“But why?”
How could she explain? She had been so young then, so foolish. In the thrall of a man whose child she carried in her womb. She hadn’t had the courage to tell Darien she was pregnant, to send him off like that, possibly to his death. So she’d kept it a secret.
Instead of telling Darien that he was going to be a father, she had given him a sword, instead. Then she had kissed him and sent him off to war. That was the last she had ever seen of him, until the moment he had appeared before her in the gateway. The moment of his death.
“When I gave him that sword, Darien was only just an acolyte,” Meiran said. “Weapons were not yet forbidden him. And he’d trained so hard for so many years. Darien always had a passion for the dance of the blade…and he was going into battle. So many men we sent to the Front never came back. I chose the gift that I thought would have the most meaning. I didn’t think what kind of meaning it would have. I didn’t think it through.”
Quin’s gaze had been softening the whole while she spoke. He stared at her with conviction in his eyes. “You chose the gift that suited him best, Meiran. That’s why you did it. Darien was born to be a Battlemage. I think, even then, you understood his nature.”
“I’ve regretted it every day,” she insisted. “Giving him that sword…I may as well have been giving him my blessing to strip those chains off his wrists.”
Quin shook his head. “You acknowledged the warrior within him. I can think of no greater gift.”
Meiran strangled back a sob. “I damned him, Quin. I damned his soul.”
“No. You didn’t. Darien damned himself.” He reached out, touching the marking of the chain on her wrist. “So…am I leaving? Or staying?”
“Stay.” She bowed her head. “Please don’t leave.”
His hand lingered on her wrist. He rotated her arm just a bit, causing the silvery luster to gleam in the light of the clouds. He glanced back up at her, eyes solemn. “Don’t ever use those chains to justify weakness, Meiran. I guarantee you, that’s not what Braden intended. And, besides, you’re the Prime Warden of Aerysius. There’s too much riding on your strength.”
Chapter Sixteen
Oathbreaker
Qul, The Black Lands
DARIEN SCOOPED AZÁR up in his arms, her head lolling against his shoulder. Her eyes were closed. She looked like she might have been sleeping, except for the blood that drained from her scalp, staining the side of her face. Darien reached within, probing her with his mind. What he found was comforting. The head wound was only superficial. There would be no lasting damage.
He used his power to heal her, anyway, and removed all trace of blood and grime.
He carried her, unconscious, all the way back to the village. But he had no idea which house was hers. So he took her instead to his own camp, laying her out upon his blankets. He settled back against a rock, determined to watch over her while she slept.
Sometime during the night Darien fell asleep at her side, his body stretched out beside hers in the dirt. When he awoke the next morning, Azár was gone.
♦ ♦ ♦
Another week went by. Every day, Darien wandered out into the lightfields to help the people of Qul with the replanting. This time, no one objected. He worked all day, every day, very hard. He rarely saw Azár. And when he did, she usually avoided him. He didn’t understand why. It was almost as though her old resentment had returned.
The fields were tilled entirely by hand; there were no oxen or horses available to turn the soil. Just hand-ploughs. He tried a few ways to use magic to lessen the chore. But it turned out to be more taxing than just resorting to muscle. He finally gave up and put his back into the labor. All the while keeping an eye out for Nashir.
But the darkmage didn’t return.
Every night, Darien retired exhausted to his makeshift camp, taking comfort in the thanacryst’s company. Every morning, he found a hot meal awaiting him, arranged on mats set out around the fire pit. The people of Qul had not yet accepted him, but they had at least begun providing for his needs. The households took turns every day preparing him food. He was grateful; it was a step forward, at least.
That night, Darien cast his tired body down beside the bowls of food and tore into the meal with more urgency than usual. He used his fingers and pieces of griddled bread to scoop the soups and stews into his mouth. He dipped and chewed, hardly tasting the mixture of spices. He was weak, his unwashed fingers shaking as he ate. His body longed for meat, but there was none to be had. His bones ached, either from lack of flesh in his diet or sunlight on his skin. Perhaps a combination of both.
After dinner, Darien leaned back against the demon-hound and stared up into the hostile sky. For some reason, his mood was even more melancholy than usual. His hand scratched absently at the thanacryst’s neck as his eyes scanned the flickering lights in the sky above. His mind sought for images in the clouds he could recognize. He found none. Instead, all he found was conflict.
♦ ♦ ♦
A hand shaking him by the shoulder startled Darien awake. He flinched, reaching for his sword. His arm was captured in a firm grip before he could get his fingers around it.
Darien struggled, opening his eyes to gape up into the face of the last person in the world he expected to see. His breath caught, his heart lurching in his chest. He sat bolt upright. He could feel the blood draining out of his face.
“Is she…? Did you bring her…?”
Quin nodded once, eyes lost somewhere in the shadows beneath his hat. “Of course. I told you I would, didn’t I?”
Darien sprang to his feet, shrugging his sword’s leather baldric on over his shoulder. Beside him, the thanacryst snarled. The beast’s hackles were raised, its fierce green eyes glaring at Quin. That surprised Darien; he’d never seen the demon-hound respond so aggressively to another Servant.
“Theanoch!” Darien ordered. The hound gave one last snarl and then sat back down on its haunches. It looked up, gazing intently into its master’s face.
Darien was breathing in gasps, his heart floundering. Whether in anticipation or fear, he had no idea. Not that it mattered; Meiran was here, somewhere close by, almost within reach. He couldn’t stand it. His entire body quivered with a mixture of anticipation and panic.
“Take me to her.”
Quin raised his hand, a small, reassuring smile on his lips. “Relax. You’re living proof that love is the elevation of the irrational over reason. We have time. Meiran’s not going anywhere.”
Darien paced away, scrubbing his hands back through his hair. He leaned forward, taking slow, deep breaths, trying to calm the relentless fury of his pulse. He couldn’t relax. Every nerve in his body was raw and frayed.
“What’s she like, Quin? Tell me she doesn’t hate me.”
Quinlan Reis raised his eyebrows. “Of course she doesn’t hate you. You’re the love of her life, the sad, unfortunate fool. I’m just not certain she’s quite up to trusting you as yet. You’ve both been through a lot. She might need some time to adjust.”
Darien just nodded, eyes sliding sideways as he groped to sort through his scattered feelings. He paced away, trying in vain to gather up his thoughts. His heart was still racing, tumbling along at a furious pace. His mind spun in circles.
“I need to see her. Please.”
Quin pursed his lips, shaking his head. “Not like that. I mean, look at you! You look like something I just dug out of the ground.”
Vexed, Darien raked his fingers through his hair, ripping through the snarls. He dove into his pack, rummaging around, finally drawing out a leather cord. He gathered up his long hair, tying it back. Then he took a long gulp of water, swishing it around in his mouth before spitting it out again, sliding his tongue over his teeth. He spread his hands wide with an exaggerated, questioning motion.
Quin shook his head sadly. “It’s not good. But I suppose it’ll do; you’re actually not too awful-looking for a dead man. Shall we, then? I’m actually rather anxious t
o see how all of this is going to play out.”
He turned and strolled away toward the bottleneck canyon. Darien jogged after him, turning back and commanding the thanacryst to stay with a gesture of his hand. The last thing he needed was the demon-dog following after him; Meiran already had enough changes to get used to without the sight of that.
“Did you run into any trouble?” Darien asked, nervously worrying at the wrinkles in his shirt. He tried to smooth them out with his fingers, dusting off a smear of mud on his sleeve.
Quin pursed his lips. “Not any more than one would expect. All in all, I’d say the journey was rather unexceptional. How about yourself? You seem rather worse for wear. Or is there some reason why you’re camped in a ditch rather than ruling the hinterlands?”
“You knew?” Darien was surprised. Quin had left long before Renquist had revealed many of his plans.
Quin smiled. “It wasn’t hard to guess Renquist’s intentions for you. The Khazahar was Braden’s and my own ancestral home. As it was, Arden Hannah inherited Braden’s lands and legacy. Upon Arden’s death, as her successor, the Khazahar has fallen to you. Guard her well.” He tipped his hat in Darien’s direction.
The narrow path they were following took a sharp turn, switchbacking up into the rocky cliffs above the village. Darien’s stomach was tying itself into knots. He could hardly manage to follow the winding trail. He kept glancing up fervently, hoping for a glimpse of Meiran.
“What lands were you promised?” he asked, though he really didn’t feel in the mood for conversation. His feet ached to go faster. He wished Quin would hurry and pick up the pace.
The darkmage chuckled. “You’re not going to like it. If Renquist’s plans ever come to fruition, then Rothscard will be my capital.”
Darien gaped at Quin’s back. “You were promised the Kingdom of Emmery? That’s your territory?” He hadn’t known they’d already carved up the Rhen to dispense with as they pleased. The thought brought with it a flare of outrage.
Quin nodded. Then he stopped, gesturing toward the cliff beside them. “She’s in there.”
Darien turned, noticing for the first time that what he’d thought was just a recess in the rock was actually the entrance to a cave. Suddenly, he felt very lightheaded. He brought his hand up to steady himself against the cliff face. He turned to Quin with a look of uncertainty.
“Go on in,” the darkmage prompted. “Take your time. I’ll be right here.”
Darien nodded, swallowing. “My thanks,” he whispered. His eyes sought Quin’s face for reassurance. Then he turned and slipped inside the cave.
Darkness encased him. It was colder inside, and silent. Darien conjured a glowing blue mist that groped ahead of him, illuminating his path. The passage was longer than he’d expected, angling sharply back into the rock. It wasn’t a man-carved passage, but rather seemed to have been eroded by running water. He pressed his hand against the rough, chill wall and frowned. The rock was light-colored sandstone. It was the first natural-looking stone he had seen since entering the Black Lands.
Darien followed along the low passage, having to walk slightly bent forward, stooping to avoid hitting his head. His magelight spilled ahead of him, leading him forward with an iridescent trail. The passage opened up a bit, allowing him to walk fully upright. Darien slowed his steps, pausing to calm his ragged breathing. His mouth and throat felt terribly dry.
The passage swung to the right. Then it opened up into a room-sized chamber. Darien paused, one hand resting on the rock wall beside his face.
She was right there in front of him.
He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He stood there stunned, unable to even blink. His eyes raked over every inch of her, taking in the sable luster of her hair, the perfection of her face. Her gaze was a siren song, and he was helpless.
Darien moved toward her, catching Meiran in his arms as she buried her face against his chest. He held her close, rocking her gently back and forth. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the silken scent of her hair, relishing the familiar fit of her body against his.
Then his lips were on hers, desperate and insistent, making up for lost time. Meiran gasped, her hands sliding down his shoulders. In his arms, he could feel her body stiffen. He sensed the hesitation in her kiss.
His lips stopped moving. Darien drew slowly back, searching her face.
Meiran’s skin was flushed, her eyes full of compassion and regret. Her lips quivered, her whole body trembling. Looking in her eyes, Darien felt a gut-twisting wrench of loss. He drew her closer and buried his face in her hair. Closing his eyes, he walled the world away and just held her there.
“Darien.”
It was the same, sad voice that haunted his dreams.
He wasn’t ready to let her go.
“Darien…I have something to tell you…”
He grimaced, knowing their one, fragile moment was over. He knew another would likely never come. Darien strangled back a curse, resenting the hell out of fate. He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to bring himself to look at her.
He turned his back and wiped away his sorrow on his shirtsleeve. Somehow, he managed to compose himself, collecting what was left of his strangled feelings. He stood there with his back to Meiran, unable to turn around. He didn’t want her to see the raw emotion written on his face.
He felt her hand against his. Her fingers laced softly through his own.
He let her lead him by the hand toward a woven rug spread out in the center of the chamber. Stiffly, he lowered himself to sit beside her, his fingers still entwined with hers.
He tried not to stare, but he just couldn’t help himself. It was impossible to look anywhere else.
“I’m sorry,” he managed feebly. “It’s just…” he shook his head, his voice trailing off.
Meiran placed her other hand on top of his, caressing him softly. Her fingers wandered up his arm, pushing back his sleeve. Revealing the scars hidden there.
Her hand froze.
“Why?”
There was so much hurt in that one, simple word.
Darien felt a surge of shame. He leaned forward, his eyes imploring. “Meiran. I need you to trust me.”
Tears fell from her eyes. “I don’t think I can,” she whispered.
He had to find a way to make her believe him. There was so much riding on this moment. Far more than just his own blackened heart.
“Look at me,” Darien insisted. He took her by the chin, directing her gaze upward and into his own. “I died for you, Meiran. And I’d do it all over again. Right now, in a heartbeat.”
“Don’t.”
She struggled to pull away. Darien refused her. He moved his hand behind her head, leaning into her. He stroked his fingers softly through her hair. “I need you to hear me out.”
She was crying, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She sagged against him, her body shuddering with the force of her sobs. “Your words are poison,” she moaned into his chest as he hugged her against him. “Why did I come?”
Darien pressed his cheek against her, closing his eyes. Gruffly, he whispered, “I’ve always believed in you, Meiran. Now I need you to believe in me. I know it’s hard. Here. I’ll make it easier for you.”
He released her and drew away. She gazed up at him with wide, bewildered eyes as he staggered to his feet. Darien felt his courage start to slip as he took a step back away from her. He felt a sudden, tangible fear. He had visualized this moment, rehearsed it over and over in his head. He’d thought he had the strength to go through with it. But now that the moment was upon him, Darien wasn’t sure that he could.
But there was really no choice. If he stood any chance of gaining her trust, he could hold absolutely nothing back.
Darien closed his eyes and opened his heart and mind to the Onslaught. He let it fill him, bathing his soul in euphoric filth and vile ecstasy. He could feel Hell’s energies violating him, exciting him. He let the Onslaught sear away the cloak of vitality that cover
ed him, exposing the depths of corruption that consumed both his spirit and his flesh.
Darien raised his hands, spreading his fingers. The skin appeared grayed, sagging. Desiccated. He reached down and lifted his shirt, exposing first his stomach and then his chest. Before Meiran’s eyes, he turned slowly around, revealing the full extent of his ruin. Every tortured scar of Hell’s abuse of him, the decayed corruption of the grave. Before the woman he loved, he bared both his body and his soul, drowning in black depths of shame.
Turning back to face her, Darien lowered his shirt and tore his eyes up off the ground. He released Hell’s spent energies, shuddering as the Onslaught slipped away from him. Slowly, the chill of death receded as warmth returned to flood his veins. Darien glanced down at his hands.
His flesh was whole again, unbroken. Remade.
His aching spirit yet faltered.
Meiran’s face remained fixed. She gaped up at him, gagging slightly, trembling in revulsion. She staggered to her feet.
In a dismal voice, Darien said, “Now you’ve seen me for what I really am. I’m a demon. A monster.”
“So all this,”—she gestured savagely—“is just illusion?”
He nodded sadly. “I’m dead, Meiran. I’ve been dead a long time.”
She was crying again. Darien let her. He bowed his head, sagging, his shoulders trembling in shame.
“You’re not real!” she raged at him. “I felt you die!”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, knowing exactly what he’d put her through.
He took a step toward her, holding her gaze with his own. When she didn’t retreat, he took another hesitant step. “I still love you, Meiran. Death can’t change that.” He reached up and stroked the side of her face. “You’ve come all this way. Would you please listen to what I have to say?”
“I’ll try,” she whispered. Her hand rose, wiping her tears.
Darklands (The Rhenwars Saga Book 3) Page 20