by Rowan, Cate
Unfortunately, Jilian wasn’t there. The bed was unmade and the bedcovers had fallen to the floor. Disappointed, he pulled them back up and slid a hand along the comforter. Soft against his palm, it reminded him that in the night it had been next to her, and he hadn’t. He splayed his fingers over the velvety material, wishing it covered her still.
Maybe she’s with Rokad.
Jealousy clutched his chest, but he shoved it away. As if Rokad would do such a thing. I’ve been a fool. Jilian had probably gone to him simply to have a kind person to talk to.
Then the memory of her with the soldier tore through his mind.
Shoulders tightening, he spun toward the hall. She needs to explain that. But this time, I’ll keep my mouth shut until she does.
Jilian woke to blood throbbing against the unyielding bones of her skull. Her eyelids squeezed tight to counter the pain.
She lay on her back on some hard, flat slab that pressed cruelly against her sore head. A wave of nausea rolled from her stomach to her mouth. She turned, gripped the edge of the slab, and retched over the side.
When the heaving subsided, she opened her eyes. Only a dim, indirect light reached the room—no, not a room, she realized.
It was a dungeon cell.
Bleak stone walls formed a cube seven feet in diameter. Water seeped from between the stones, leaving a skin of slime. The clammy air chilled her; she coughed from the putrid stench of the cell and of her own vomit, just a foot and a half below her on the filthy floor. The cell reeked of urine and things far worse.
A movement in the corner drew her attention. A rat eyed her, moved a few steps closer and sniffed the air, its eyes shifting toward the slop of vomit. It glanced at her again, then squeezed underneath a dark door.
A door. She fought her queasiness and raised herself up to get a better view.
Claw-shaped hinges gripped a panel of metallic black. Dark red lines and symbols slashed the blackness. When she realized the lines and symbols were…MOVING…she shoved back against the wall.
The slashes felt like words in a language she didn’t know. Runes, maybe. Whatever they were, they looked distinctly menacing.
Whiskers poked out from under the door. The rat edged toward her again, keeping close to the wall. It stared at her with its black eyes and crept towards the vomit.
Jilian grimaced. How horrid that vomit seemed the best thing on the floor to the rat. Her stomach churned just thinking of it.
She touched her forehead gingerly and inched her fingers closer to the place that hurt worst. There, on the right at the hairline. The pain made her hiss through her teeth. Blood had crusted along a large gash. Even so, she was lucky it had crusted at all—she’d hit the tree hard. She could have died.
Died. And now, here she was in Bhruic’s dungeon—which meant she might still die. She was at the mercy of a man who’d murdered the other Sources, nearly assassinated her mother, drove Mellec and Resara and countless others into exile, and was scheming to destroy Alvarr and his realm.
What would such a man do to her?
Tugging her wool cloak closer, she noticed her arm stung. Red, angry scratches criss-crossed her skin and the sleeve was half-ripped from the bodice. The tree!
She recalled it blasting toward her, and even in the cell, she threw her palm up to protect herself.
Breathing hard, she dropped her hand to her chest, and then her eyes widened as she realized what had disappeared. The pendant!
The oath pendant Alvarr had given her was gone. Either those two goons had taken it or it had come off in the fall. Maybe it was lying among the roots of some tree high in the Nerils.
Alvarr, I’ve lost it…just as I’ve lost you.
A shiver rolled through her limbs. Perv and Toady hadn’t seemed too worried about pursuit, which meant they were sure they hadn’t been seen. If so, Alvarr wouldn’t be trying to rescue her anytime soon.
Even if all he wanted was her power.
He’d figure out, eventually, that she wasn’t in the castle. But he’d probably think she left on her own—after all, they’d had a hellish fight. There was no reason for him to believe she’d been kidnapped.
God, if she’d just knocked on Alvarr’s door as she’d wanted…then maybe she wouldn’t have gone back to her room for the kidnappers to find her.
She’d blown it. She’d been too stubborn, too stupid. If only she’d made him listen to her, and not waited for his asinine pride to calm down.
Bhruic would come for her eventually, and then what? Shivers pulled gooseflesh over her skin.
Then again, perhaps he’d just leave her in this cell to die. She’d die of starvation, or maybe dehydration—her throat was already parched, and she’d lost blood from her wound.
But dehydration seemed too easy for him. She suspected Bhruic had many…inventive ways to murder.
Meanwhile, he’d taken from Alvarr the only real weapon the Prince of Teganne had left: herself.
Alvarr’s weapon. It wasn’t a pleasant job description. Particularly when she was sitting alone in a reeking dungeon cell.
And when she hadn’t conformed to the job’s expectations, Alvarr had been incensed.
Is that what she was to him—just a means to an end?
No. No! When she’d nearly died from the goroth’s poison, she’d seen the fear in his eyes—not fear for the loss of his Source, but for her. He loved her. Truly.
Or at least he had.
If she hadn’t infuriated him, she might still be in Teganne, safe…
Jilian! You’ve done the best you could all along. Alvarr was hostile, insulting, and had a pissy fit. The man deserved a good beating with a pair of steel-tipped stilettos.
She eyed the reeking floor.
Speaking of pissy, I have to pee.
As she choked out a bitter laugh, hot tears slid down her cheeks.
When Alvarr knocked on Rokad’s door, the mage answered it blank-faced and fully dressed.
Clearing his throat, Alvarr gave a rueful smile. “Rokad, I apologize about yesterday, and falsely inferring that you and Jilian… Well, I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. It’s just…where she’s concerned, I lose perspective.”
“Oh? I had no idea.” The corners of Rokad’s mouth quirked up. “But apology accepted.”
“Thanks, friend. So…is Jilian here?”
Rokad raised a brow. “I haven’t seen her since I shut the door behind you two yesterday. Alvarr—do warn me next time you go into a jealous rage. I’ll be sure to change into proper clothes before I answer the knock.”
Alvarr chuckled. “That’s likely safer for both of us. Anyway, I need to find her—and talk. Perhaps Varene has spotted her.”
But he soon learned the Healer didn’t know where she was, either. The first stab of worry jolted him. He bit his lip.
Varene rose from her stool and walked to him, hands on hips. “What happened between you two?” With light fingers, she turned his face to hers.
He sighed, shoving away resentment at her mothering. “Nothing. No, not nothing, it’s just—look, I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
Staring at him, she nodded. “Fine. But you know I’m here, when you do.”
“Thank you.” He gave her hand a squeeze and then strode from the room.
He didn’t start to panic until he realized no one else had seen Jilian. He checked the rest of the castle, then went to the stables—but Halbeth and Blerra dozed quietly in their stalls and no other fydds were missing.
Leaning against Halbeth’s polished stall door, he searched with his mind-sense in wider and wider circles around Ysanne until his fatigued body rebelled.
Nothing.
Where is she?
Jilian, now frantic, eyed the claw-shaped metal hinges of the black cell door. Maybe they could be pried open somehow? She gripped the nearest one.
The hinge crackled and a piercing shock surged up her arm. She gasped and fell back against the opposite wall.
After
a while, a shiver slid over her and she pulled the cloak tighter. Her breath pushed into the stillness and fell impotently to the filth of the cell floor. In the hush, her heart echoed.
Metal clanged beyond the boundaries of her cell, followed by the groan of a massive door. A squadron of footsteps thudded toward her in counterpoint to her accelerating pulse.
She clutched her cloak to her body and tried, in vain, to blend into the shadows.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“This is awful. Where would Jilian go?” Varene’s arms flew wide. “She doesn’t seem the type to do something daft.”
Alvarr sat at his desk, a stylus clenched in one fist. “No. But apparently, she has.” He tapped the stylus repetitively against the desktop, echoing the urgency in his mind. “I’m not sure I gave her much of a choice.”
Varene stopped pacing and shook her head. “You were riled, true, and evidently with some cause, but I find it hard to believe she’d run away after a lover’s quarrel.”
Alvarr’s thoughts thundered around his head like crazed fydds. He was missing some key piece—but he didn’t know what it could be. “Beyond the castle, the only people she knows in Teganne are Resara and Mellec. But she’d need a fydd to reach them, and she didn’t take one.”
“Maybe she’s just hiding somewhere for a few days to get over it all. To let you cool off, and to cool off herself.” Varene sat on the edge of his desk. “I’m so sorry, my dear. I like Jilian very much, and I think you make a wonderful pair. I wish she were here—I’d tell her so.”
Perhaps Jilian was still upset with him for wanting to keep their relationship secret. But Rokad had spoken with Jilian about the quarrel, so she was aware Alvarr had told Rokad the truth. Wouldn’t that count for something? And now Thoren and Nenth knew, and Varene as well. Telling them all had been both harder and simpler than he’d thought.
Alvarr gave a wry grimace. “You realize that Thoren wasn’t nearly as pleased about our relationship.”
“No, he wouldn’t be,” she said in a soft voice. “He wants to protect you, and he’s a stickler for keeping things the way they should be. But Thoren’s a wonderful man who’s helped you become who you are.” She eyed Alvarr fondly, looking as if she wanted to tweak his nose. “It’s important for you to know the rules—so you can judge whether to break them.”
He snorted. “As I have not infrequently.” His humor faded. “But now I’ve hurt more than myself. Teganne needs Jilian, too.” His jaw clenched and he slammed a palm on the desk. “Repairing the eastern weavings took most of the kyrra she’d given me, and who knows how long the repairs will last. If Bhruic—”
“Jilian will come back, Alvarr. I’m sure of it. And when she does, it will be for you.”
He wished he could be as certain of that second part.
But for the sake of all his people, the first one was paramount.
The huge hands clutching Jilian’s shoulders brooked no dissension, no thoughts of running. Where would she run, anyway? She felt faint enough walking, and her body groaned with aches and bruises. It was almost laughable that four massive, stone-faced soldiers guarded her. If she weren’t nauseous and afraid for her life, she might even be flattered.
The guardsmen grunted and pushed her shoulders when she didn’t move fast enough. They passed through an enormous iron door at the end of the dungeon hall, up four narrow flights of damp stairs with sickly yellow moss smeared along the walls, and along a tunnel in which the steps of the guards echoed like sinister heartbeats.
They emerged into an immense hall ringed with burning torches on walls the hue of blood. The stench of filth had faded away as they’d left the dungeons, except for what clung to her. In its place was a nothingness, an absence, as if even the air here didn’t dare live.
At the far end of the hall stood a black dais and a gleaming throne of oily silver and red. Although the face of the man upon it was still too distant to see clearly, ice crystallized in Jilian’s marrow.
Bhruic.
The guards marched her down the rune-covered carpet toward him. Was he planning to execute her, as he had the other Sources—or torture her for helping his enemy?
Should I pray for a quick death? Painless seems too much to hope for…
Bhruic sat unmoving on the throne. His matte ebony tunic swallowed the torchlight like a black hole. Knee-length leather boots clad his feet and red buckles glinted at his ankles.
She saw his face at last. Hair the color of scorched bark ended just below his jaw and his beard narrowed to a sharp point at his chin. Pale skin highlighted the abrupt slashes of his eyebrows and the shaded, glistening spheres of his eyes.
The guards halted Jilian five feet from the dais and stepped back two paces. She stood tall, hiding her trembling hands in the folds of her cloak.
Bhruic watched her silently for a few moments. When he spoke, his voice was as dark as cinders. “Once more I have a Source before me. A rare gift indeed.”
He leaned forward on his throne, and his words seemed to slice through her head. “Who are you? I don’t recognize you, but I knew them all.”
I bet he did. Before he murdered them.
With ominous leisure, he stepped off the dais. “You do seem familiar.” A scent of decay drifted from him as if his deeds clung to his body. He circled her, his glittering eyes carrying out an inspection from all angles as she fought to conceal the quaking of her limbs.
Halting in front of her, he locked his gaze on hers. “And you tried your best to escape me.” He placed a finger on the gash on her forehead.
The contact burned like acid on her cut flesh—but inside, her cells rumbled in response to his power in a ghastly mimicry of Alvarr’s pleasurable touch. Gasping, she stumbled backward.
His pallid face stared down at her, almost musing. “Your kyrra is strong, but I can feel you’re young, and new to it. Which is…fascinating. Who are your parents?”
She gathered her wits from the quivering edges of her mind. My mother sacrificed everything to escape him; I won’t betray her now. “I never knew them. I was orphaned.”
When he quirked a brow, she fought to speak without stammering. “I was raised among people who didn’t know about my ability.” That last part was true enough…
“How did you come to learn of it?”
Keep it simple, Jil. “Alvarr found me.”
“And how did he realize your power?”
“We…touched.” She slid into silence.
He steepled his fingers. “And in the few short weeks since you’ve been in Ysanne, you fell in love with the pretty prince.”
She blanched despite herself.
“Such a pity.” Bhruic leaned forward. “I suppose you find my touch…different?”
Her soul howled in revulsion as he neared; fear shivered along her nerves. She drew back, wavering on her heels.
A corner of his mouth rose. “No matter. You’ll get used to it, and to me, in time.”
The horror of his statement lit her mind like a firebomb. He wouldn’t kill her—he’d use her. Her power—maybe even her body. And for what?
To destroy Alvarr and conquer Teganne.
“Tsk. You seem less than thrilled at the prospect.” His grin revealed teeth that gleamed unnaturally white in the torchlight. “Perhaps you should reconsider that.” He nodded at the guards. Their bruising hands gripped her shoulders and turned her around.
Bhruic’s voice snaked toward her as they marched away. “Make sure the Source knows what happens to those who fail me.”
She flinched, expecting immediate injury. But the guards kept their rhythmic march. Such well-trained brutes.
Every step she took augmented the menace of Bhruic’s words. What kind of torture had he just ordered, and why were they heading back to her cell? In the cell, would the guardsmen… She swallowed, remembering Resara’s ordeal in Fallorm.
Oh God. Her feet slowed in terror. The guards shoved her forward.
The tallest, a hulking man with hair
trimmed like Bhruic’s, opened the thick metal door to the dungeon rooms. His second-in-command pushed Jilian through and she looked down the narrow hall. If only she could wake up, or evaporate, or escape into the cracks in the walls.
But instead of marching her toward her cell at the hall’s end, the guard captain swung open the door to the first cell. “Look.”
Perv and Toady lay on the slimy floor, their limbs at unnatural angles, dead faces frozen in terror.
Alvarr walked in frustrated circles on the thick carpet in Jilian’s room. As the day had crawled on, he’d snapped at messengers, bitten off the heads of his Councilors for no good reason, and generally been an insufferable bastard to all and sundry. There’d be apologies to make later, but right now he could barely concentrate on anything besides her. She’d taken his mind as well as his heart.
Varene’s approval of the match had been a welcome relief, but then she’d often encouraged him to think independently—although this afternoon she’d given him a deserved tongue-lashing about his growing temper. And fortunately, despite the Old Letters’ warnings, Rokad had seemed mostly unfazed by Alvarr’s love for Jilian. Rokad’s calm and sensible nature had always been of great value to Teganne—especially when, Alvarr admitted with a sigh, his own nature was more rash.
But when he’d broken the news to Findar, the man’s dismay had been all too clear; he’d spoken no words, merely shaken his head and stared at him mournfully. Thoren, too, was still aggrieved and made that clear at every opportunity. Nenth as well, in her own way. She’d hardly said a thing, but her shock and censure were palpable.
With Jilian gone now—and he’d made it easy for her to leave, since he’d done his best to humiliate her—perhaps those who disapproved were exactly right.
Damn. He could have squelched his feelings and done as the Old Letters directed. He should have put the needs of others, his responsibility to his realm, before his own selfish yearnings. He owed his highest duty to Teganne and would give his life to protect it.