by Stina Leicht
“Where else can he go? He would’ve been dead within a week. Possibly less.”
“Nels would say he’d be better off dead. I’m not sure Blackthorne would disagree.”
James pushed his spectacles up his nose. “What happened?”
She stopped hesitating and took the plunge. “We chatted for a while by the willow grove.”
“He went with you to the willow grove?” Slate’s face suddenly reminded her of the depths of a murky pond. The only thing to surface was the tiniest hint of a smile.
Willing away the sudden warmth in her face, she tightened her jaw. “He was already there. Praying, I think.”
“Blackthorne isn’t religious,” James said. “After what he’s been through, I can certainly understand why.” He paused. “Wait. You went into the woods alone?”
“It was daylight, and you know I need solitude to clear my head.”
“Did you take a gun with you?”
“I can’t shoot. Why waste the ammunition?” Ilta asked. “Anyway, I have other means of protecting myself.” The unwelcome image of Blackthorne grabbing her cropped up, contradicting her words. She looked away. “And I can sense the presence of bears, snakes, and lions far faster than anyone else can.”
“You’re not telling me something.”
She paused. “Why didn’t I see it before? You know—Blackthorne.”
“Perhaps you’ve been trying too hard not to?”
“I have not.”
James gave her an incredulous look punctuated with a raised eyebrow. It stopped her before she could deny it further, and she slumped.
“I’ve been avoiding him,” she said.
“Why?”
She picked up a twig and drew circles in the dirt with it. “The same reasons everyone does.”
“That’s not true,” James said. “You like him.”
Ilta’s stomach clenched, and she felt as if she’d just been caught without her shift.
“One doesn’t have to have visions in order to read people, you know,” James said.
So this is how it feels to have others know your thoughts before you do. Ilta studied the ground in an attempt to conceal her chagrin. “Is it that obvious?”
“I don’t think anyone else has noticed.”
“Birch did.” And if Birch knows, how long will it be until Nels notices? Her face heated again. She didn’t fight it this time. “Someone has been gossiping behind my back.”
Slate snorted. “Gossip is currently the Eledorean national pastime.”
“What’s left of Eledore.”
“What else do they have to keep themselves entertained? If you know a way to stop it, tell me. I’d love to know,” he said, and then shrugged. “You like him. What’s wrong with that?”
“Everything is wrong with it. How can you even ask? I love Nels, and I want to be with him.”
“I would say that one does not preclude the other,” James said. “In any case, it is possible to have a lasting relationship with more than one person. There are at least three different groups in our community that manage it just fine. Minor complications aside.”
“Yes, but—”
“In this case, I’d agree with you. That isn’t an option,” James said. “Therefore, I have to ask, do you really want to be with Nels?”
“I do!”
“And Nels’s opinion in the matter?”
“Nels loves me back. He’s asked if I’d bind with him. It was a while ago, but he hasn’t changed his mind.” Beginning to feel the cold through her skirts, she got up and brushed off the damp earth.
“Then why aren’t you together?”
“We’re together.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Bound?”
“Did you refuse?”
“No. It’s—it’s complicated.”
“Sure it is,” James said.
“It is.” She thought about all the bad decisions she’d made—all the harm she’d done. “I—I don’t want to make any more mistakes. I don’t want to hurt Nels any more than I have already.”
“Well, I’m afraid that isn’t an option. Mistakes and pain are part of life. They are a part of relationships, too.”
“You sound like Gran.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” James said. “So … what about Blackthorne?”
“What about him? He’s a Warden.”
“Was.”
“Is there a difference?”
“I was a major in the Acrasian Army,” James said. “I killed Eledoreans in the name of the Emperor during the war.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“It isn’t?”
“You never tortured anyone.”
“Neither has he.”
I watched while they ripped him apart. She shuddered. “How can you be sure?”
“He wouldn’t be here if he had. I’d see to that.”
“How well do you know him?”
“Apparently better than you, O Great Silmaillia, Blind Eye of the People. You didn’t even know he was kainen.” Slate stood and then retrieved his portfolio from the ground.
“You think you’re funny?”
“A sense of humor is handy in my line of work.” Then he gave her that patient, fatherly look he used from time to time. A touch of worry deepened the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. “Well?”
Not for the first time, Ilta felt a twinge of excitement and fear. She had come close to taking the risk of bedding Nels once. The result had been horrible. Curious, she’d entered his mind and lost herself there. Nels hadn’t known she was in a trance. Not exactly. It would’ve been so easy for him to take advantage of her. But he didn’t. After that, she’d chosen to remain celibate in a sense, and despite strong temptation and his frustration. Poor Nels. Why is he so patient with me?
Would it be less dangerous if I slept with someone I didn’t love, first?
She had been content to wait, for the most part. That is, until the day she had seen Blackthorne hand Berlewen Bonner her five-year-old grandchild safe and sound from Archiron. And how long ago was that? One hundred and eighty-seven very long nights, to be exact.
After a couple of days’ thought, she’d decided Blackthorne was like her. They’d both made terrible mistakes that had harmed other people. He would understand what that meant. He knew the day-to-day burden of guilt. He understood how it felt to remember the faces of those for whom one was responsible. She wasn’t entirely certain that Nels could. She had tremendous magical power and then had misused it. Living with the knowledge that she was responsible for an untold number of deaths—
Well. Nels might understand that part. He’s a soldier, after all. But it wasn’t the same. It just wasn’t. Blackthorne thought of himself as something monstrous. She could relate to that. I’m a monster too.
I miss Gran. More than anything, she wanted to talk to her about Blackthorne and Nels. Gran had understood the risks. Gran could’ve taught her how to shield herself if she decided to get closer, but Gran was gone. There was no one else.
How am I even considering bedding Blackthorne? He’s a murderer.
So are you.
I did what I did out of love, not hate.
James was giving her that patient look again. “Sounds like you have a choice to make.”
Ilta sighed. “I don’t know what to do.” She shot him a hopeful glance.
“I can’t tell you that. Ultimately, it’s your heart. I understand that the fact that the matter affects others makes it more difficult to sort out, but sort it out you must. And soon.”
“Why soon?”
James paused. “You’ve been putting this off since before I’ve known you.”
Looking away, Ilta gave out a sad, short laugh. “We haven’t known one another all that long.”
“Two years,” James said. “That’s a very long, painful time to live with uncertainty.”
“I’ve been confused this long, I think I can handle it for a while longe
r.”
“Sure,” James said. “But can Nels?”
Ilta blinked.
“He’s suffering. He does his best not to show it, but if this continues with no resolution, it’s going to cause trouble. And that’s where I enter into things. Because this would be the sort of trouble that will get someone killed.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ilta said. “Nels wouldn’t—”
“Blackthorne doesn’t know that.”
“So?”
“Let’s suppose for the moment that Nels has enough self-control in an emotional confrontation to avoid killing Blackthorne,” James said. “You’re forgetting that Blackthorne isn’t just anyone. He’s a former Warden. A Retainer. You don’t understand what that means, but I do. That makes him a professional killer.”
“Well, sure, but—”
“And now you’re making erroneous assumptions. Blackthorne won’t hesitate to do whatever he has to in order to defend himself in a life-threatening situation,” James said. “Think about everything he’s already done to survive. Every. Brutal. Decision.”
Ilta felt her blood go cold. “Oh.”
“You’re your own person. You owe it to yourself to do what will make you happy. Nels doesn’t own you. No one does. And whatever those two do as a result of your decision, it won’t be your fault,” James said. “They’re grown men. You don’t control either of them. But I’m asking you to make up your mind as soon as possible. I want you to tell Nels what that is, even if it means you decide to be with neither of them.”
Ilta lowered her head. “All right. I will.”
“Look at me,” James said.
She did as he asked.
He had a sad, wise smile on his face that reminded her even more of Gran. “Being young and in love can be a wonderful thing, if you let it.”
“Oh, really?” she asked. “And how would you know?”
The images of two kainen rapidly blurred her vision, one after the other. The first was male. His long hair was brown and his pale features were narrow. The second image was female, with auburn hair and light tan skin. Liisa. Ilta reached inside her apron pocket and touched the watch she kept there. It wasn’t a long vision. He probably didn’t even notice.
“What did you see?” James asked.
It suddenly occurred to Ilta that Katrin bore a striking resemblance to Liisa. He’ll tell Katrin when he’s ready. It’s none of my business. “Nothing important,” Ilta said. She bit her lip. “You know that when Nels finds out that Blackthorne is kainen, he’ll kill him, don’t you? And afterward, he’ll probably kill you, too.” To cut the tension, she gave him a small wink. “I’m not sure I’d mind at the moment.”
“Worrying about the lot of you killing one another is just one of my many duties.” He yawned.
“Not sleeping again?”
“Of course not,” James said.
She opened her bag. “Would you like some valerian or chamomile?”
He nodded. “But not too strong. I can’t afford to feel sluggish. I need to be alert.”
“No magic. Just herbal tea. I promise.” She handed him a small tin of chamomile that she carried with her.
Hurried footsteps echoed up the stairwell. She turned in time to see the iron-reinforced door slam against the rock wall. A tall, blond kainen dressed in a threadbare Eledorean lieutenant’s uniform loped into the garden. “There’s been an accident at the forge. The new blacksmith—”
“Erkki? What’s happened?” Ilta asked.
Erkki bent over. Between gasps, he sputtered, “It’s Katrin. Something happened with the new blacksmith. Please come. Westola doesn’t know what to do.”
James bolted for the exit.
Ilta asked, “What exactly?”
Erkki shook his head. “Westola says Katrin has fainted and she can’t wake her.”
“Let’s go, then,” Ilta said, gathering her bag. “We have to get there before James does something he’ll regret.”
THREE
By the time she and Erkki had arrived, a crowd of curious bystanders had gathered at the forge. Taller than most, Private Wells did a fine job of blocking the doorway with foreboding presence. Her face was set in a mask of command, and her voice was calm but firm.
“There’s nothing to see,” Private Wells said. “Why don’t you all go about your business?”
She stepped aside, allowing Ilta to pass. The acrid stench of terror and anger in the forge made her nose itch and her eyes water. Discharged magic crackled in the air. Ilta threw up a hand in defense and began shielding herself, but it was too late. Before she could finish, the room vanished behind an image of an elderly Acrasian. His face was twisted with hate. Panicked thoughts echoed off the stone walls like screams. I’m cursed! Grandfather was right! Cursed! I’ve hurt her! What am I going to do? I’ve—
Ilta staggered. When she felt the cold stone against her back, she drew energy from its strength and steadiness. She visualized a thick wall around herself and fortified it with rock energy. Her senses faded, even her hearing. She felt as if she’d been swathed in cotton. She hated feeling like that. It was why she didn’t use such defenses all that much, but the shield did its job, and the assault on her mind ended. When she could breathe again, she blinked back the fogginess, released a majority of the energy back into the earth, and took stock of the room.
Katrin lay sprawled on the floor, unconscious. James pillowed her head and shoulders in his lap. Kaija Westola was packing her healer’s bag. In a far corner, Corporal Horn spoke in soothing tones to the new weaponsmith, Tobias Freeson. The smith’s eyes were wide with terror, and he paced like a cornered horse searching for an escape.
Kaija approached. “I did what I could.” Her graying, fuzzy hair was twisted into its usual knot at the back of her head. She was short. Her face was set in surly lines, and her manner was brusque. “There isn’t a swiving thing wrong with her physically.”
“What is it, then?” Ilta whispered.
Kaija said, “I don’t know. I can’t wake her. Couldn’t get anything useful out of the boy. He’d have run for it if it hadn’t been for Wells. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say …”
“What?” Ilta asked.
“I’d say it was the onset of magic,” Kaija said. “But they’re both too old for that.”
“I think you’re right about the smith,” Ilta said. “Katrin, on the other hand …”
“I’ll leave this to you, then,” Kaija said. “I was distilling some herbs when I heard. Process is a bit finicky. Whole thing is likely to blow if I don’t watch over it.”
“All right.” Ilta knelt next to Katrin and James.
“Can you do something?” James asked.
“Would you mind leaving her with me for a moment?” Ilta asked.
“Anything. Whatever it takes.”
“Give us some room, then.” Settling into place with Katrin’s head in the crook of her elbow, Ilta said, “Stay back until I say otherwise. I’ll need to focus.”
As soon as James and his fear were at a safe distance, Ilta took a steadying breath and closed her eyes. She couldn’t do anything without walling away the emotions filling the room. She first asked Terveh, the goddess of healing, for a blessing. Then she visualized a searing line of blue flames and, with that, mentally traced a circle around herself and Katrin. The fire grew hotter, higher in her mind until it arched and formed a bubble half-sunk into the floor. She paused long enough to check the boundaries one more time before opening her mind to Katrin’s.
Katrin, are you there?
The blackness feels warm, like floating in the lake in summer. It folds her in the intense comfort of peace after pain.
Katrin.
The name is familiar. Yes. That is her name. And then the present sinks her. She chokes. It threatens to drown her. She thrashes against the memories.
He was kissing Deirdre! That horrible—
Katrin, calm down.
She pauses. She isn’t alone. Afraid, she t
hinks of swimming away.
It’s me, Ilta. You’re safe. I won’t let anything or anyone hurt you. Just tell me what happened.
She has come to the forge because Tobias asked her. He said he liked her. He said he was designing a special new musket just for her. She came to see the drawings. But he was with Deirdre. He was kissing her! Kissing that—
I understand. What happened next?
She doesn’t want to listen to Tobias’s lies. He’s angry. He shouts. She tries to leave, but he grabs her arm. There is a flash of light and pain, and that is when the world goes away.
I see. No harm done. You were only frightened, then. Good.
She is confused.
Are you ready to come back? You’ve given your father quite a scare.
“Is she all right?” James’s voice pierced the darkness.
For a moment, the raw smell of his worry leaves the sharp taste of uncooked onions in the back of her throat. She wants to gag. She doesn’t like onions.
Ilta blinked. That last thought wasn’t mine. She pressed her palm against the floor and began to focus on the chilly stone beneath her. The scent of burning coals lingered in her nose. Her eyesight slowly returned until fuzzy shadows formed faces. She let the invisible circle of protection sink into the floor along with a quick blessing. She would need to make an offering later.
Katrin sat up with a gasp. “Papa? Is someone cooking onion soup?”
James wordlessly asked permission to approach. Ilta nodded. James knelt, grabbing Katrin in a fierce hug. Ilta continued to focus on breathing and the feel of stone. The room darkened, and for a moment, she wondered if the floor would be enough to anchor her in the present. That was when she understood it was only Erkki standing over her. His body was positioned between her and the forge fire. His features were craggy, making him seem stern. She didn’t know him all that well. Still, she sensed he was a caring person under the hard exterior.
He handed her a tin cup.
She swallowed half its contents in one gulp, focusing on the taste of tin and cold water, then glanced up. “Thank you.”
Erkki nodded, but he hesitated.
“Don’t just stand there gawking,” Ilta said, reaching out to him. “Help me up.” On her feet, she turned to Tobias, sitting in a defeated hunch at his workbench. His thoughts were quiet but throbbed like a deep bruise.