Heir of Hope (Follower of the Word Book 3)

by Morgan L. Busse

  “Would you be able to lead a group there?” Regessus said.

  She shook her head. “I don’t think I would be much help. I’ve only seen the door from inside the city. I wouldn’t know how to find it outside the walls.”

  Regessus sat back. “I understand.”

  “Then we should send a scout party.” Endre glanced at everyone but her. “We should see if this door still exists and if it is being guarded.”

  Juris sat up, his scowl replaced with an eager look. “We should also alert the other groups about our plan. We will need every man we can get.”

  Cargan pointed at the map. “Yes. Juris, would you be willing to travel to the other hideouts and do that?”

  Juris nodded.

  The other men spoke, their voices filling the room as they listed different names and places while pointing at the map.

  Simon remained silent. He stared at her, his face unreadable. What did he think of her now? Did he still want her to help him rebuild the Monastery?

  “By the way . . .” Cargan waved his hand in her direction without looking at her. “You can go now.”

  Lore gave her a small smile. “Thank you, Nierne.”

  She nodded, numb inside. She had come and given these men a deep, personal part of herself in hopes of being of some help, and now she was being sent away. Not much different than her mother.

  She turned and headed toward the doorway.

  Caleb.

  She had forgotten he was behind her this whole time. Which meant he had heard everything as well. She glanced at him. He gave her a small nod, nothing more.

  She left the room and staggered down the hall, not sure where she was going. Everything hurt. She didn’t feel like crying or curling up in a corner. Rather, it felt like a hole had opened up inside, gaping and raw. She wrapped her arms across her middle and entered the common room.

  The women were still there around the bonfire, rolling bandages or mending clothing. One looked up. Nierne ignored her. Instead, she spotted her basket of linens in the corner. She walked over and grabbed the basket and sat down.

  She leaned back and closed her eyes and took a couple breaths. Then, with a shaky hand, she took out a strip of linen and began to roll it.

  “Is it true?”

  Nierne threw her hands up into the air. “No, Simon. I made the whole story up so I could look good in front of Cargan and his men!” She stared at Simon, her eyes wide.

  “You never told me.”

  “And why would I? Look how you are reacting now!”

  She turned and paced the small room. Baskets of grain and dried fruit sat beside the wall. Two smoked hams hung from the ceiling. A candle burned low on a table set in the middle of the room.

  Simon had wanted to talk privately. Apparently the only private place he could find was here, in the storage area next to the makeshift kitchen set up here in the mines.

  He stood on the other side of the table, his hands folded, the candlelight flickering off his face like a halo of light. “I don’t understand. I always thought you came from one of the noble families, like me. Or a senator’s home. A third daughter that . . .”

  She stopped. “That no one wanted?”

  Simon looked away. “Yes.”

  “Well, I didn’t.”

  He kept his face averted.

  Nierne breathed through her nostrils. Was she so hideous now that Simon would not look her in the face? Or was he afraid she would seduce him? She pictured herself in that pale blue outfit she had been forced to wear back in Temanin: the top that barely covered her chest, the sheer leggings, the bells looped along the bottom, tinkling each time she walked. Had she looked like a prostitute then?

  “How—” He glanced at her with a pained expression on his face. “How did you end up at the Monastery?”

  Translation: How did a slut like you end up at the Monastery?

  Nierne turned away and pressed two fingers to her forehead. No, don’t put words into his mouth. She stared at a basket filled with withered apples. “I—” She took a deep breath. “I was born inside the House of Roses.”

  Silence filled the room.

  “I grew up there, until the year of the plague. My mother became sick, along with many of the other women.” She still remembered the groans and cries of those with the plague. Only later did she realize they were the sounds of death. “One day, my mother got up from her bed, after spending weeks there, dressed, and took me across Thyra to the Monastery. And there she left me.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Yes. The fathers did not want me, if that makes you feel any better. Except for Father Reth.” She had hid under the bed for hours, until Father Reth finally coaxed her out, a frightened little girl who had no idea why she was there. How much she had changed since then. Enough to convince everyone she had always belonged at the Monastery.

  But now they knew better.

  “So it was Father Reth who allowed you to stay?”

  She crossed her arms. “And eventually Father Cris, after I proved I could learn.”

  Simon spread his fingers across the table. “I’m sorry, Nierne, I don’t know what to think. You know our way of life, a life of purity, of—”

  “I’ve never done anything to compromise that.”

  He jerked his head up. “You traveled with two men, all by yourself. And now, given your past . . .”

  Nierne shook and a scream rose inside her throat. “What are you saying, Simon? You can talk to Lore and Caleb. They will both tell you nothing happened.”

  “It doesn’t matter what they say. It’s about appearances, and once people know about your past . . .” He shook his head. “I need to reconsider your position as a scribe.”

  The scream vanished. Instead, she was falling with nothing beneath her. “Simon . . . You—you can’t be serious.”

  He held up a hand. “I didn’t say no. I said reconsider. It would be different if no one knew your history. But now that it is known, having a scribe like you, especially one that looks like you—”

  “What does that mean?”

  He pressed his lips together in a slight grimace. “You’ve always looked different, Nierne. Vibrant, full of life . . . beautiful.” His cheeks turned dark in the candlelight.

  Her eyes went wide and she took a step back. Was he saying she couldn’t be a scribe because of how she looked? That made no sense. Unless . . .

  It couldn’t be.

  She pressed a hand to her forehead. How had she not seen it? Attraction was forbidden. Simon knew that. And yet he still . . .

  Oh Word.

  One of Caleb’s choice words slipped across her mind, making her feel even worse. But the word summed up everything she felt at the moment. How could Simon accuse of her of something she had no control over, when all this time he had been harboring—

  She had to get away. She needed space—open space—and fresh air.

  Nierne turned and rushed from the storage area.

  “Nierne! Wait!”

  She ignored Simon. Down the tunnel she went, passing refugees, passing the kitchen and small rooms, dashing down the corridor until she reached the main cavern. People sat around the bonfire or stood along the wall. As she crossed the room, she spotted Caleb sitting in a dark corner on the other side, barely visible by the firelight. He looked up. She turned away. She didn’t want to be near anyone right now.

  She entered the main tunnel that led to the surface. Blue fre stones marked the tunnel, casting a cool blue light across everything. Please don’t let there be a guard at the top. She continued along the tunnel, the incline growing at a steady rate. The air had an earthy, stale scent to it.

  After a couple minutes, she could see an opening. There was no guard posted. Perhaps he was on break or there was a change in guards. In either case, she was leaving.
She needed to get out of these mines.

  As she approached the entrance, she slowed, her eyes darting around, listening for any sound. A bird whistled somewhere outside, a long, happy warble.

  The song touched something deep inside her. She ran for the opening and stepped outside. A breeze pulled at her hair and clothing. The bird whistled again, somewhere off in the trees. Leaves fluttered and the sun warmed her face. She closed her eyes and sighed.

  A thought darkened her revelry. She couldn’t stay here at the entrance. If there was a shadow nearby, she couldn’t risk letting it find this place. She shouldn’t even be here, outside. She could jeopardize everyone.

  Crackers! She didn’t care. She headed into the woods. She didn’t care if a shadow found her. She just couldn’t let it find the rest of the people.

  She made her way between the bare trees. The sky was a pale blue and the air was unusually warm for this time of year. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear and kept on going. After a couple minutes, she spotted a decrepit shack between the trees.

  Nierne slowed, looking around, then back at the shack. Moss covered the roof and a couple boards were missing. Cobwebs fluttered in the corners of the doorway. The door itself lay on the ground a couple feet away, like it had been torn off.

  Cautiously, she approached the shack. She peeked inside and found it deserted, with only a wooden table in the middle. There was no bed, no other furniture, not even a couple chairs. Two windows let light into the shack, one along the right wall, the other along the left. Dust covered everything.

  She entered the shack. The past few hours caught up to her, wrapping her heart in dark cords. She slipped past the table, to the farthest corner and sank down to the ground. She curled her legs in beneath her. Once again, there were no tears, only the feeling of a huge hole inside her, empty and gaping.

  She hid her face in her hands. I will need to reconsider . . . You know our way of life . . . The look on Simon’s face.

  She could never go back. Simon would never let her serve in the Monastery, would never let her take her vows, now that he knew. He wasn’t like Father Reth.

  Her heart twisted inside her chest and her breath came out hard and fast. What would she do? True, she had considered leaving the Monastery, but those had only been fanciful thoughts. The Monastery had been her anchor, her home, the place she could always come back to.

  It was the only life she had ever known.

  But now . . .

  Now what would she do?

  The leering, lecherous faces of her mother’s patrons filled her mind. Fat fingers lined with rings, the scent of heavy cologne, silk shirts barely able to cover the girth of the rich men of Thyra. They would take her. Oh yes, they would take her.

  Nierne swallowed and laid her head down across her arms. A tear finally fell, following her cheek. They would take her and use her, just like they did her mother. And they would leave purses of gold afterward. But she knew from her mother that gold did not heal the broken soul left behind.

  The shack began to spin. Sweat broke out across her forehead. A cold, sickening sweat.

  I don’t want that life. Word, I don’t want that life!

  “Nierne?”

  She gasped and looked over at the doorway. A silhouette stood dark against the bright sunlight outside. She scrambled to her feet and pressed her back into the corner. “What are you doing here?”

  Caleb stepped inside. His presence filled the shack, almost to a stifling degree. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

  “I needed to get away.”

  He folded his arms. “It’s about what you shared this morning, isn’t it?”

  Nierne looked away.

  “I’m glad you shared. It makes you more human.”

  She whipped her head around. “What?”

  He shrugged. “You know, like the rest of us.”

  “I am nothing like my mother.”

  “I didn’t say you were.”

  “But others think so.” Like Simon. “Tainted by association.”

  He looked directly at her, his gaze moving across her face, as though reading her thoughts. “Don’t listen to them, Nierne.”

  Crackers, she hated when he did that. She tucked her emotions from moments ago deep inside, wrapped her arms around herself and lifted her chin. “Well, I’m not.”

  Caleb stepped away from the doorway and came to stand beside the table. He placed his hands on the top and spread his fingers apart.

  She stared at his hands, marveling at how smooth and long his fingers were. Her gaze moved along his arms, covered by the black tunic he wore. He had not bothered tying the loop of his tunic around his neck, leaving his neck and chest exposed. His hair had grown longer since they had arrived in Kerre and now it brushed the top of his ears.

  There was a haphazard look to his person, but she knew deep down, Caleb was a steel rod, unbending, with strength to match anyone.

  She found that steel will now in his gaze. His eyes were as dark as a moonless night. “You are not your mother. You did not make her choices. You are not bound to what she was.”

  “But what if I am?” She snapped her mouth shut. She just asked the question she had been asking herself for years. Was it possible her mother’s taint had spread to her? That no matter how hard she ran she would eventually come back to the family trade? She looked like her mother, with deep red curly hair and pale skin. And possessed the same body men paid gold for.

  Nierne turned and looked out the window. “I don’t think I can escape who I am, what I am.” Bitterness laced her voice. “I am, after all, my mother’s daughter.”

  There was a rustle behind her. A hand clamped down on her arm. With a firm twist Caleb turned her around. He grabbed her other arm and held her in place. “Look at me!”

  She looked up.

  “You know me, Nierne. You know me more than anyone else. You had no choice in who your mother was. You are not responsible for her actions. But I”—there was a flash of hurt across his eyes—“I chose to kill people. I knew what I was doing, and I did it anyway. I made a choice to be a murderer. You were simply born to a prostitute. Big difference.”

  “That’s not true. Our past affects both of us, stains us—”

  “And you think the Word is not bigger than that?” His voice hung in the air. “Look at what He has done with me.”

  She could not deny his words. If there was ever a man who she had thought was past saving, it was Caleb. But still . . .

  “I hate the way I look. Every time I see myself, I see my mother. I remember that time . . . before the Monastery. And I see how other people look at me.” She shook her head and looked down. “I wish I could cut off all my hair, change my face . . .”

  “No.” She barely heard Caleb, the word said in a soft whisper. His hand left her arm.

  Nierne looked back up. His gaze was now focused below her chin. He lifted one of her curls and held it between his fingers. “Never.”

  A coil of heat burst inside her chest and the air refused to leave her lungs. The heat spread as Caleb slowly bent forward and brought the curl to his lips. She’d never realized how thick his hair was until now. Thick and dark.

  The curl dropped from his fingers and she felt his breath, warm, along her collarbone.

  She closed her eyes. His breath slowly followed the curve of her neck. He never touched her, but suddenly every nerve inside her wanted him to.

  Her eyes shot open. Word, what was she thinking?

  His face was a couple inches from hers, his gaze unfocused as if he were drunk. She moved her lips to say something. A faraway voice told her to say “no.” The word tried to form on her tongue, but her mouth would not move.

  Caleb swayed slightly, then leaned forward. His lips touched hers.

  An unseen force wrapped them together.

&nb
sp; He tasted like spice and wine and smelled like the hot desert sun. Nierne felt the drunken feeling she had seen on his face wash over her. She lifted her hands and gripped the front of his shirt. His arms were around her, his hands in her hair.

  Her back hit the wall and Caleb let out a low groan, his body against hers.

  Her mind snapped and the world came crashing back.

  Nierne gasped. Oh Word, what was she doing?

  She shoved against Caleb, her face now hot with embarrassment and shame. “Caleb! No, I can’t, I shouldn’t—my vows . . .”

  He took a step back, breathing heavily. His eyes were dark and full. He shook his head as if trying to clear it.

  Nierne held a hand to her mouth, her other hand across her stomach. What just happened? Something had shifted between them. She could feel it. It was like invisible cords now bound her to Caleb, even now with space between them. Was that what bonding was like? Was she bonding . . . to Caleb?

  Oh Word.

  His eyes came into focus. He stared at her with new knowledge in his gaze.

  Nierne stepped to the side and shook her head. “I—I should get back.” Her mind was reeling with conflicting thoughts, her body with conflicting emotions.

  She took a step away when Caleb held up his hand. “Wait, Nierne. What happened just now—”

  “We should forget.” Yet she knew she would never forget. His touch was seared across her soul.

  Caleb blocked her path. “No.”

  She looked up, flushed again. “There is nothing to talk about.”

  His face darkened. “Yes, there is. You felt it, I know you did.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Lying does not suite you, Nierne.” She clenched her teeth. “There is nothing wrong with the attraction between a man and a woman, whatever your past might tell you. I remember what I read in the Book of Beginnings. A bonding to one for life, but the bonding itself is not wrong. It is to be celebrated and enjoyed.”

  “That is not the way of the Monastery.”

  “Who do you follow? The Monastery, or the Word?”