Of Embers

by Amily Cabelaris

  “That bad?” Silas’ voice breaks into his mind.

  Caius rubs a thumb into his palm. “No.”

  “What? You seem much harder than you once were. You’re acting like you did when you first came to the Guild.”

  Caius slumps back against a barrel. He wants to tell his old friend—his only friend for many years—about her. But he doesn’t know how. What does it matter? She’s gone. She’s dead.

  “Come now, Caius. I’ve always wanted to help. You can tell me what is so troubling. Is it Lockmire’s destruction?”

  “No, I had a recruit…”

  “A woman,” Silas guesses.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because of your hesitation to tell me about her. She is gone?”

  Caius nods once. “She meant a lot to me.”

  “Did she die in battle?”

  “No. I got her killed.”

  “Gods, how?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  Silas watches him, probably realizing he won’t get any more information about it. He squeezes Caius’ uninjured shoulder. “My condolences, brother.”

  Caius bows his head. When he looks back up, he smiles gently. “It’s been too long.”

  The door bursts open to a stern-faced bandit. “Commander Nathan has arrived, sir,” the man says.

  “Thank you.” Silas rises. “I will order someone to watch you. Don’t do something stupid. I plan to get you out of here alive.”

  Caius nods. “I will remain here. Go with courage, brother.”

  Silas smiles once, but it turns sad. A dust cloud swirls when he shuts the door behind him.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  It seems like years before the driver announces to Evelyn that they are approaching Tarreth. The sun has long set, and the day of travelling, dashed hopes, pain, and grief have wearied Evelyn to her core. She’s prayed for the return of that blissful tunnel of emptiness, but it has eluded her since she woke earlier. Unconsciousness would save her from the dread plaguing her as much as the physical pain. Could Ilvara really be dead? And Caius. Did I miss Caius because of a stupid injury?

  Moments after entering the city, Evelyn hears Asher’s voice call across the street: “Alec! Gods bless you for making it out—” His words fade to stiff silence. He stops next to the cart, leaning over her. His green eyes are round and blank with shock.

  “She’s alive,” Alec says.

  Relief sparks in the flicker of his lids, but his face is still slack with worry. “What—what happened? How did she…”

  “She was in Lockmire, dressed in Esterden clothing. She said something about finding Caius. A couple of guards attacked her, thinking she was the enemy.”

  Evelyn’s eyes roll toward Asher. Her heart beats under her tongue, fast and hard. The sun is too bright. “Ilvara is still there. She was outside the gates,” she says.

  “Did you look for her?” Asher asks Alec.

  “No, Evelyn would have bled out. If not for the healing potion Matthew found in his bag earlier, she’d be long dead.”

  Asher’s face looks white against the black night sky. “Let’s get her inside.”

  Alec helps move her to the back of the cart. Asher picks her up carefully. Still, Evelyn’s sides stretch. She moans in pain.

  “Apologies,” Asher says, as much pain in his voice as in her wounded sides. He rushes her into the building, up the stairs, past Priscilla and her worried questions. Gingerly, he lays her on the bed she woke up in this morning.

  Alec is still standing near. “Does someone here know magic?” he calls behind him.

  Asher brushes his fingertips along Evelyn’s arm, as if a harder touch will shatter her. “My sister knows magic. I can fetch her.”

  “I will care for Evelyn until your return,” Priscilla says. “We have a few potions left, and I will clean and re-suture the wound.”

  Alec slants his mouth, staring down at the haphazard stitches. “I was never trained much in suturing wounds.”

  “Thank you, Alec,” Evelyn says, reaching weakly for his arm. “You saved my life.”

  “I’ll go back with Matthew and search for Caius and Ilvara. I’m sure they are still alive,” he says.

  Evelyn lays her head back, the pain muddying her thoughts. Fear threatens to overwhelm her. “I hope so.”

  The night drags on endlessly. Priscilla treats Evelyn with a bottle of healing potion and some clean stitches to stop the bleeding, but the pain is still intense. The potion helps settle her rolling stomach enough to eat a little bread, but she cannot move her right leg, where the sword tip nicked something in her hip. And the gash in her left side nearly reaches her armpit. Pain from that streaks across her entire chest, making it hard to breathe. The potion lessened this slightly, but it wasn’t near strong enough heal such severe wounds.

  Priscilla stays nearby, sleeping in a chair next to the bed, but Evelyn cannot help but feel alone. She tries to reason where everyone must be. Asher left to find his sister. Perhaps he could not find her for a long time, but he’s found her now. Perhaps they’re on their way.

  Caius must have been away from the main battlefield, up at the castle maybe. He did not know I was there. But he can be notified. He can come here. He can see that I am alive.

  Ilvara…she got away. She ran into the forest to hide from the bandits. She’s probably waiting there for me to return, scared, hungry, and exhausted. She did not die. She could not have.

  Light-headed from the agony and loss of blood, Evelyn eventually drifts to sleep. Her dreams are filled with pictures from the day—the bloody battlefield, glistening with blood and armour, the dragons, the fire. The fire consumes most of the night. At one point, a ball of flame from the dragon hits her and she startles awake, drenched in sweat.

  Priscilla is next to her in a moment. “What is it?”

  “Bad dream,” Evelyn murmurs through sleep-heavy lips. “Asher here yet?”

  “No. It’s nearly dawn though.”

  Evelyn looks out the window at the bluish light. “Oh.”

  “Wait, there he is. He’s coming up the lane with someone.”

  Evelyn slumps against the muslin pillow. “Praise Herus.”

  Priscilla smirks at her before rushing out the door. Within a few moments, it opens again. A short woman dressed in dark robes enters, Asher and Priscilla behind her.

  “This is her?” the stranger asks. She furrows her brows at Evelyn.

  “Yes. Evelyn, this is Francine Xerxes, my little sister,” Asher says. “Apologies for the time it took.”

  “What took so long?” Priscilla asks. The darkness around her eyes indicates she slept about as well as Evelyn did.

  Asher crosses his arms. “I checked our home, checked the Guild. She was not anywhere. Finally, I fell asleep in a tavern, and she was the one who woke me up. She’d stopped by home very late in the night to grab some things when my parents told her I was looking for her.”

  “If Asher would have read the letter I sent him last month,” Francine says with a shake of her head, “he would know that I attend meetings every Sidie, and I don’t return home until nearly dawn.” She pushes up the sleeves of her dark blue robe.

  “Letter? The courier must have been intercepted. I received no letter.”

  “Well, I did send it. I think. Now, shh.” Francine kneels next to the bed. She casts a quick eye over the sutures in Evelyn’s sides. “These are deep,” she says.

  “Can you heal them?” Evelyn asks.

  “I can try. But we need to bring her outside.”

  “Outside?” The other three say together.

  “I need to be closer to the soil. Come now, before she expires.”

  She leaves the room at once. Asher takes Evelyn in his arms and follows her out, with Priscilla behind. Francine heads downstairs and straight out to the graveyard with the pink tree. There, she sheds her robes, revealing her loose, yellow shirt and leather trousers. Curiously, she wears no shoes.

  “Lay her on
the ground,” Francine says.

  Asher scoffs. “Surely this is unnecessary.”

  Francine glares at him. “Healing spells propel from the soil into my body, then into hers. It’s most powerful while she’s lying on the ground. Do you want her to be healed or not?”

  “Just lay me down, Asher,” Evelyn says. Being carried strains her injuries. Asher sighs and lays her gently in the grass. Evelyn gazes up at Francine. “All right.”

  Francine kneels, hovers her hands over Evelyn’s torso, and shuts her eyes. She mutters something Evelyn can hardly hear. The graveyard fills with brilliant scarlet light. Evelyn digs her head back into the soil. Her torso and legs are flooded with a liquid-like warmth that soothes and saturates. It is inexplicable, immediate relief.

  When the light fades, Evelyn takes a gasping breath. Francine is kneading her right hip. She can hardly feel it, or anything. Tears blur her eyes.

  “How does it… look?” Evelyn asks.

  “Good,” Asher says breathlessly. “You really are talented.”

  “Keep a close eye on those for a few more days,” Francine says to Priscilla and Asher. When she looks at Evelyn, her green eyes glisten just like her brother’s. “Get plenty of rest and eat to regain your strength. You should be fine.” Francine grabs her cloak from a grave marker. “Now Asher, you said there was also a little girl you wanted me to heal?”

  “Please. You’re here anyway.”

  “Oh, Alesia?” Priscilla says. “I’ll show you right to her. Asher, if you want to bring Evelyn back up…”

  When Asher picks her up again, Evelyn’s leg doesn’t hurt near as dreadfully as it did before. He takes her up the stairs and lays her back in bed. With a relieved smile, he kneels next to her.

  “How do you feel?” he asks.

  “Good, if a little tired. And my head is so light.”

  Asher brushes sweaty hair from her forehead. “Just rest. Everything will be all right.”

  “Thank you, Asher.”

  He smirks. “Francine did the healing.”

  “You brought her here.”

  He furrows his brows. “Why didn’t you say you were going to Lockmire? I could have been there, fighting with you.”

  “I was so consumed with finding Caius. If he was taking a dragon to Lockmire, it meant something. I could feel it.”

  “He must have seen Esterden’s troops somehow. We only received word Lockmire was under attack an hour or so before you arrived last night.”

  “But why did Caius go alone?”

  “Perhaps he felt obligated to go and didn’t have time to tell anyone else.”

  Evelyn stares up at the ceiling. Perhaps he knew the battle would be chaotic and he wanted to risk his own death. “I pray he is all right. What if something happens to him? And here I am, alive.”

  Asher is silent a moment before he asks, “And Ilvara?”

  “We got separated at the gates. I disguised myself as an Esterden soldier to get inside, and she stayed outside picking off the stragglers. I was taken down as soon as I got in.”

  “Lockmire is still trying, at least.”

  “Yes, the guards were adamant for my life. If I hadn’t taken off my helmet, Alec himself would have finished me off.”

  “Thank the gods you did.”

  Evelyn eyes him. “How have you liked the Sanctuary?”

  He leans his elbows on the bed. “It’s nice. Priscilla takes far better care of Alesia than those Shrine mongrels.”

  “I thought the Shrine was praised for its care of the sick.”

  “Only the wealthy ones. They kept asking for my offering.”

  Evelyn nods. “Herus is the one true God. They must know that those gods do nothing.”

  Asher tilts his head at her. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

  “Don’t you? He raised me from the dead.”

  He looks down. “Yes…”

  Evelyn watches him struggle within himself. She touches his face. His skin is new to her. He raises his head, eyes full of wonder and warmth. Then, suddenly, tears.

  She withdraws her hand. “What?”

  He shakes his head. “Many things at once.”

  Evelyn clenches her fingers. Perhaps he read it as some kind of romantic gesture. “I don’t mean to confuse you. I felt I needed to touch your face. I don’t know why.”

  “It’s all right. I just…” He looks up and smirks again. Evelyn smiles too. There was a time she despised this man. But so much has happened since then that such feelings don’t even seem conceivable. “I just missed you so much. Your death was…a dreadful thing. I had no idea how to go on.”

  “You could have gone back to Lockmire, no? Wouldn’t Count Hadrian have taken you back as the general even though I was dead?”

  Asher shrugs. “What does it matter? Only a few months ago, being general meant everything to me. Leading people. Making decisions. And then…”

  “What?”

  He sighs. “You and Caius left, and that was all I could think about. I suppose I learned where my heart truly was, even though I couldn’t admit it to myself.”

  Suddenly, it’s difficult to look at his eyes. Evelyn stares at the window as the moments of silence pass on. She hears Asher rise just as the door opens.

  “Come and see her, Asher,” Priscilla says at the door.

  “Coming,” he says, and is gone at once.

  “It’s not a perfect cure, but she’s doing better already—” Priscilla says before the door is shut.

  Evelyn lies in silence, unsure how to feel. She is so pulled by her love for Caius, but she can feel Asher’s adoration like a presence in the room. She could sense it in the way he looked at her. She could hear it in his words. Something about it confuses her.

  She thinks of Caius, out in Lockmire. What if he is dead? What will she do?

  Her eyes run up and down the planks of the door, pieces smoothed by a careful craftsman. She can hear Asher, Francine, and Priscilla talking outside, but she can’t make out what they’re saying.

  Evelyn hates herself for doubting. She hates the uncertainty. She hates the feelings that confuse her. She was supposed to rise from the dead a new creature, but so much is the same. So much is still unclear.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Asher had expected such a joyful reunion. Ilvara and Caius here with Evelyn, happy. At peace. Like a dreamy child, he pictured Caius weeping with joy when he saw Evelyn again. Spinning her in his arms. He imagined they would marry after this, with Ilvara’s blessing.

  But Caius is still in Lockmire, totally unaware of Evelyn’s resurrection. Ilvara is missing, with some feelings of animosity—he’s sensed—toward Caius. And Asher, damned, uncontrollable soul, is falling in love with Evelyn all over again. The thought of Caius seeing Evelyn again fires something in him that he hates. He thought none of it mattered anymore. But when she touched his face, it all hit him again like a wild horse at full speed.

  Asher leans back against the wall outside Evelyn’s room. Priscilla is in there now, changing the blankets. Francine left moments ago. Something about a “very busy schedule” she had to attend to. He’s always underestimated her. But this time, he made sure to thank her for flying down like a hawk and saving two precious lives.

  Why can’t he just forget Evelyn and let himself love someone else? He pinches the bridge of his nose. No woman calls to him like she does. She draws his heart without ever meaning to.

  He shakes his head. No. This is his heart. He must control it. And there is only one way to kill his feelings for Evelyn.

  Priscilla calls out as he races down the stairs, “Where are you going?”

  “To find Caius.” He turns to look at her from the bottom. “You stay and take care of Alesia and Evelyn.”

  She folds a bloody blanket over her arm. “I will try.”

  “Thank you, Priscilla,” Asher says, fully stopping. “Thank you for everything. Really.”

  She smiles, nods. There’s a peace about her expression th
at he can’t pinpoint. Perhaps being relatively uninvolved in this dynamic allows her to relax. Perhaps deep within herself she feels thankful that she doesn’t have to care about all of them. She just needs to be hospitable until they leave so her god is pleased with her. But there is something in her manner that eludes to a deeper purpose than pleasing her god. As if she really does care.

  “Herus guide you,” she says.

  Inexplicably comforted, Asher leaves her and the Sanctuary behind.

  Twenty minutes later, Hamish Bertrand rises when Asher bursts into his tower. “Asher? What—”

  “Captain, forgive my intrusion. I’m looking for the Orc.”

  “Still in the dungeons, keeping watch over the murderess.” Bertrand gestures to a guard standing by who leaves to fetch him. “What’s this about?”

  Asher steps forward. “Lockmire is under heavy attack and desperately needs reinforcements. I know Tarreth soldiers can fight.”

  “We are neutral to Lockmire’s little feud with Esterden, you know that.”

  “I know. But bandits are involved. At this point, Esterden is desperate to seize Blackmist Pond. Think of it—Lockmire is strong. Its holds are strong. If Tarreth helps them win this, the two forces will be united. Unstoppable.”

  “And if they lose, then Tarreth will have made an enemy of Esterden and the bandits, two other huge forces.”

  Asher plants his hands on Hamish’s desk. “The bandits are not allies to anyone but themselves. If they were their own independent municipality with any kind of legal structure, things would be different. But they’re a band of looters and thugs. Murderers. They need to be stopped.”

  Hamish sighs. “I don’t know if that’s possible.”

  “Consider what will happen if Esterden wins. What kind of garrison would Lockmire have? Bandits and thieves to rob Lockmire’s fine people? And how much will those poor souls need to pay to continue living there? Lockmire was burning to the ground when I left it. I can’t imagine it’s any better now. Those bandits are known for their fire-starting.”

  “So then, there’s nothing left to save,” Hamish says.