with a wracking cry she added, “…and I hate Mother! She lied to me.”

  He said nothing to that. There was nothing he could say.

  “She lied! Didn’t she?”

  He held her close against his bleeding chest, skin to skin, and the blood from their mutual wounds mingled while she cried. The rain ran down them, carrying away their tears in sanguine rivulets. He had released the shield around them, but the others didn’t approach, they stood around the two in a silent circle, heads down as they joined in their sorrow.

  “You are my true daughter,” he said softly, just loudly enough for all of them to hear, “my daughter in flesh and spirit.” Raising his head, he looked at the others, “And this is my family; sons and daughters born of misery and forged in the fires of our shared pain. I bear the sin that made you, and I can offer only one consolation.”

  His aythar flashed in time with the angry beat of his heart. “Together we will have our vengeance, for Gabriel, for Jack, and for Hal
ey. Together we will destroy the She’Har.”

  The youths gathered around him nodded, murmuring, “…for Haley.” Even Ian joined in their response.

  Kate found herself alone, surrounded by them, like a tiny spark of sanity adrift in a sea of madness.

  Tyrion stood and slowly released her, letting Emma pull Brigid away to console her. One by one, each of the others passed by him, giving him a touch on the shoulder, or sometimes just a meaningful look. Eventually they moved away, into the recently roofed, though still unfinished, dormitory.

  Layla had already gone inside the main house, and he found himself standing in the waning light, staring at Kate. She met his gaze evenly.

  “And what am I?” she asked. “I am no mage or fighter, and I am not your kin.” She rubbed her shoulders, warming them against a cool breeze.

  He walked toward her, closing the distance, “You are my wife.”

  Kate was stunned. “I’m married alr…,” she began to protest.

  “No,” he interrupted. “That was another world, another life. That life is done. You belong to me. I am your husband, and this is your family now.”

  “But Seth…”

  “…is divorced,” he concluded for her.

  “I have a son.”

  He paused at that, “Do you want him to live here?” He gestured toward the great trees of the Illeniel Grove.

  “No.”

  He took her by the hand, leading her toward the house.

  “There hasn’t been a ceremony. Daniel, people can’t just say something like that and make it true.”

  “I can.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked, but she already knew. She could sense it so strongly she wondered why she bothered to say the words.

  “To consummate our marriage.”

  Kate’s heart was pounding as he pulled her inexorably along. His rough hand was like a force of nature, and the heat from it seemed to radiate up her arm. I should stop this, she thought, but the words floated through her mind like tissue on the wind, all form and no substance.

  She rallied at the bedroom door, pulling back. “What if I don’t want—this?” she said, indicating the doorway.

  He released her hand, “Then this is going to be a very boring marriage. You can sleep in the other room, if that’s what you prefer.” His voice was calm, as if he had resigned himself already.

  “No,” she corrected, “What if I don’t want to be married to you?”

  His hands came up, and he said a faint word. There was a dangerous look in his eyes as he set them carefully on her shoulders. “Hold very still.”

  She froze as his fingers reached her throat, and then there was a moment of quiet resistance followed by an odd popping noise. The collar at her throat fell apart and faded into non-existence.

  “If you want to leave, you can,” he told her. “None of the She’Har will pursue a nameless slave. You never had to come here at all. You’re free. A day’s walk will see you home again.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “I love you, Kate. You were right about that, fifteen years ago, ten years ago, and even now, but I’m a very bad person. I’ve done terrible things. I tried to keep you away from this, then and again when we brought the children from here, but you wouldn’t stay out of it. You’ve seen what my life is like.”

  “What are you trying to say?” she asked.

  “This is your last chance.”

  She looked away. “Daniel this has to be the worst proposal in the history of the world.”

  “That’s exactly why you should go,” he told her. “I’m not inviting you to share a life of love, laughter, and children. I’m inviting you to share my damnation. My morals have become so degraded that I’m finally willing to drag you down with me.”

  She moved closer, “You aren’t lying.”

  “Does that surprise you?”

  Kate narrowed her eyes, “Frankly, yes. Every time we came close to this in the past, you lied and pushed me away. For once you’ve told the unvarnished truth.”

  He watched her, trying to figure out what she was about to decide. Her aura had taken on an ambiguous appearance, but it resolved rapidly as she made her choice.

  She lifted her chin, “Very well, damn me then.” Her hand rose to the back of his head, and she pulled his face closer, kissing him at last. It was several breathless minutes before they separated again. “I have one condition,” she added.

  “What is it?” he asked as he lifted her, preparing to carry her to the bedroom.

  “You have to play your cittern every evening—for all of us.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Too bad,” she replied. “You shouldn’t have married me then.”

  Chapter 31

  Abby returned the next morning. She had a long, faint scar across her abdomen, and she was noticeably paler, but she was otherwise unharmed. As Tyrion had discovered in the past, She’Har healers were unmatched in their ability to restore health to the wounded.

  Life went on.

  Tyrion had them continue their practices during the mornings, but he gave them more leeway now. Almost all of them were blooded, and most had fought twice now, so he let them practice with one another, usually under Layla’s watchful eye. Occasionally their ideas were unexpectedly dangerous, and it helped to have someone more experienced on hand to dissuade them.

  Ian kept his distance from Tyrion most of the time, but when they did cross paths, he was deferential, dipping his head respectfully. Tyrion hadn’t repeated the details of Ian’s match to the others, something the boy had noticed and was perhaps grateful for, now that the shame of his actions had sunk into his thick head.

  Even so, Tyrion kept a wary eye on Ian. Now that his blood had cooled, he no longer felt he had the right to judge him for his actions, but he worried about the future. The world of the She’Har was no place for idiots.

  Brigid was the most changed. Where before she had been openly hostile toward Tyrion, she now hovered by his side whenever the opportunity was present. She became more distant from her siblings, choosing to focus more of her attention on her father.

  He worried that killing Haley had broken something within her, something that could never be repaired. The madness and rage that had before seemed to hover just beneath the surface was still present, but it was more controlled now. The air seemed cooler when Brigid was nearby. She kept her words to a minimum, and when she did speak, it was never about trivia.

  Her eyes were continually on her father.

  She was standing next to him a few days later when Ryan walked up, his face thoughtful and earnest.

  “May I talk to you?” he asked, looking at Brigid briefly before focusing on Tyrion.

  “Certainly,” he told his son.

  “Alone?”

  Brigid glared at him, but said nothing.

  “I don’t mind,” said Tyrion. “Let’s walk.”

  After a minute, Ryan began, “It’s about the building.”

  “You needed to be alone to discuss that?”

  Ryan gave him a sheepish look. “Not really, but she creeps me out.”

  Tyrion raised his brow, “Brigid?”

  The young man nodded, “Yes. She’s so intense. Sometimes it feels like her eyes are going to burn a hole through me, and it isn’t just me either. Most of the others feel the same way.”

  “She’s been through a lot,” suggested Tyrion.

  “We all have,” reminded Ryan, “but she’s different. She reminds me of...,” he stopped suddenly.

  “Reminds you of what exactly?” prompted his father.

  “I mean no disrespect, sir,” said Ryan, “but she reminds me of you. She’s a little scary.”

  Tyrion laughed, “I will remember that. Scary can be useful now and then. So, what was it you wanted to talk about?”

  The young man rubbed his hands together, this was a subject he was more comfortable with. “Well, as you know the dormitory is essentially finished, other than for
minor details, and Violet is more interested in managing those.”

  Violet had turned out to have a penchant for artistic pursuits. While the others had spent their time and labors hauling, fitting, and cutting stone with their magic, she had preferred the finishing work. It had started with smoothing the interior surfaces, adding rounded curves to wooden features and doors and had progressed to scrollwork, carving, and delicate reliefs.

  The girl had an absolute obsession with beautiful designs, and the others chose not to complain if it took her away from the heavier work, for her efforts were turning their living space and rooms into something lovely to behold.

  “Are you worried about having too much time on your hands?” asked Tyrion.

  “Yes and no,” said Ryan. “I have some ideas, if you will permit.”

  “What would you like to do?”

  “Well, we could use a storage building. The pantry in your house is large, but for as many people as we have, it would be nice to have a place to keep more than just that. It would also be nice to have a place for the horses, and Abby suggested it would be good to have a place to work that isn’t constantly exposed to the elements…”

  “A workshop?”

  “Several,” said Ryan with a nod. “It’s best not to work with metal in a place where others are doing more delicate work or dealing with food, or cloth, or pottery.” Using his aythar, he created a flat plane of green in the air between them. “This is Albamarl.”

  Ryan’s fingers sketched the outline of Tyrion’s house, then added a larger rectangle next to it, “And this is the dormitory. Now, I was thinking we could put a large storehouse here, and a barn and stables back here. Workshops would be along this area, and we could leave the central area open…”

  “What are these lines on the outside?”

  “If you think it’s a good idea, those would be exterior walls…”

  “Defensive walls?”

  Ryan shrugged, “Well, if something happens with the She’Har, I don’t think they would do much good, but they would keep wolves away from the chickens.”

  “Chickens?”

  He pointed at the far corner of his diagram, “Back here, so we would have eggs.”