“Of you.”
Zara did not put in an appearance the rest of the day. Where she went, Alexei wasn’t sure, but the rest of them ate and then began to explore the castle. Alexei explained to his companions what they were looking for and tried to recall enough of the Rose’s signature to help them find it, but he doubted it would be enough. Without Athven herself to aid him, it would be a near impossible task.
He even ventured as far as the Rose Chamber, but not because he expected to find anything there. Part of him needed to see it, to know that it was still intact, still waiting should they succeed in finding the Rose before Porfiry did.
And while he was there, alone with the silence, he opened himself to everything he had been hiding, from himself and everyone else. He tried to feel the loss and emptiness and aloneness of realizing how completely his people had been devastated. Of finally understanding how far they would have to go if the Erathi were ever to be anything but a deeply hidden race of refugees, dependent on others for their safety. He considered the shame of having deserted them, and of having lost the birthright of his family.
But he was still numb. Except for the guilt, he still felt nothing.
He might blame Zara, might resent her for a theft she had not actually intended, but he knew the true fault was his. If he had not hidden for so many years, hidden from who he was and what he knew, he would have returned sooner. But he’d wanted absolution for himself. Wanted to return triumphant, and after several years of failing to find Porfiry, he’d let his shame outweigh his duty.
In addition to his guilt, Alexei discovered he was able to feel one other emotion—fear. Zara was not the only one who was afraid. But the man Alexei feared, the man Malichai had described, was a tall, golden-haired, fair-spoken stranger…
There were certainly many men who might fit that description. Many men who might have cause to want what Porfiry had stolen. But there was only one who might know where and when Porfiry would be in Erath; only one who would know exactly what Porfiry had to offer. Only one man who also had the gift of persuasion and would not scruple to use it against someone like Malichai, who had no defenses of his own.
Rowan Tremontaine. Former prince of Andar. Porfiry’s employer. A man who had tried to kill his own father and been responsible for the death of the ruler of Caelan. He was ruthless, intelligent, and ambitious, and would have no difficulty determining a way to turn the Rose to his own advantage if he could get his hands on it.
He could never be allowed to possess it.
For a moment, Alexei wished that one of his Andari friends had been able to accompany him. Quinn, or Kyril, or even Brenna. They knew Rowan well and would have understood Alexei’s disquiet at his presence. He feared he would not be able to explain what he knew to his current companions without sounding fanciful or paranoid.
Alexei placed a hand on the pedestal and ran his fingers lightly across the smooth stone, remembering the queen who had stood just so, touching the crystal and following the paths of its power to the edges of her kingdom. It had somehow allowed her to sense whether all was well inside their borders, and Alexei had often wondered what it might feel like.
Beatra Nar had not been an enchanter, like him, but a gardener. Her gift had been for things that grew from the earth, and, during her reign, Athven had been overrun by plants and trees of every description. Alexei remembered a pot or two in every corner, plants that sometimes flowered even in winter, and vines that would grow and grow until firmly brought to heel by a nudge from his aunt’s magic. It had been so vibrant. Thriving. Full of life.
As it might never be again. Because he had been too late. If he had only… But that was pointless now. For so many years he had not wanted the responsibility. Hadn’t wanted to bear the burden his aunt had placed on him—restoring Athven, reclaiming his homeland and rescuing his people. And now that he was here, now that Athven was lost to him, it felt as though he’d lost something vital to himself. He had not realized until it was gone just how much the Nar heritage meant to him. How much a part of his identity it was.
But he could still find the Rose. He could do that much to fulfill his debt, and afterwards, he could leave. Help his people in other ways. He didn’t think he could bear to see Athven restored by a thief, no matter how beautiful she was.
Now where had that thought come from? For a moment he felt like a traitor, but it was true, and there was no point in denying it. Zara, treasure hunter or not, was an undeniably beautiful woman. He guessed her heritage to be Frenish, considering her dark skin and white hair, but wherever she was from, she likely had never lacked men’s interest. She was also strong, to have survived alone as long as she had, and resilient, to have withstood the revelation that she had been taken captive by a being utterly beyond her ability to grasp.
All of these things he could admit, dispassionately, and yet loathe what she represented. Almost as deeply as he loathed himself. It was not going to be easy to follow Athven’s wishes.
Dinner that evening was almost festive, considering the worries that dogged their movements. How much time did they have? When would Porfiry return?
But there were three fires in the kitchen and Malichai had outdone himself with the preparation of a feast, though perhaps it would not have seemed as grand had they not been so many days on the road. Even Zara slunk in quietly just before they sat down and was greeted enthusiastically by everyone but him.
“Well, this is the coziest meal we’ve had yet,” Malichai announced as he served them all on wooden plates he had dug up from somewhere. “And we can celebrate the addition of another member to our party. Though I haven’t yet decided what role you’re to play, Mistress Zara.”
When Zara shot him a confused look across the table, Silvay clarified: “Malichai is a lover of epic poetry. He has been preparing his own composition based on our adventures, and I believe he is planning to immortalize you in verse alongside the rest of us.”
“I can’t say I ever anticipated such an honor.” Zara seemed neither distressed nor pleased by the announcement. “And how is your poem proceeding so far?”
“Sadly, I have only five verses to date,” Malichai confessed. “Our battles have not lived up to my expectations for inclusion in even so simple a composition as a ballad. I have primarily been engaged in describing the addition of various members to our company, and our first sight of the castle.”
“You should most certainly include the cat, as well,” Zara told him with an innocent expression, and Alexei almost choked on his stew.
Gulver shot him a look of concern. “Perhaps we could all use a drink,” he suggested.
“Alas, there is no ale to be found, but the water is surprisingly good.” Malichai excused himself to fetch them all some water.
After he had poured a measure for everyone, Wilder piped up with a question. “What are we going to do now? Where did Porfiry go? And why can’t we get out? Will we be stuck here forever?”
“Who is Porfiry?” Zara asked.
Everyone looked at each other in silence for a few moments.
“He is the betrayer of Erath,” Alexei finally answered. “We brought him with us as a prisoner, but he escaped. As to what we are going to do now,” he added, “we are going to continue to search. I do not believe Porfiry was lying when he told me the Rose was still here at Athven. The faster we find it, the less likely Porfiry will return and find it first. He may not be able to enter, but then again, he is Nar. Athven may let him in if she remembers him.”
Zara shot him a quick, unreadable glance. She probably didn’t know what the Rose was, but he wasn’t quite ready to tell her.
“As to where he went,” Alexei continued, “I do not pretend to know, but I believe I may know who took him.”
“I have remembered,” Malichai rumbled, shame written on his face. “And I can’t imagine how I did not recognize him at the time.”
“You did not recognize your prince because he did not wish it,” Alexei reassured him. “Wh
ether it seems possible or not, Rowan Tremontaine is a powerful mage. He twisted your mind and your memory and you had no chance of withstanding it.”
In as few words as possible, Alexei described his knowledge of the Andari prince and his understanding of what Rowan might be capable of. “He will want the Rose for himself, though I do not believe he cares at all about Athven. Even if he knows what she is, his ambitions are bigger than one castle, or even one country.”
“Do you genuinely believe the Rose could be used in such a way?” Silvay asked. “It is tuned to this place. Even more so than we are. If this Andari prince were to remove it from our borders, or even remove it from Athven herself, would it work as it does here?”
“I cannot say,” Alexei told her, “but he will know even less. Porfiry will have described it to him as best he understands it, which is not well. And he may have even exaggerated what it can do, in order to increase his own worth in the eyes of his employer. Which is another point that gives me hope.” He set down his spoon and rested his elbows on the table. “Porfiry will wait as long as possible before he gives up the one thing of value he possesses. Hopefully it will give us more time.”
“And what if he finds it first?” Wilder asked in a small voice. “What will happen to us?”
Alexei smiled sadly. He wished he could reassure the girl, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie. “I don’t know, Wilder. I hope it will not come to that. If it does, I believe we could make a home for some time here at Athven. Even without the Rose, she is powerful, and could shelter many of the Erathi who remain, if we could find a way to convince her it would be safe to open her doors again. It will depend on her, and what she chooses to do.”
Zara was taking a sip of her water and began to cough at his last statement. When she had cleared her throat, she set down her cup, very slowly and carefully. “There is a way.” She stared at the table as she spoke.
“A way what?” Alexei asked, as courteously as he was able.
“A way to convince Athven to open the doors.”
Alexei took hold of his temper and leaned back, away from the table, crossing his arms to keep from giving any hint of his anger. “Earlier you implied we were trapped. Even Athven indicated that she has locked the doors for a reason. What has changed? Has Athven been speaking to you?”
She hesitated, then shook her head. “Not today,” was her cryptic reply.
“Then why did you lie?” Alexei jumped to his feet, his hands still on the table. For that matter, why had Athven not simply told him? “Why didn’t you say something sooner? Why deceive us into thinking we had no options?”
“Because I didn’t like the option you had,” she snapped. She was still staring at the table.
“And how is it yours to decide whether you like it or not?” He didn’t understand how one person could find so many different ways to frustrate him. “Tell us!”
Her silence stretched until he began to think she might never speak, but at last she burst out with two simple words: “Marry me.”
A hush fell around the table. Malichai stopped with his spoon halfway to his mouth.
“What?” Alexei could hear the flat disbelief in his own voice. He couldn’t possibly have heard right. He’d known she was plainspoken, but this was beyond absurd.
“Marry me,” she repeated, embarrassment staining her cheeks and desperation coloring her voice. “You wanted to know how to get out, and that is the only way.”
Alexei’s anger flared up before he could stop it. “So. It was you and not Athven who imprisoned us here. What did you tell her? How did you convince her to agree to a plan that uses our need to manipulate us? Did you learn who I am and decide to force me into allying myself with you?” A disdainful laugh escaped him. “I am not so eager to reclaim my birthright that I would be willing to sell my name and my heritage. How could you think I would ever purchase my own home at the cost of my honor, or buy your cooperation at the cost of a crown?”
She flinched at his words, but what had she expected? And why had she lied and told them that she didn’t want to stay when she had planned this all along? Had she hoped to play on his sympathies?
He had no sympathy left, and if he had, he would never waste it on her. “We are not all honorless thieves. I would never shame the House of Nar so deeply as to bind myself to an enemy and a usurper. Not even for this.”
Her face frozen, Zara pushed back from the table. “Thank you,” she said to Malichai. “The food was delicious.” And then she disappeared.
Chapter 7
Zara’s dignity got her out of the kitchen, but it failed her after about three more steps. She ran, blinded by tears and humiliation, to the point of the castle that was farthest from anyone who might see or hear her misery—the north tower.
The door was still unlocked as she had left it, but that was the only thing that was the same. Much like the kitchen, it seemed to have blossomed in the space of a day.
It had been someone’s room. Some long-dead person had lived there, slept there, worked and dreamed and possibly even grown up within those walls. There was a bed, with a blue coverlet that felt soft from too many washings. A table and a chair stood near the casement window, and a wardrobe filled the opposite corner. Aside from the bedclothes, there were no personal belongings, but perhaps those, too, would reappear with time. The whole castle might eventually be filled with deeply personal reminders that this had been someone’s home. Many someones’ home.
But it would never be hers. Alexei had made that horribly, humiliatingly clear.
Her father had abandoned her to the mercies of Athven, and she had believed it hurt—to know that the one person who claimed to love her had cared so little that he hadn’t stayed, hadn’t even tried to conquer his fear. But this was somehow worse. Now she had not only lost the illusion that her father cared about her, she had lost even the possibility that she might someday have the home she had always dreamed of. She would very likely remain trapped in someone else’s home forever, and they would go on hating her for it. Blaming her for Athven’s ridiculous plan.
There was no point in trying to convince them it was all a misunderstanding when they already believed her to be a liar. It was Athven they trusted, and Athven, inscrutable creature that she was, might not choose to tell them the truth.
If she was going to face them again, she would have to pull herself together, and never let them know how badly they had hurt her. How badly he had hurt her. The others had had nothing to do with it, though she assumed they felt similarly. Even if they didn’t, she did not intend for anyone to see her pain. Tomorrow, she would be strong and do whatever needed to be done. For tonight, she had too many tears.
Without removing her boots, she curled up on the soft, blue coverlet and cried, thankful for the multitude of stairs that kept anyone from hearing her sobs.
“You’ve gone and made your task that much harder,” the voice said. “And mine. Have you no patience at all?”
“Shut up,” Zara said wearily, sitting up in the bed and observing her silken nightgown with a dispassionate eye. “This was your idea, and I wasn’t going to lie to them. They deserved to know there’s a way out. It isn’t my fault he didn’t like what I told him. And it’s definitely not my fault he didn’t give me a chance to explain.”
“Explain what?” Athven asked, arms folded as she gazed out the window.
“That it wasn’t my condition and I don’t want his castle or his kingdom. If he had agreed, you could transfer the bond to him and I could leave.”
“Hmm,” Athven said.
“But now it’s going to be worse because he despises me. He’ll never listen, because he assumes I’m lying. Why can’t you just tell him yourself?”
“Because nothing is that simple, child,” the avatar chided her. “A bond with another reasoning being is complex, as is Alexei’s past. If I tell him outright what I need of him, he might say yes out of guilt or duty, or even because he distrusts you, but any of those reas
ons would pollute our bond from the start. My bond with you has proven weak, not only because your magic is small, but because our connection was made without your full and heart-felt consent. I cannot begin to rebuild without a true partner who is willing to freely commit their life and their power to my cause.”
“He’s here, isn’t he?” Zara objected. “Doesn’t that mean that he’s committed enough?”
Athven’s expression grew remote. “You must believe me when I say that it is not.”
“Then what do you expect me to do now?”
“You will have to prove that you can be trusted. Prove that he has nothing to fear from you.”
“That he has nothing to fear from me?” Zara snorted at the thought. “He is cold and distant and dismissive and you want me to help him be less afraid of me?”
“I did not say this is entirely your fault,” Athven said sternly. “The son of Nar has much to answer for, but he has a different road to walk and different demons to face.”
“I will not grovel,” Zara said firmly. “I won’t become less than I am to make him happy.”
Athven’s brow raised a trifle. “I did not ask it of you. It is your strength that has been my greatest ally since we were bonded. Not your physical strength, though that is considerable, nor your magic, but your strength of purpose.”
“What strength of purpose?” Zara asked bitterly. “I’m a thief. I have no home, no family, no idea what I’m going to do or even what I want to do.”
“You do know what you want,” Athven returned. “And you know what you are not willing to do to get it. That is far more than most people have.”
“I think it’s a bit silly to claim strength of purpose merely because I would never betray someone I love for treasure,” Zara said dryly. “You don’t proclaim someone a hero simply because they are less horrible than everyone else.”
The avatar laughed. “I can see that this conversation is unlikely to get us anywhere. But I stand by what I have said. You are strong. Your life has not been easy, but it has not defeated you. You may be a treasure hunter, but I have come to agree that you are not a thief. You strive for rightness and yearn for beauty, even in places where it seems impossible, and I am pleased to call you my guardian. Even if you have no idea how to talk to men.”
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