Risen thrust his hand over her mouth. His fingers were cold against her lips as he shook his head, no, eyes imploring she remain silent. He slowly e slid his hand from her mouth, all the while peering out the slits of the watershed shack, his head ducked down as though those outside could see in, could find and drag them from where they hid.
Sylvie began to let go another sob, one of fear and pain, but before it could escape her lips, Risen had his hand over her mouth again, holding up the first finger of his other hand in front of his own lips. He shook his head urgently, his dark hair flying about his face.
No, he wordlessly begged her to be silent. He made a slashing motion with his finger across his neck, and his expression seemed almost angry. He then pointed to where the water ran from the shed, out from beneath the planks that housed it. It was murky from the silt that their movements had stirred up. He rested a hand on her knee, indicating that neither should they move. Please, he mouthed the word without saying it outright.
She swallowed her cry, closed her eyes tightly, and leaned forward, resting her head onto his shoulder. She tried hard to do as he wished, to neither speak nor move her legs about in the water. Being so still only made it hurt that much more, but she said nothing. Then, she began to tremble.
Risen wrapped both arms around her, pulled her close to him, and in this fashion he held her…for the first time ever.
They sat, frozen as two stone statues, both of them curled up on the wet, earthen sod of the spring’s trough edges, their feet and legs increasingly numb from the cold of the water. They could barely see out from between the narrow planks and watched intently, but nothing happened for what seemed like an eternity to Sylvie.
Just when she thought they might be safe, just when she was about to say something, there were voices, and she watched intently as the strangers neared, spied the men approach the body of her fallen father.
Risen swallowed heavily and pulled Sylvie closer as though he might protect her from witnessing the scene unfolding only twenty paces from them. Try as he might, he could not. She refused to not see, could not tear her eyes from the fateful events that played outside the watershed. It might be horrible, but it didn’t matter; she simply must know what was happening, must share her father’s final moments, and so she peeked just from the corner of her eye.
The men, four of them, stood about the dead man, gesturing toward the house and then to the village. They were almost indifferent until one soldier cruelly kicked the body. This time it was Sylvie who thrust her hand over her mouth.
Nothing…then the man grasped and struggled to pull the arrow from her father’s back. The body lifted with the soldier’s effort, then fell heavily back with a dull thud. Planting his foot firmly on the back of the fallen man’s neck, the soldier was able to wrench the bloodied arrow loose. The soldier pointed almost casually toward the house with it, and the rest of them nodded.
Risen squeezed her tighter. He could see how, even though terrified, she burned with rage. Tears streamed from her eyes, but she remained silent, didn’t whimper even one sound, only watched the horror that played out before her.
He touched her, took her chin gently, and turned her face so that her stare was pulled from outside, so that her eyes met his. He pointed at his own eyes, implored her to look only at him. She focused on him, saw that his eyes smoldered with anger and remorse, saw his jaw clench tightly as he bit onto a dreadful silence all his own. But she could not know his greatest emotion was his concern for her. She held his gaze, looked only into the beautiful, mournful eyes.
Her father had been kind to Risen—a good man. It was true he’d let Sylvie and Tobias go to play at the castle. But Ravan’s son had just as thoroughly enjoyed the time about the small homestead. Her father had laughed and played with them, and Risen had grown very fond of the farmer with the warm heart and the quick humor. Tobias had inherited these traits from his gentle father as well.
Fury seized Sylvie’s heart. It was so wrong for them to kill him! And why? What would they gain from it? Fury turned then to terror. What of Mother and…Tobias? She believed in that moment she could endure this no longer, that insanity would snatch at her if she did not cry out. And she would have cried out except for Risen. The sad, warm eyes of her dearest friend.
She could hear the dull murmurings of the soldiers as they moved away from her father, and before long, she could hear them no more. Even so, the two children stayed in the watershed, not moving, not speaking, not daring to go forth. Together, they swallowed their fear and rage. Together they grieved the awfulness of what they knew and feared the inhumanity of what they did not.
After an eternity, Sylvie could hear something from a short distance away. It was a low hiss, and it slowly grew, turning from a whining mewl into a crackling roar. There was no shouting; there was no crying. There was no chance for such a thing now. Only the terrible roar. She clamped her hands over her ears.
Sylvie’s home…was on fire.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
†
“What do you mean he is gone!” Nicolette stormed back and forth on the stone floor of the great room that lay just off the castle entryway. It was the first time that Moulin had ever seen her truly rage, and in her fury she seemed so much larger than she really was.
He reached both hands out in appeal, unable to fathom her in such a state. He’d never, no matter the awful trials she’d experienced in years past, seen her behave in such a way as this, and it rocked his notion of stability to the very core.
“My Lady, he must have found the tunnels. And I have no explanation as to how. He’s never indicated he knew of them.”
“Were they hidden?” she interrogated him harshly regarding the tunnels.
“Yes, behind the tapestries.”
Moulin was nearly as devastated as she that the boy was simply nowhere to be found. Risen had disappeared, vanished from the castle. Even now, guards were combing the grounds and beyond the tunnels, but Moulin feared it would prove worthless. His instinct was that the boy was truly gone. Obviously, it was Nicolette’s as well.
Moira was summoned. “And what have you to say for yourself?” she snapped at Moira, “That they were left in your keep, and now Risen is missing?” Nicolette appeared as though she might strike the girl—Niveus’ nanny—but instead spun away, hands over her eyes.
Moira cried, holding the stump of her arm across her mouth. Moulin knew that she truly loved the boy, must be dreadfully worried for his disappearance as well. “I’m so sorry,” Moira cried. “He said he was hungry…and thirsty. Asked me to go for some food for him and Niveus. I think…I think he meant for me to be gone.”
Guards stood at hand with Risen’s sister. All the while, Niveus sat unmoving as a corpse on a settee bench. Her legs were crossed at the ankles, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She gazed at an overhead window, watching the dust particles play in the hazy beam of mid-morning light. Nicolette went to her and knelt gently in front of her daughter. “Niveus…”
The child continued to peer at the beam of light.
“Niveus, where did your brother go?” Nicolette rested her hands on the thin knees of her second born.
“I don’t know.” Her peculiar eyes blinked slowly as she dropped her gaze to her mother’s face.
“Niveus, help me. You must know where he’s gone. I know you saw something, have knowledge of something.” She took Niveus by both shoulders and shook her daughter gently. “Help me, my daughter. Help Risen.”
“He is in love,” the girl offered.
Nicolette stared intently at her daughter. Then, with a sigh, she abandoned the questioning as though it would gain her nothing. Spinning from the two of them, she flew to the castle’s open front doors. Peering the direction from which the battle raged, she spied the plumes of black smoke that shot up beyond the castle walls and murmured as though only to herself, “It is the sign. This is what I have feared. It is the loss despite the win.”
“Pardon?” Mouli
n approached her from behind, stricken by the sudden unpredictable events of the last few moments.
She spun on him, ignoring his question. “Bring my council to me! And fetch Ravan right away; I need him, now!”
“But my Lady, he leads the battle? He can’t—”
“Get him…or the realm will fall.” She turned in a swirl of dark robes and was gone from the room.
* * *
Moira was stricken. How had this happened? How had Risen orchestrated such an escape? And why would he do such a thing? Niveus was in her room, a pair of guards on either side of the door. Moira entered, closed the door, and sat down on the bed next to her.
The child curled up and closed her eyes as though she would sleep. This child slept frequently, much more often than most. Additionally, she was awake at odd intervals during the night. They even had to lock the balcony doors, for she might be found at any freezing hour, leaning over the railing, reaching for something that was not there.
Moira drew the blanket over Niveus’ shoulders and was startled when the child repeated softly, eyes still closed, “She should have known. He is in love.”
“Niveus…”
Nothing.
“Niveus, look at me.”
The rose blushed eyes flashed open and peered sideways at Moira. The nanny asked, “Why do you say that?”
“Because he is.”
“With who?”
Niveus shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t know that.”
“Then why do you say such a thing?” Moira patiently wondered.
Very deliberately, the child pushed up, crossed her slender legs, and rested her elbows on her knees. She seemed as delicate as the shell of an egg and motioned in an odd way with one hand, her fingers flitting as though she played an invisible instrument. “Risen loves you.”
“I know that.”
“He loves Mother and Father too. He even loves me.”
“Of course. Is that what you mean? Is that what you meant to tell your mother?”
The child appeared annoyed, almost tired. “He loves us. He would never have left us if it wasn’t for another whom he is in love with.” She locked gazes with Moira. “There is a difference.”
“How do you know this?” Moira took Niveus’ hand urgently in her own. “Tell me how you know this?”
“It is…” she swept a hand in the space around Moira’s face, “…something I see about those who are in love.” She dropped her hand and focused intently on her nanny. “Father has it. Mother has it. Moulin has it. YOU have it…”
Moira blushed somewhat, but the child ignored it and continued, “But Risen’s burns very brightly.”
“Why, Niveus? Why does it burn so bright?”
“Because his is the youngest, the fiercest in how primal it is, and because the other does not know of it…yet.”
Moira stared, dumbstruck.
Niveus explained further, “It is brightest when it is a secret. Moulin’s is very close to the same, as is yours.”
The words disturbed the handless maiden a great deal. It was true, she loved—a secret no one would ever know—her Lord. And Moulin, Moira long suspected, was in love with Lady Nicolette. But Risen?
She allowed Niveus to curl back into her ball, pulled the blanket over her, and left the child to her rest. Passing the guard on her way out, she shot, “Don’t leave her, not even for a second.”
* * *
Ravan crashed through the council chamber doors, followed by his first in command, and strode directly to Nicolette. Tossing his bloodied sword with a clatter onto the table, he took his bride by the shoulders with both hands. “What, Nicolette? What is it? What has happened?” He knew it must be fearfully important for her to call him back from battle.
“The guards are searching the grounds as we speak. There is still no sign of him.” She did not share the name of whom she spoke.
“Risen? How, where?” His eyes shot wide in alarm.
“He was in the library. Moira was with him—left him to get food—and when she came back, he was simply gone.”
There was something about her eyes, something Ravan had never seen before, not even on that long ago day on the cliff when she had to leave him, casting him to his fate. Her eyes held something entirely new about them. They carried an expression of dread, and it terrified him to his very core.
“The tunnels? Did he know about the tunnels?”
“If he did, he’s never mentioned it to anyone.” Nicolette clasped her hands together. “Ravan, he is not on the castle grounds. I can feel it. He is not here.”
Staring, he searched her eyes, trying to read what she meant by this. He knew that what she said was true; his son was nowhere close by, not within the safety of the castle walls.
“Why? Why would he leave? It makes no sense. This battle is far from won!” He dropped her shoulders and pressed a thumb to his forehead, concentrating hard as he paced back and forth in front of them.
“Perhaps someone found the entrance in? Perhaps they came into the library and took him from us?” It was Moulin who shared this thought.
The mercenary shook his head. “Not possible; the catacombs are too complex, and the doors are barred from within. They would have had to break through them all.” He pulled his sword from the table and stabbed it into its sheath with a satisfying ring. “No, there is no way the enemy could have found their way in, and we would have known—would have heard them. Besides, the army is held. The battle is almost turned.” With that he spun on Moulin. “Were the tunnel doors found open?”
“No, all were closed, but they were unbarred, as though someone exited through them. Everything else is as it should be.”
“So he was either taken through them or left of his own will and closed the doors behind as he went.” Ravan focused on Moulin and Nicolette, both of them. “Where did he go? Think. Why would he leave, and where would he go?”
They only stared at him, and his desperation rose. “You know his heart as well as I! What would compel my son to leave the safety of the castle at such a time as this; how could he disobey me?”
His ferocity was more than a little intimidating, and Moulin took an involuntary step backward. Few, since the mercenary had taken control of his realm, had ever seen Ravan’s true wrath. Now, it was as near to being totally exposed as it had ever been.
“He thought he could fight—wanted to join you in battle,” Moulin said hastily, “Perhaps he left to do this, to try to be brave, to prove himself to you.”
Pressing his fist to his closed eyes, Ravan said, “Perhaps. But surely my forces would have seen him, protected him and sent a message to me that he was within the fray. All of them know him—know his appearance.” He dropped his hand and focused on Nicolette. “None of my men have sent word that Risen has been seen. There is much fighting to finish, but this battle will be turned in our favor. We will be victorious. Someone should have seen him if he was there, if he was in the town.”
“Maybe he thought he would be safer elsewhere?” Moulin began to say, but corrected himself, “No, that’s simply not possible. Risen is smart. He would know there is no place safer than the library, not in all the land.” Then he added, “Even if the castle was stormed, it would be a long time before they found him hiding there, and he knows this. I know he does.”
Now there was excited chatter as all present began to offer their thoughts onto the mysterious disappearance of the dark haired child. It was urgent and very pressing.
The room seemed to close in on Ravan, becoming smaller and smaller until he believed he could no longer breathe. He clenched his eyes, covered his ears with his hands as he struggled to concentrate.
The voices around him were too loud, blending, buzzing. They invaded his mind, his ability to think clearly, and he wished he were in the woods where his thoughts were the most clear and his instincts sharp as his blade. Then he would know…
“Silence!” he boomed, and the room fell instantly mute. All looked at him wi
th blank eyes, eyes full of regret and fear. He focused on Nicolette. “I will scour the town and the castle grounds. I will find him. I promise you. And I will not return until I do.”
“The battle is not finished, my lord,” Velecent, his first knight, cautioned him regarding the distribution of might.
“We have them on their heels,” Ravan motioned to his dearest friend. “Send word amongst the troops. The leader of the opposition, I want him alive; bring him to the castle.” He kissed Nicolette briefly and swept from the room, Velecent fast on his heels.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
†
The wind was coming from the east. As it blew up and over the little knoll, the blanketing cloud of grey obscured the small hillside at intervals, cloaking for short stretches the body of Herluin—Sylvie’s father. They’d been in the watershed for some time now, afraid to go out for fear the soldiers could yet be close. But with the cover of smoke, Risen reasoned it was their best chance to break away to the cover of the forest.
“We need to go…while the smoke is thick,” he pulled his arm from around Sylvie’s shoulder and took her by the hand with both of his. Hers were icy to the touch. “If we stay much longer, we will freeze.
Both of them were terribly cold, and Risen knew hypothermia threatened. The boy had been supremely trained by his father, knew the perilous risk of cold, especially if they were wet. It was imperative they leave the watershed. Then, they could find shelter and warmth, but, not nearby. This was not a good fire. No, they must flee and gain the protection of the castle. And he knew that if they started to move, they would warm up in their flight.
“I have to get to my house. I have to find Mother and Tobias.” Sylvie’s face was drawn, her eyes red from crying into his shoulder for nearly an hour.
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