by Rowan, Cate
But when heart and duty were at war…
What Jilian and I shared felt…right. Why would Mother Fate have brought us together if we weren’t meant to be?
And yet Jilian was gone. He was left with neither her love nor the power to turn Bhruic from Teganne.
He shuddered and quickened his pace. If he could do it over…would he make the same choice to love her, even given the costs? Could he have held back for the sake of his realm and all who depended upon him?
When he passed Jilian’s bed, something dark caught his gaze. A fold of the bedcovers had nearly concealed a small leather script pouch. Frowning, he stepped closer and picked it up.
As he read the script leaf within, rage spiraled into his limbs and the note shook in his grasp. How could she?
Jilian shivered in the dungeon’s chill and stared unseeingly at the opposite wall. She was retreating into her thoughts as best she could, and wished only that she could take her body with her. But reality kept tugging her out of the comfort of her memories.
I’m hungry, thirsty, caged and alone, and soon I’ll be forced to help evil destroy the man I love.
She could resist him… Wouldn’t death, however it came, be better than helping a psychotic mass-murderer conquer Teganne?
But there was no way he’d simply let her die. From the moment she’d woken in his dungeon, he’d been in control—and he had good reason to keep her and her power for himself.
She recalled the glowing red canister Perv and Toady had used…and Varene’s remark that “It’s rumored he even takes kyrra from the souls of the dead.” If Jilian died, what would stop Bhruic from collecting her kyrra anyway and using it however he wished? Her death might just make it easier for him. Perhaps that was how he’d grown powerful before, when he’d assassinated the other Sources…
The thought tugged her from the bench and into action. She sliced the empty air with her fists, imagining she was stabbing Bhruic instead. Take that, you maniacal shitbag!
It was invigorating, empowering—until she nearly popped herself in the eye.
She stopped, chest heaving with her breath…and began to laugh. God, if anyone had gotten a video of that.
But after a few moments, the stone cell shrank her laughter into silence.
No one had seen her, or would. She was all alone. Completely, thoroughly, utterly alone.
She dropped back to the bench and laid her sweaty hands flat on her thighs. Her right palm bumped the corner of an object.
The book! The small one she’d put in her pocket on her last night of freedom in Ysanne.
She pulled it out. Its cover was plain, soft leather without a title or a clue to its contents. She opened the thin volume to a random page, and found handwriting—upside down. She turned the book around.
And bit her tongue in shock.
The handwriting was her mother’s.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
As Nenth entered the Council Room, her gaze flew to Alvarr. He stood at the head of the table, staring at the opposite wall with eyes dull as death. Why has he called us?
When all the Councilors had seated themselves around the table, he took a long breath. Several times he opened his mouth to speak, but no words emerged. Nenth waited silently with the others, but as the tension mounted, she began to fidget with the embroidered edge of her sleeve.
At last, with a strangled groan, Alvarr dropped a script pouch onto the table and stepped away.
Thoren glanced at the prince for permission and reached for the pouch. He pulled out the script leaf, then a chain with a pendant—Jilian’s oath pendant? He read the message aloud.
“You guessed well, Alvarr, but not quickly enough. I’m in Bhruic’s employ and have returned to him. —Jilian.”
Nenth held herself immobile so her bones wouldn’t snap. Bhruic?
The men she had hired to kidnap Jilian were supposed to take the woman safely to Kad—not to Bhruic. The note made no sense. And why was Jilian’s chain with it? Unless…
Her heart banged in her chest.
“Where…” Her voice cracked. “Where did you find this?”
Alvarr didn’t look at her, or at any of the Council. He stared away with lost eyes. “In her room. On the bed.”
Nenth swallowed. How was it possible? Unless…
Dear Fate, what have I done?
She looked at the others. Thoren simply stared at the leaf in his hands. Findar laid his forehead in his palms and gave a soft moan, while Rokad, features taut with tension, watched their prince.
Alvarr stood apart, his back angled toward them and his head bowed as if drowning in his thoughts. His jaw clenched and unclenched. In the flickering torchlight of the windowless room, a glazed look of despair spread over his face.
Nenth’s hands began to quake in her lap. His misery was like a steel weight in her heart.
No! She bolted from the table and the Council Room, speeding toward her quarters and seclusion. How can this be?
She slammed the door and stood in the dark shadows of her home. “Bhruic!” she cried, wanting the fire in her soul to speed the message. “Is this your doing?”
Faraway laughter echoed in her ear.
She slumped to her hands and knees, breath and mind heaving.
The wardweavings! When Bhruic had broken through, he’d found her somehow—and oh, Mother Fate, she’d given him everything he needed: Jilian’s power as a Source, Nenth’s love for Alvarr and her jealousy, her yearning to remove the trespasser from Alvarr’s life. By the time the weavings were repaired again, it was too late; she’d become Bhruic’s tool. And now he had a Source to feed his power…
Nenth’s hands gripped the cold floor to avoid being blown to the netherworld. The horror of what she’d done charred her mind.
Alvarr, I wanted to be the only woman you needed. Instead, I handed your enemy the weapon to destroy you and all you hold dear.
She’d betrayed him more than Jilian ever could.
The evidence of Jilian’s supposed duplicity had shredded the prince. The truth Nenth hadn’t wanted to admit shrieked through her. He hadn’t simply dallied with his Source, soothing the needs of the body…
Alvarr loved Jilian.
Her heart sundered—not only for the love she’d never have, but also for the pain she’d caused him. She’d been cruel, selfish. Her thoughts and actions had been solely for herself, and Alvarr would pay the price. So would Teganne, her beloved home, the realm she’d sworn to protect.
No—there must be a way out!
Mother Fate, help me.
She closed her eyes to think…
After a moment, she collapsed and laid her head upon the floor. There was just one solution, and she knew it.
In the solitude of her chambers, Nenth trembled.
The words in the book blurred on their pages as Jilian gaped at them. That’s my mother’s handwriting. But how?
Rokad had mentioned Sara’s journals. This book had come from Rokad’s library…
She leaned back against the wall, forcing herself to focus on the page.
“Today Danyd and Kessa asked me to be the FriendMother for their firstborn. Such an honor, and it’s a blessing to feel joy again now that everything else has shattered. But I couldn’t bring myself to tell them of that.
I wish I had the courage. Every morning I wonder who might guess the secret, and whether I can push myself through another sunset.”
Jilian frowned. What had her mother—her wonderful, sweet mother—done that she wouldn’t even tell her friends?
The next entry was the final one, though the book was only half full.
“Assassinations! One by one… Barbarous murders—stranglings, poison, being burned alive. I’m the last Source left in Teganne, on all of Alaia. I feel it. And that I’m the last of them is surely no coincidence.
‘If you leave, none shall live,’ he’d said—but I didn’t believe him.
I’ve caused their deaths.
I pray for a b
etter world after the Crossing. I beg you, Mother Fate, to allow me to absolve the weight of the other Sources’ souls by doing this one small good.
I must bring my child to life in a place he can’t find her. I thank You that he hasn’t guessed.
Bhruic may be her father, but my love for her must be enough.”
As she read the last line, Jilian’s breath scorched her lungs.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Alvarr, seated at his desk with head in hands, didn’t look up when his great-uncle patted his shoulder.
Thoren pulled a chair beside him. “I can hardly believe it.”
“Nor I.” Alvarr’s voice was hoarse. “How could I have been such a fool?”
Thoren took a deep breath. “I’m the greater one.”
“Why is that?” Alvarr tossed him a puzzled glance.
Thoren rubbed his hand over his mouth. “You weren’t even born at the time, and as the years went by, I found it easier not to tell you. But I should have. So I must take some blame for what’s happened.”
Frowning, Alvarr straightened on his seat.
“I wasn’t sure I’d done the right thing. Even with the Old Letters as a guide, a mage’s path isn’t always well-lit.” He met Alvarr’s gaze squarely. “When Sara made the Crossing…I helped her.”
Alvarr rocked back as if he’d been struck.
“I helped,” Thoren continued, “because she needed a mage to take her through.”
Alvarr felt a thundercloud brewing just behind his eyes. “You knew how hard I searched for Sara. For answers. You even aided me in digging through all the records!” He stabbed a finger toward Thoren. “The blood on the flagstones in Sara’s chambers—you planted it?”
Thoren sighed. “Fowl’s blood. She wanted no one to look for her.”
“And the letter in my parents’ chambers?”
“Sara wrote it before she left, and asked me to wait for a few years to pass, so there’d be no search for her when she disappeared.”
The deception sent Alvarr reeling. “It took so long for me to work out where she’d gone. How could you keep this from me?”
Thoren thinned his lips in discomfort and straightened some of the papers on the desk. “I suspected something about Sara. It’s what prompted me to help her escape, and what kept me from telling you where she was.” He shot Alvarr a candid look. “It’s also one of the reasons I was against your relationship with Jilian. Why I’ve had doubts.”
Alvarr’s body grew colder at the mention of her name. “What is it?”
“When Sara left, she was pregnant.”
“Pregnant? With Jilian?” Impossible. “Jilian’s father was from Earth.”
Thoren shook his head. “She hid it from everyone else here, but Sara had conceived.”
“But if that’s true…” Alvarr’s gaze snapped to Thoren’s. “Who? Who’s her father?”
“I can’t be certain…but I suspect it’s Bhruic.”
Alvarr’s fist smashed down on the desk.
Jilian stared down at her mother’s journal. That monster cannot be my father.
Her dad was Colin Stewart. She might not have seen him since she was six, but that didn’t matter. Her parents had married, her mother had become pregnant, and she’d been born. Case closed.
Except that right there in the book was her mother’s own handwriting, stating…
She scrambled off the bench, heedless of the muck.
My mother—and that brute? No! Colin Stewart was my father. I remember him. He left me his house and his car because I’m his daughter. And my mother wouldn’t lie.
Except…she already had. She’d never told Jilian about Teganne. And since she’d lied about that…
Jilian’s breath wheezed out.
Bhruic?
She spun around in the cell. Her gaze came to rest on the door and its crimson slashes. For a hysterical moment, she thought those slashes spelled “daughter” in blood red.
Get a grip, Jilian. THINK.
She dropped back to the bench. Was there any other evidence? She thought of the shape of Bhruic’s face and wished she had a mirror in which to view her own.
Oh, right. Funny how such luxuries are absent from dungeons. How about I just march up and ask him for one? “Excuse me, Prince Bhruic, Your Megalomaniacness, but may I borrow a mirror? And while we’re at it, stand next to me so I can check something out.”
She shoved herself back, remembering their meeting. He’d asked about her parents and said she looked familiar. Had he known?
His glistening eyes came to mind—and she shuddered even though he was nowhere near.
But no, she hadn’t sensed any important undertone like, “So you’re my daughter.” And her mother had seemed sure Bhruic was unaware.
What about her dad?
Colin, she meant. Good God.
Jilian heard him in her memory, shouting her name as she and her mother had left the house all those years ago. Tears welled in her eyes.
She wondered whether he’d known her mother was pregnant when he’d met her.
If he had, could it be that he’d loved her—and Jilian—anyway?
She shook her head in the darkness and pulled her cloak tighter around her. Impossible. After all, he’d been the first man to break her heart, when she’d been just six years old. He’d known where she and her mother had moved but had never come, never called, never even written a letter. Only silence through all the years.
But the memory of their departure replayed itself in her mind and his broken-hearted pleas for her echoed, tugging other memories into view.
She recalled the glow of his smile when he’d given her a stuffed toy horse. She’d carried the horse in her arms like a baby for months. He’d played Hide and Go Seek with her—and had always let her win, laughing with abandon as she tackled him. Every day he’d walked with her to the shore of the loch, holding her hand gently in his warm palm. And then, when he’d tucked her into bed and kissed her good night, his kiss had seemed like the blessing of God.
There in the dungeon, understanding seared itself into her soul: Colin Stewart had loved her.
Loved her.
She saw, too, that he and her mother had loved each other. What else could explain why Sara had kept their wedding photograph in her chest of drawers all those years? And Colin had left her study unchanged, exactly as it had been the day they’d separated—perhaps as if she might someday come back.
Jilian straightened against the clammy wall. Not that any of it could excuse what he’d done. He’d made the choice to withdraw from her life and she’d suffered for it. She’d deserved to know him and he’d taken that away from her.
Still, he hadn’t been the only one to choose poorly. In Matt, she’d wanted love from a man who hadn’t returned it; she’d sought to relive her father’s absence. Deep down, she’d believed the heartbreak her father had dealt her, and that Matt had augmented, had meant she was simply unlovable.
But in her father’s will, made a full year before his accident, he’d bequeathed to her the home they’d once shared. That inheritance was the one thing that had brought her back—even though her father was no longer there to love her.
He couldn’t restore their lost years and he’d known it. But maybe, just maybe, having her come home had been his own way of trying to make things right.
Her mother had even told her something like that in the hospital on the very day Alvarr had entered her life…
Jilian’s head bowed as love and grief for her father twined together at last in her heart. Twenty-two years without you, Colin Stewart. Somehow it took me all that time to figure it out.
Whatever I thought of you before, I’m sorry.
You loved me. And I loved you. No matter what, you will always be my real father.
Perhaps her forgiveness might somehow reach him, wherever he now was—but the words, as much as she resisted, brought her mind back to Bhruic.
She stood and turned a circuit in the cell.
>
Under all the heavens, how could her mother have been with him?
Varene had said Sara liked to travel. Since Sara was a Source, and Bhruic a mage, maybe they’d met that way. But it made no sense that her mother hadn’t seen what kind of…oh hell, how could she describe him?—psychopath, head case, mass murderer…that he was. Sara would never get involved with a man like that. Ever. So either it had been rape, or…
Or Bhruic had been different when she’d met him.
Jilian frowned, trying to imagine him as a kind man, or at least not a sociopath, but she couldn’t. He’s too sick. Too damaged.
Damaged… Perhaps something had warped him. Maybe he’d been made evil, not born…
She exhaled in disgust. Did it matter? Bhruic had assassinated the Sources. He’d slaughtered the innocent. He could execute her at any moment and steal her kyrra to use against Alvarr and Teganne.
What she wouldn’t give to snuggle with Alvarr again under the stars! She craved his smile, the one with a touch of the devil in it. Somehow he’d always made her believe everything would be all right.
Alvarr, if you knew where I am, you’d come for me—wouldn’t you?
But as she stood in the gloom of the fetid dungeon, her hope whimpered and dissolved. Alvarr didn’t know she’d been captured, and with his powers weak and without her to help him, he’d never stand a chance against Bhruic.
Something dark moved under the cell door, startling her from her thoughts—but it was just the rat coming for another meal.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Alvarr jumped to his feet. “Bhruic? Bhruic is Jilian’s father?” He glowered down at Thoren and cradled his bruised fist.
His great-uncle glanced at the new indentation in the desk and took a deep breath. “I can’t be sure. But Sara traveled often, and she’d been seeing someone. She wouldn’t say who.”