by Laura Kaye
“Yes, Mama.”
When the girl was gone, Willa pinned them with a stare. “What happened?”
“Bane,” Ravyn answered before Rhys could make excuses.
He glowered at her, but she ignored him.
“Where?” Willa’s complexion turned ashen. “How close?”
“The clearing beyond the cemetery,” Rhys said.
She pointed her wooden spoon at both of them. “Don’t you listen? I told you not to go too far.”
Rhys straightened his shoulders, suddenly feeling like a scolded boy. “Yes, because dinner would be ready soon.”
She slammed the spoon against the huge wooden table that separated them from her wrath. “No, because the ground is not sanctified beyond the cemetery. Of all the people in the world, I didn’t think I had to spell it out to you, Rhys. Ravyn is only now on her feet. Why would you risk your lives like that?”
He flinched at his stupidity. That’s why he’d always felt safe here, sanctified grounds. He’d never asked, not wanting to broach the subject of being a Bringer, and never believing they could help him. That helping and protecting were his jobs.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ravyn slide him a glance. He thanked The Sainted Ones when she didn’t follow it with an “I told you so.”
“Can you bind Ravyn’s hand until I can heal it?” He grabbed her wrist and pulled it up to show Willa. An angry line cut across her palm but there was no blood. “I thought you cut yourself.”
She pulled her hand away and stared. “I did.”
“Not as bad as you thought,” he said.
Ravyn said nothing for a few seconds as she rubbed her finger along the red welt. “Yes, I guess.”
The innkeeper circled the table and looked at Ravyn’s hand. She gave a knowing grunt and walked to the door Mary had exited. She stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Follow me. It’s time we stop pretending and speak frankly.”
She held Rhys’s gaze until he nodded. Perhaps it was time to trust Willa and Orvis. As he followed Ravyn out of the kitchen, he couldn’t help wonder what information the Giles family held.
Willa led them down a narrow hall and into the last room on the left. It was small but brightly lit from the two large windows against the west wall. Shelves lined one side of the room, and a large wooden table, acting as a desk, held court in the center. Ledgers stacked in neat piles rested to one side of the table, and an inkwell and quill stood ready to scribe.
Rhys liked how the room smelled. Leather and the mustiness of old books mixed with the light scent of linseed oil. The smell reminded him of Alba Haven and his library. He silently sighed, feeling the tug of home. Emotions warred with each other. It would be best for Ravyn to stay here with people who would take care of her, but he wanted her with him, wanted her to want to join the fight. He had no right to demand this from her. He pulled out one of the three chairs with a loud scrape across the wooden floor and offered it to Ravyn.
She didn’t look at him, her voice a little too controlled. “Thank you.”
When he made a move toward Willa, she waved him away, hauled out her own chair, and plunked down. She drummed her fingers on the table and glared at him. With an impatient huff, she stood and paced along the wall of shelves. Rhys sat in an empty chair next to Ravyn and focused on the trees beyond the window. The gentle movement of the leaves was much better scenery than Willa’s glower.
The innkeeper paced back to her chair and plopped down again, slamming her hands on the table. “Well, at least tell me you’re all right.”
He and Ravyn jumped at her outburst.
“We’re fine,” Rhys said.
Ravyn crossed her arms and made a tiny noise that sounded like ha.
“It seems Lady Mayfield disagrees,” Willa said.
“Yes, well, Lady Mayfield is being difficult today.”
Ravyn opened her mouth to argue, but something heavy hit the wall outside the room, the thud cutting her off. A picture rattled as another thump echoed in the hallway.
Scrape…drag…thud.
Willa let out a heavy sigh and tapped an index finger impatiently on the table.
Scrape…thud.
“Blessed Sainted Ones, he’s going to destroy the woodwork,” she muttered. “Are you all right, Orvis? Do you need some help?”
The round, smiling face of the innkeeper peeked around the corner. “No, I’m good, dear.”
All three watched Orvis cajole a large wooden chair into the room and set it at the head of the table. He huffed and removed a white rag from his pocket to dab his forehead.
Willa smiled sweetly at her husband. “Could you close the door before you sit down, dear?”
He seemed to melt under his wife’s gaze and hustled to do her bidding. “Of course, my sweet.”
The couple reminded Rhys of his parents. Always a tender smile, always supportive and caring. In his experience, that type of relationship was rare. A tinge of envious warmth spread through him. His gaze shifted to Ravyn.
She watched the couple, her brows slightly knitted. What stirred in that mind of hers? She kept it tightly locked, never allowing anybody beyond a certain point. He understood her reluctance to trust others, but he didn’t like that it ruled her life and actions. One day she would have to open herself to what she was and trust her instincts. But he couldn’t make that decision for her, and if shutting out the world—shutting out him—was how she needed to deal with her situation, he’d accept her choice. He wouldn’t like it, but he’d do anything to ensure her safety.
His heart ached at the thought of leaving Ravyn behind. He pulled his gaze from her and turned his attention back to Orvis, a small attempt at regaining control of his frustration.
The innkeeper wrestled his ample frame into his chair, looked around the table, and smiled again. “Now, why are we all here?”
Rhys looked to Willa for the answer. After all, she’d been the one to corral them into the library.
She pointed an accusing finger across the table at him and Ravyn. “These two were attacked by the Bane today, just beyond the cemetery.”
“Really?” Orvis said. “How many?”
“Lots,” Ravyn piped in. “Hundreds.”
“Hundreds?” Orvis and Willa said in unison.
“Not hundreds,” Rhys interjected. “Maybe fifty.”
Ravyn harrumphed and crossed her arms.
“Still, fifty against two is very impressive,” Orvis said.
“Yes. Quite impressive. Speaking of which,” Willa said, “I think it’s time we stop tiptoeing around what we know and exchange information.”
Rhys took note as Willa shifted uncomfortably in the chair. She’s got secrets. “Why don’t you begin, Willa?”
She cut a glance to Orvis. He responded with a quick nod of encouragement. Not surprisingly, he shared in the information his wife was about to reveal.
Willa folded her hands in her lap and leaned back against her chair. “I’ve known for quite some time that you are a Bringer, Rhys.”
He tilted his head in acknowledgment but didn’t interrupt.
“Over the years, I’ve come to realize you’re different than most of the Bringers I’ve met,” she said. “All except one—my first husband.”
Her words shot through him. He leaned forward and placed his palms on the table. “What do you mean?”
Orvis patted Willa’s hand. “Go ahead, dear. He needs to know.”
She stood and walked to the bookcase to remove two small leather-bound books. She returned to the table and sat, gripping the journals with a protective ferocity. Her gaze snared Rhys’s. “My first husband was a full-blooded Bringer, but he was killed by the Bane—as were my two daughters. That was fifteen years ago.”
“Fifteen years ago?” Rhys asked. “But I thought the last full-blood, aside from me, was killed over three hundred years ago?”
“The originals who stayed after the war were killed. But my husband wasn’t one of the originals.”
Ravyn shifted to sit forward and prop her elbows on the table. He glanced at her, his mind struggling to comprehend what Willa was telling him. His chest tightened as Willa slid one of the books toward him, its worn leather all too familiar to him. His voice pushed past the lump forming in his throat. “Where did you get this?”
“What is it, Rhys?” Ravyn said.
He continued to stare at Willa. “Where did you get this?”
Willa held his gaze. “From my husband.”
Orvis stood and took his position behind his wife’s chair. Whether in support or protection, Rhys didn’t know. He reined in his emotions, not wanting to scare his friends. He needed answers. If the book in front of him was any indication of where this conversation was headed, he wasn’t sure he could be responsible for his later actions.
“It was given to him by a monk,” she continued. “A Brother Archibald, I believe his name was.”
Ravyn’s pressure on his arm increased. “Rhys, what is this book? Do you recognize it?”
He stared at the journal he hadn’t seen for over 300 years. “It’s my father’s diary.”
She gasped, her gaze snapping to Willa. “I don’t understand. When did your husband get the journal?” She looked back to Rhys. “Wasn’t Brother Archibald the monk who saved you after Vile’s attack?”
He nodded, his mind trying to piece together Willa’s words. He turned his attention back to the innkeeper. “If your husband wasn’t one of the original Bringers, how did he return to Inness? The Archway was sealed over a thousand years ago.”
“My husband once told me that leaving the Bringers behind on Inness had never set well with most of the Bringer people. They wanted the door reopened and the soldiers brought home, but the old king refused. When Vile began assassinating those left behind, the cry to reopen the passage grew until the people overthrew the old king and set a new king in his place. A man named Janus, I believe.”
Rhys stood and paced along the wall of shelves. “A rebellion? A new king?” He stopped and looked at Willa. “If the Bringers came through, where are they?”
“I don’t know, Rhys. Bowen never told me more than his reason for being in Inness. But I got the impression there were plans in the works to remove the Bane from Inness. Bowen never said as much, but he would leave for several days and even weeks at a time without telling me where he was going. He’d only say he had Bringer responsibilities.”
Emotions assaulted Rhys, jumbling and tumbling. Each exploded, then faded away.
Anger—all these years alone when there were other full-bloods still living.
Confusion—when had the doorway reopened?
Excitement—what did this mean for the cause?
If there were full-blooded Bringers living on Inness, would they be willing to fight?
If they were here, why hadn’t they joined the fight? Were they hiding?
Again, anger took the forefront.
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?” he ground out.
“I’d promised to keep the books and information safe.” Willa shifted uncomfortably. “Bowen didn’t want me drawing unwanted attention to myself if something should happen to him.” Her gaze dropped to her lap. “That promise was the only thing I had left of my husband.” She looked back at Rhys. “Until a few minutes ago, I didn’t know the journal belonged to your father. I’ve been tempted many times to give it to you during one of your stays. I thought maybe it would do more good in your hands than gathering dust on my shelf…but I couldn’t break my promise to Bowen.”
“Why now?” Rhys asked. His voice sounded cold to his own ears. Inside he knew none of what the Bringers had and had not done was Willa’s fault, but she was the closest thing to a scapegoat right now.
She slid the second journal across the table to sit beside his father’s diary. She seemed to understand this and spoke gently when she replied. “You’re going to need it. I don’t know when, but I think there’s a war coming. These books will serve us better in your keeping than mine.”
Rhys smirked. “We’ve been—I’ve been—at war with the Bane for nearly three hundred years.”
Willa shook her head vigorously. “No, Rhys, what you’ve experienced so far is nothing compared to what is predicted in this journal.” She pointed to his father’s book. “The old ways will be resurrected and new hardships will have to be endured.”
“How do you know this?” Ravyn said.
Her body leaned toward Rhys as if blocking any pain Willa’s words might cause him. He kept his attention riveted on the innkeeper, but drew strength from Ravyn’s nearness.
“I read it.” Willa flicked her head toward his father’s worn diary. She leaned against the chair and wrapped her fingers around Orvis’s, who remained steadfast behind his wife. “Bits and pieces, anyway. Not all of it. At times it felt like spying on somebody’s private moments. After Bowen died, I needed some connection to the life I’d just lost. I’ve tried to read his journal but I don’t understand the language.”
Rhys reached for Bowen’s journal. He pulled open the cover. The leather creaked from age and disuse. Familiar symbols and signs filled the pages, but the link between his spoken words and the written language wouldn’t connect.
Ravyn leaned in over his arm to gaze at the pages. “This is the same language as my book.”
Rhys handed her the journal. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” She touched the page. “This symbol has always reminded me of a bird in flight.”
“Do you know what it says?” Hope tinged his question.
“No. It’s…” She searched for the right word. “It’s familiar, but I don’t understand it.”
As it was with him. Rhys took the book from her and stared at the words, trying to force them into some kind of coherent language. But the symbols remained silent and secretive.
“It’s the Bringer language,” Willa said. “I can’t read it, but maybe you can find somebody who can.”
His mind raced. Where could he possibly find a Bringer with the ability to read the ancient language? He mimicked Ravyn and propped his elbows on the table. If he hadn’t found such a person in the last three centuries, he obviously didn’t want to be found. He toyed with the idea of taking the books to Illuma Grand, but quickly discarded it. The Bringers there were mixed-bloods, all of them too caught up in politics to know anything about the Bringers’ heritage. He tapped his index fingers together in a steady cadence, trying to focus his frustration.
“Both are yours now,” Willa said.
Rhys’s hand crept toward his father’s diary and stopped just shy of the bottom edge. How could he ever read his father’s words? How could he relive the happy memories before his life had turned to dust? The tips of his fingers inched forward and rested against the cover. Slowly, as if the diary were a poisonous snake, he drew the book toward him and pocketed it inside his tunic. The small lump felt like a brick against his heart.
Ravyn picked up the second book. “May I look at this?”
He nodded, not trusting his voice. Tension gnawed at his muscles. He rolled his shoulders and he circled his head, trying to ease the strain of the day. He cleared his throat and looked at the couple. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” Willa said, her expression serious. “I fear for you and Ravyn. Your father’s predictions are dire, Rhys.” She gave a weak smile. “But you must never give up. There is hope within your father’s pages.”
Ravyn’s words came back to him. She didn’t want to be part of this fight. “May I ask a large favor of you?”
“Anything,” Orvis piped in as he slid back into his chair.
“It’s imperative that Ravyn remains safe.” The words choked in his throat. “Would you allow her to—”
“Have a weapon?” Ravyn interrupted. Rhys’s gaze snapped to her, but she didn’t look at him. “Perhaps a crossbow or a small sword of some kind?”
Words failed him as he stared at her profile. What was s
he saying? Was her Bringer blood too strong to let her cower from the Bane? Was she choosing to be with him?
It didn’t matter. He’d been reminded today that duty dictated he remain detached. Nothing would change even though she’d decided to travel with him. He was her protector and nothing more.
Why then did his private declaration feel like a lie?
He faced Orvis and Willa. “Yes, and perhaps some supplies for our travels?” he added. “We’ll leave as soon as possible.”
“Of course, of course,” Orvis erupted. “And for you…” He pointed a chubby finger at Ravyn. “I have just the thing. Sit tight.”
He squeezed out of his chair and bustled from the room.
“I’ll get started on your supplies after dinner.” Willa stood and walked to the door, but stopped and faced them. “You’re always welcome and safe here. The entire inn is on sanctified ground, all the way to the edge of the cemetery.”
Rhys raised his eyebrows in surprise. “All of it?”
“Yes. It took a bit of searching, but I finally found a monk willing to do the job.” She smiled. “A month of free meals seemed like a reasonable price for his time and our safety.”
“That would have been a useful bit of information today.”
Her expression turned serious again. “Consider The Dirty Habit your refuge.”
He nodded. “Thank you—for everything.”
She gave him a sad smile and left to tend to dinner. Rhys turned to Ravyn and cocked an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t want to be a Bringer.”
Her lips thinned under his question. “Obviously, I’m a glutton for punishment. Deciding to go with you doesn’t mean that I’m not scared or that I have the faintest notion of what I’m doing.”
“Understood.”
“So don’t expect miracles.”
“Of course.”
She sighed, “Don’t depend on me, Rhys, or we both could end up dead.”
“I have faith in you, Ravyn.”
She shook her head. “I must be mad.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “Get used to it. That kind of insane behavior is in your blood. If you’re anything like me, it’ll be all you can do to stay out of the fray.”