“Let us hope they disappear and go back to the keep,” Kalanath said. “Sienne was right to kill their wizard woman. It seems they have no other.”
“She is not dead,” Perrin said. “I saw her stir when we were fleeing the great hall. Sienne disabled her, but it was not permanent.”
“It was enough. After what she did to Alaric—” Dianthe went silent. “I’m freezing. We’ll need to gather wood. I think there was a fallen tree in the copse near our camp.”
“Sienne can…or possibly not,” Perrin said. “We will have to do it the old-fashioned way, with an axe. I will set up the alarm blessing, just in case.”
Sienne tried to relax. The crisis was over, and they’d all survived. With a little rest, she would be back to normal. But Alaric…
She couldn’t help wondering what was going through his head. That woman had used a charm spell on him to make him attack Sienne. He might have believed Sienne was an enemy. Or had the woman forced him to attack against his will, and he’d known it was Sienne the whole time? No, that didn’t make sense, because at the end he’d looked so bewildered, like he was coming to himself after a deep nightmare. It didn’t matter. The carver wizard had used him, violated his free will, and made him her tool. Alaric, of all people, wouldn’t be able to live with that.
She’d never been this close to him in this shape. The unicorn’s scent was a heavy but not unpleasant musk that reminded her of hearth fires and freshly-cut trees, of the humus of a pine forest floor, and it made her long to put her arms around him, not the unicorn, but the man, and give him comfort. She realized she was crying and hoped no one would notice.
Alaric stopped. Hands pried her fingers free from his mane and lifted her off his broad back. She discovered she was capable of standing, though she needed support. She risked opening one eye and flinched away from the dark shape right in front of her face. In the next second, she realized it was Alaric’s head and wished she could kick herself. “Sorry,” she croaked.
Alaric jerked away, tossing his mane. Then he turned and ran at top speed away from the river, away from the camp. Away from her. She cried a protest and tried to follow him, but fell shivering to the ground. “Alaric!” Dianthe shouted. “No, come back!” But he was already far beyond the reach of her voice, the moonlight turning his dark flanks silver and shining on the tip of his horn.
Dianthe stood staring off after him. Her hands were clenched into fists. Finally, she said, “Fire first. You two gather wood. I’ll get Sienne wrapped up. At least she didn’t get as wet as the rest of us.”
She helped Sienne stagger to their tent and crawl inside, kicking off her boots. She put Sienne’s blanket around her shoulders, then her heavy cloak, and guided her to lie on her bedroll. “When the fire’s going, I’ll come for you,” she said. “See if you can’t get some rest.”
“Thank you,” Sienne whispered. Her mouth still felt raw from the evocations, her stomach was sore, and she ached as if Perrin hadn’t healed her from Alaric’s beating. She remembered Alaric bearing down on her, his hand around her throat, his face contorted with rage, and tears flowed helplessly down her cheeks. She wasn’t sure who she was crying for, herself or him. The plain truth was that even though she knew he wasn’t at fault, that it was the carver woman who’d attacked her, she was going to have trouble not remembering all that every time she looked at him.
She lay in a numb stupor, horrible images running a mad cycle behind her eyelids, until a rustling at the tent flap told her Dianthe was back. “Are you awake?”
Sienne thought about lying, but realized the alternative was continuing to lie there, watching someone she cared about try to kill her. “Yes. What time is it?”
“I have no idea. Late. Come have something to eat.”
Sienne found she could rise and even walk without help, though her vision was still blurry. No more casting spells for her that night. Perrin and Kalanath had found or hewn down a slim tree with a bole about eight inches in diameter, and had cut it into sections to burn, using some of them for seating. Sienne sat on one and breathed in the smell of burning wood. Dianthe handed her a few strips of dried meat. “No time for hunting, and it’s a little late for it anyway.”
“I don’t mind,” Sienne said. She liked the dried meat, which was flavorful once you got it chewed and properly moistened. Tonight it tasted like mud. Probably nothing would have tasted good, given the night she’d had.
Perrin was eating an apple. He always ate them as close to the core as anyone could get and not be spitting seeds. He took a final bite and tossed what little was left into the fire. “I am worried,” he said.
“He’ll come back.” Dianthe didn’t sound very certain.
“Of course he will,” said Kalanath. “What I do not know is how he will be when he comes back.”
Sienne gnawed on her meat and said nothing. She was looking at the fire, but she could feel their attention on her, an uncomfortable pressure that made her wish she could run into the darkness to get away from it.
“He’ll be fine.” Once again Dianthe didn’t sound certain. “We need to treat him just as we always have. It could have happened to any of us.”
“But it happened to him,” Sienne said. “He fled his home to keep something like that from being done to him, and now it’s happened anyway.”
No one spoke. Sienne was sure she knew what they were thinking: Alaric was their leader, the one they all looked to for guidance, and if he lost his confidence because of this, what then? “It doesn’t matter,” she burst out, surprising herself. “I mean, it doesn’t matter to me. We just have to make him see that he’s still himself.”
“If we can,” Kalanath said. “It is a hard thing to make someone believe what they do not want to believe.”
“Do you think he does not want to believe he is not changed?” Perrin said.
Kalanath looked off into the fire. “I think it is a dark thing, to have your mind taken from you. I think it is worse to be made to do terrible things. I think he blames himself. He is changed. It is just not for the worse. I do not know if he believes this.”
The meat sat like a lump in Sienne’s stomach. “I still feel unwell,” she said, and stood. “Is it all right if I go to sleep? Wake me for my watch.”
“Don’t be stupid, Sienne,” Dianthe said. “You’re not standing watch until you’re capable of casting spells. Go to sleep, and I’ll wake you in the morning.”
Sienne thought about arguing, but realized she wanted sleep, and arguing with Dianthe was usually pointless. “Good night,” she said, and went back to her tent, trailing her blanket and cloak. She settled into her bedroll and closed her eyes, waiting for a return of the horrible memories. But food, and the warmth of the fire, had settled her demons for now. She said a brief prayer to Averran that he would watch out for Alaric that night, and fell asleep hoping he’d be back when she woke.
10
Sienne woke to Dianthe gently shaking her shoulder. Firelight lit the front flap of their tent, but it was still full dark outside. Dianthe’s face was in shadow, backlit by the fire. “Is it morning?” Sienne asked, though it clearly wasn’t. “I thought you said—”
“Alaric’s back,” Dianthe said. “You need to talk to him.”
A jolt of fear shot through her, a memory of a huge hand wrapping around her throat. She pushed it aside and said, “Why me? What do I say? You’re his best friend—you talk to him!”
Dianthe sat on her bedroll and laced her fingers together in front of her. “I did,” she said. “But I’m not the one he nearly killed. He needs reassurance I can’t give him.”
“What, that I don’t blame him for having been controlled by that bitch? That can’t possibly be enough! I can’t make it not have happened. I can’t give him back his dignity. This isn’t about hurting me, you know it isn’t.”
Dianthe studied her fingers. “Sienne,” she said, “what I’m trying to say is, he’s not tearing himself up over hurting you. It’s that it was yo
u he hurt. You can’t be so blind as to not realize that would matter to him.”
It was like a blow to the chest. “Oh,” she said, the little word sounding like thunder in the silence that followed Dianthe’s words. “I… oh.”
“Please,” Dianthe said. “Just talk to him. He needs to know he’s not beyond redemption.”
“But he hasn’t done anything wrong! None of this was his fault!”
“Then tell him that. Tell him… I can’t tell you what to say. You’ll know the right words when the time comes.” She let out a low chuckle. “You always do.”
Sienne was sure that wasn’t true, but she’d never had any luck arguing with Dianthe, especially when the woman was convinced she was right. She stood, crouching under the tent’s low roof, and disentangled herself from her blanket, leaving it piled on her bedroll. She straightened her shirt and put on her boots. She fiddled with her cloak, which wouldn’t sit straight across her shoulders. Dianthe said, “Stop fidgeting and go.” Sienne went.
Alaric sat on one of the logs, a hunched dark shape next to the fire. His breath steamed in the cold night air, but although he wasn’t wearing more than a thin shirt, he didn’t seem to notice the cold, or the fire. He just sat with his hands resting on his knees and his head bowed. Sienne’s feet crunched on the frost-rimed grass, and her cloak dragged behind her, making a swishing sound. She hoped she was loud enough not to startle him. Not that she was much worried about it; Alaric’s hearing was preternaturally acute. It just seemed more wrong, now, to startle him when he’d already suffered so much.
She could tell he knew she was there because the muscles in his jaw tensed visibly even in the dim light. He didn’t turn his head, or speak, just sat there staring at the fire. In the face of his silence, she couldn’t think of anything to say. She didn’t know if she should go on standing, or pull up a log and sit, or turn around and leave him to his pain. Finally, she blurted out, “I’m sorry I threw up on you.”
Alaric shifted, but still didn’t look at her. “It washed off,” he said. The deep timbre of his voice surprised her, as if she’d never heard him speak before. It was the first thing he’d said to her since hitting her.
“It was embarrassing,” she said.
Alaric bowed his head more deeply. “If that’s the only thing you have to feel embarrassed about, you’re very fortunate.”
This left her, again, with nothing to say. She felt awkward and stupid and wished she could go back to her tent and sleep until all of this went away. But she remembered Dianthe’s words, told herself This isn’t about you, and said, “It wasn’t your fault.”
“It was my hand,” Alaric said. “My fist. Your throat.”
“You would never have done that if she hadn’t charmed you.”
“You don’t know that.”
His words sounded so dismissive that anger swept away all her awkwardness. She prodded a log with her toe until it rolled close to his, then sat, tucking her cloak under her for padding. “So you harbor some secret hatred of me, is that it? I guess I’m still a wizard, and deserving of being killed?”
His head came up fast, his pale blue eyes blazing, and she almost flinched again, remembering his hand around her throat. “Of course not! Sienne—”
“Then it’s that you’re a monster deep down. An irrational monster just biding your time to kill all of us, and I happened to draw the short straw.”
His lips compressed in a tight line. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“So are you. Get your head out of your ass for one moment and listen to me. That carver woman cast a charm on you. It made you do things you would never have done if you were in control. None of that was your fault. It was hers, as surely as if she’d struck me herself. I don’t blame you, and I want you to stop blaming yourself.”
Alaric was shaking his head. “It’s not that simple. I can’t…” He took a deep breath and looked away. “I didn’t recognize you. I thought you were one of the carvers, and yet I knew, deep within me, that it was a lie. I just didn’t know what the lie was. I wanted to kill… you… because I thought that would clear away the confusion. Then I woke up, and my hand was around your throat, and you looked so terrified… I never want to see another human being look at me that way. Least of all you.”
She held her breath, waiting, afraid to speak for fear of shutting him down again.
“I can still feel her inside my head,” he went on. “Not really, not because she’s somehow still there. It’s more the way a scar aches in cold weather, the memory of her. I ran for miles tonight, trying to drive the memory out, but all I could do was make it retreat a little. I’m afraid to sleep. And when I’m not thinking of her, I’m remembering how you flinched from me when we reached camp—”
“I’m sorry about that. I wasn’t afraid of you, it was just that you were so close when I opened my eyes, I was startled. I’m sorry.”
He waved that aside. “I’m a big man, and I know that makes some people afraid of me, just on principle. But my team—none of you should fear me. And yet she controlled me so easily, I’m afraid of myself. Afraid she unlocked something inside me that might surface again.”
“That’s not true,” Sienne said. “And it wasn’t easy. I don’t know much about charm spells, but I do know they’re supposed to work instantly and completely. That you were able to fight her at all… I’d say it’s because you’re Sassaven, not human, but given what you’ve said about the binding ritual, I think it ought to make you more susceptible, not less. But she had to work hard to keep you under control. Don’t be afraid of yourself, Alaric. You are strong—strong of will, not just of body.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“Yes, because I’m prone to telling you flattering untruths. I think—all right, you know what I think happened? I think those carvers do that with all the people they capture, make them kill their friends or loved ones and then realize that’s what they’ve done. And I think they looked at us and figured it would be especially funny to make the big strong guy kill the smallest of our party.”
Alaric flinched and turned his head away. The furtive, guilty motion made her heart ache. She went on, “But what they got was a wizard and someone who may possibly be the only man in the world who could stand up to that carver bitch even a little. And he turns out to be a unicorn. I wish I could have slowed time so I could see her face just before I smacked it with a force bolt.” The image made her giggle, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to hold it back.
Alaric shook his head, but just for a moment, she saw him smile. “Why didn’t you hit me with it?”
“I… it never occurred to me. I just wanted her to stop hurting you.”
The smile vanished. “You are far more generous than I deserve.” He turned his head away from her again. “I can’t believe you can even bear to talk to me. Don’t your memories burn inside you?”
“They do,” she admitted, remembering what she’d thought earlier that evening. “But it will pass. I don’t want to be ruled by fear.”
“I’m starting to think I don’t have a choice,” Alaric said, his voice so low she could barely hear it.
Unshed tears burned her eyes. Her heart ached as if he’d trodden on it. Impulsively, she put her hand over his where it rested on his knee, leaned forward, and kissed his cheek, wanting desperately to reassure him.
That was her intent. But he jerked, startled, when she touched his hand, and turned to face her so her kiss landed not on his cheek, but on the corner of his mouth. She drew back in confusion. Alaric’s eyes were wide with surprise. He said nothing. They stared at each other for a long, breathless moment in which Sienne felt caught between the past where they were friends and comrades and a future she could hardly imagine.
She didn’t know which of them moved first, whether he came to her or she went to him, but in the next moment they were kissing, him with his hands around her waist, drawing her onto his lap, and it was the most glorious moment Sienne had ever exper
ienced. His kisses grew tentative, uncertain, and she put her arms around his neck so he would know she had absolutely no reservations about what they were doing.
“Sienne,” he murmured, pulling away, “no. We shouldn’t.”
“I know. Shut up and kiss me again.”
“We’re companions…what if—”
“What if you get controlled by a psychotic monster and try to strangle me, and everything is awkward between us? At least this way, I get to kiss you, and feel your arms around me, and if that goes wrong, well, I’d rather have had the kissing than not.”
His hands hadn’t moved from around her waist, he hadn’t pushed her away, and it made her heart leap up for joy. “That makes no sense,” he said, but he was smiling. “The only part I understood,” he added, “was that you want me to kiss you again.”
“More than anything.”
His lips touched hers again, and this time his kiss was confident, and his hand strayed from her waist to touch the nape of her neck. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he murmured against her mouth.
“I know. I forgive you.”
“I’ve thought about kissing you for so long.”
“Me too. But I was afraid—”
“I think the time for fear is past,” Alaric said, and they were done talking.
He held her, and they kissed, and talked, until the sky turned gray and then pink. Then Sienne rose and made breakfast, refusing his offer of help. “You’re too impatient to make porridge,” she said. “You always make it lumpy.”
“I hate porridge. Are you sure there’s no way to bring eggs into the wilderness?”
Sienne paused in her stirring to think. “I suppose, if you had the right kind of crate—but even then you’d have to worry about bouncing around. It would be better to use convey. It’s a spell that moves an object from one place to another instantaneously. So if you stored a box with a dozen eggs in a particular location, you could convey them to your hand wherever you were.”
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