It was the fall-out that she was afraid of. The element strands had been unpredictable lately, and if she used the harp for more than a gentle element bend, the consequences to herself or even the men in the camp could be dire.
The man's arrow remained notched tightly in the bow. “It's not going to do you any good to stay, buddy. I was going to be nice and let you finish whatever you were doing,” she glanced quickly at the basket of fish that rested among the rocks near his feet, “but if you're going to sit there with that arrow notched at me, I'll have to rethink that.”
Alayne's fingers danced across the element strands. They sparked and shivered before she'd even touched them. Not a good sign.
The man shook his head, and if anything, his bow went even more taut. His boot nudged the side of the fish basket. “That's you, isn't it?” Never taking his gaze from her, he shoved an enormous paper he'd obviously had open toward the stream with his boot.
Alayne narrowed her eyes. On the paper, even at this distance, she recognized a large picture of herself that took up most of the page. At the top, in huge, black letters, it said, “Alliance's Top Fugitives.” Beneath the picture, in the same black letters, it said, “Alayne Worth, Half-Blood.” A large number showed the price on Alayne's head.
Chills shot up Alayne's spine that had nothing to do with the cold water. Her mouth dropped open in astonishment. Of course, Manders had warned her of bounty hunters, but in all the time that she'd been running from Clayborne, she'd had yet to see even one. The paper brought his warnings to real, solid, terrifying life.
“Alayne Worth,” the man continued, his bow and arrow never wavering. “I'm what you might call a bounty hunter. This paper says a lot of meaningless jargon, but the only thing I'm interested in is that great big total of gold lemps. Now, let's make this quick and easy. You come over here and gather up my stuff for me, and then we'll head to the nearest outpost about fourteen miles east of here, where I turn you in and get my gold. Got it? Come on, girl,” he muttered as Alayne still hesitated. “Move along, and don't try any fancy Quadriweave nonsense. I'm pretty good with my element myself.”
Alayne swallowed. She could risk it—pull the element strands and hope they'd obey her touch this time. If they caused havoc, at least the rest of the company weren't very close; the chaos would only affect the bounty hunter and herself.
She cast about for any other alternative. If she went with the man, she might be able to make enough noise to bring Manders or Kary or Bard, maybe Eryc, crashing through the woods. Daymon would likely still be out hunting.
She eyed the rock above the man, touching the earth element, feeling the strand leap beneath her fingers. Just a twist, and the boulder would fall on him.
But what if?
She could just imagine the ensuing earthquake ripping the stream open from one end to the other, spewing geysers from underground water channels as trees trunks snapped in the forest, falling on the little camp not so very far from where she stood in paralyzing indecision.
What if she screamed?
The thoughts whirled in her brain as she continued to hold her hands, palms open, in the air in front of her.
I'll buy time, she decided. If she could talk to him, distract him even for a few moments while she regained more mastery of her feelings, she could handle the elements with confidence again. It was only her own inner warring emotions that threw the Vale into fits.
She took a deep, steady breath, her toes carefully moving across the floor of the riverbed, pacing slowly toward the shore, her feet finding slippery rocks to grip. The current made her unstable, and she grabbed a boulder for balance. As she drew closer to the man, she crouched beneath the moving liquid, not sure what to do next.
His bow was still drawn, but he seemed more relaxed. He shifted his feet farther apart and raised his head a little. “Reports say you're from Skyden,” he said.
“That's right.” Alayne stilled at his words. “Why?”
“Used to live there before I passed my assessments and got shipped off to Clayborne years back.”
Alayne breathed slowly, calming her frantic heartbeat. As she did so, the element strands calmed a little beneath her touch. They didn't jump out of the way when she put her fingers on them. Slow and calm, Alayne. You can do this. Her hair fanned around her neck, floating loose in the current. She took another step toward the man, watching, waiting for the best moment.
The man licked his thin lips as she neared. Anger and embarrassment threaded her thoughts; she could see his glance down into the water, obviously waiting for her to rise. She fought the urge to cover herself.
The last threads of panic dissolved as she struggled for her self-control. She inhaled deeply and waited until the man glanced down into the water once more. It was a mere flick of his gaze, hardly a breath.
It was long enough and she was calm enough to risk it.
Alayne lunged for the harp of elements.
Chapter 10
A whirlwind shrieked by Alayne, and its force splintered the man's bow against the rock. It drove the man backward, his head bouncing off the stone. He collapsed senseless onto the shore.
The whirlwind wasn't hers. Alayne's fingers paused short of the element harp. She whipped around to find the source of the bend. She gasped, stumbling back into deeper water, wishing she could submerge herself and never return to air again. Embarrassment blazed inside her.
Daymon sprinted toward her from the edge of the woods. He leaped nimbly off two stones in midstream before splashing into the deeper water where Alayne huddled, frantically covering everything she could. He seized her, flinging her behind him, his left hand gripping her wrist. His wild gaze surveyed the man's unconscious condition, and then he whirled on Alayne.
“What is the matter with you? You were actually going to go with him?”
Alayne's mouth dropped open. “No, I was not actually going to go with him.”
“You were walking toward him.”
“Yes, I was just trying to be cautious,” Alayne snapped. “In case you didn't remember, I've had trouble controlling the elements recently, but I could have handled it. I was going to.”
“You were going to handle it.” Daymon snorted. “Right. He had an arrow notched, and you were prancing your way toward him, like—like... look at you!” His cheeks turned a brilliant crimson, and all at once, he was looking anywhere but at her.
Alayne still crouched beneath the water. The current swirled her long hair around her in a semi-modest covering, but she felt intensely vulnerable. Daymon dropped his hand from her wrist as if it scalded him, and Alayne stumbled backward, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest.
“The elements were calming. If I concentrated, they seemed to—to behave a little better.” Alayne shook her head miserably. “I was going to handle it,” she repeated lamely.
“So while you were waging this internal war, you decided to distract him by marching out of the water naked and dripping and looking like every dream he'd ever had as a teenager.” He shook his head in disgust. “You'd have distracted him plenty, but that doesn't change the fact that he could have planted that arrow in your heart before you could have even touched the elements!”
“I wasn't going to leave the water, Daymon!” Alayne shouted.
“But you would have, because you wouldn't have had the sense to yell for help—”
“He had an arrow notched and the bow drawn! Skies, Daymon, did you want him to shoot me?”
Daymon raked a wet hand through his dark hair. “Obviously not, Layne, but you're a Quadriweave! Don't you think there were a million other ways you could have distracted him while you were waiting for the elements to calm down?”
“Not without making use of the out-of-control elements, Daymon.” The words snapped harshly in the air. “I was buying time as best as I could. Anyway, why are you making such a big deal out of this? You rescued me like you always do, the perfect Guardian. You've saved my life again, and by extension, you and al
l the Guardians. That's what you want, isn't it?”
“What I want?” Daymon shouted. “You think that's what I want? You think I only sit around, protecting you and the Vale from danger so the Guardians and I can all stay alive?”
Alayne had never seen him so angry. Much of the fire left her. “I—you seemed to think that was pretty important a couple of years ago—”
“What do you know of what I want,” he interrupted, his voice hoarse, “what I've ever wanted? Not once have you bothered to ask.”
Alayne gaped. Any words she'd gathered to fling at him evaporated.
Daymon's eyes burned a brilliant navy as he stared at her. After a long moment, he dropped his gaze. “I'll—go get your clothes and wash them.” He seemed to have forgotten the bounty hunter.
The man groaned and rolled over. Alayne gasped, and Daymon splashed to shore. He bent over the bounty hunter, yanking his arms behind his back. “On second thought,” he flung over his shoulder, “I'll stay right here until you're done.” He plopped down on the sand beneath the rock after he'd finished securing the man's hands. “Fool, featherbrained girl,” he added in a clear undertone. It was obvious he meant her to hear it.
Alayne sank deep into the water, sure her ears would burst into flame. Embarrassment was the least of the feelings coursing through her. The others, though, she refused to identify, pushing them downstream with the current.
She searched fruitlessly for her soap and sighed. The water would have to do its own cleansing. She spent the next few moments bending the elements to pull off every last bit of dirt. It had all started with a simple wish to fully submerge herself in her native element.
Alayne studied her sleek black steel blade. She had carefully cleaned its surface of any blood, shuddering as she remembered how closely it had come to ending Daymon's life, and polished it to a black shine until she could see her reflection in it once more. She ran her finger along the sharp edge, satisfied as a red line welled up on her index finger, immediately disappearing as the Vale closed and healed the minor wound.
She'd made the weapon last summer in Skyden, and she hadn't known about it until the following morning. A rash of nightmares involving Simeon Malachi's chase through the mountain ranges her first year had resulted in the Vale using her body while she slept. She'd wake with weapons of all forms and materials scattered across her sheets, including one heavy double-headed axe. This black steel knife had been her favorite. Exactly like the weapon that had gutted Jayme Cross that horrifying night at the waterfall, she'd used it last summer in her knife-throwing target-practice. All the aggression, fear, and anger she'd felt since that night, she'd wrapped around the knife as she'd hurled it, time and again, at the target until it landed dead center every time.
Leaves rustled beneath Daymon's boots as he sat on the fallen tree beside her. Neither had spoken since they'd returned to the others with the bounty hunter in tow. The captive sat across the camp, slumped against a tree. Manders sat next to him, asking him questions. Eryc, Bard, and Kary were out hunting; Daymon hadn't brought back anything, having been interrupted by the incident in the stream.
Awkwardness filled the air between Daymon and Alayne, a new sensation. Since discovering that Daymon was her Guardian, until today, he had become so comfortable, like a favorite worn shoe, every curve fitted exactly to her own shape.
The pain in his voice echoed through Alayne's head: What do you know of what I want? What I've ever wanted? Not once have you bothered to ask. Alayne's eyelids slid shut. He'd contorted his life to suit hers, and she had taken him for granted. He'd always been there—straining every nerve to protect her, his concentration focused on every threat to her well-being. Granted, he'd hated her for years and shown it, but who wouldn't with that kind of responsibility hanging over their heads? His maturity, how he handled the current situation, left her shaken and in awe. How much more would the Vale require of the Guardians before the earth shattered beneath the struggle for its control?
Daymon snapped hapless twigs and tossed them onto the leaf-strewn forest floor. Finally, he blew out his breath. “Look, Layne, I'm—”
“Just forget it, okay?”
“A little hard to do.” Another twig met its end beneath Daymon's restless fingers.
Alayne's cheeks flamed, and she turned her gaze into the forest to hide what she was sure was a brilliant crimson flood across her face. She hadn't rebraided her hair yet, and it swung like a damp honey-colored curtain across her shoulder, shielding her from him. “Well, try.”
After a silent beat, Daymon lightly brushed her hair behind her shoulder, his fingers lingering in the thickness. He started to speak, but fell silent again.
Alayne raised her eyebrows. He steadily avoided her gaze, his attention on his hand that still tangled in her hair. “Layne, I want you to know—I mean, you do know—that I take my Guardian responsibilities seriously.”
Alayne nodded. She was nervous, although she couldn't imagine why. He was Daymon. She was Alayne. She was more comfortable with him than with anyone. She pushed the feeling away, but like static, it clung to her.
An uncharacteristic sheen of sweat beaded his forehead. He swiped it before continuing. “You—I think it's important you know that in the past, there's been a history of—of an... attraction,” he gulped the word, “between a Guardian of the Vale and the possessor of it. It didn't always happen, and sometimes the attraction was stronger than others... but that's the history.”
Alayne tilted her head to study him. She couldn't see where he was going with this.
Daymon flicked his gaze to hers before returning his attention to his hands. “I—I wanted you to know that—even though the Vale has been—blamed, I guess, for creating an—attraction where there may not have been one, I—don't just do that. Think that, I mean. Or rather, be your Guardian—only your Guardian, that is. I—the Vale, it's important, yes, but—besides the Vale—th—there's more to it.”
Alayne stared at him in astonishment. She'd never heard him have so much trouble saying anything before. Like the early rays of the morning sun as it crept over a mountain range, dawning comprehension melted over her, and suddenly, she was terrified.
She had no idea how to handle the feeling that blossomed and unfolded in her mind. All the emotions from the past two years—her infatuation with Jayme, the twisted, strange relationship with Kyle—broke over her, and she was terrified of messing up this thing that she had with Daymon.
It was special; he was special, and if—if... if he said something before she knew how to handle it, she'd be lost, without her center point, her axis. She couldn't; it wasn't fair to either of them.
Her mouth opened, and she hated herself for the words that spewed across her tongue faster than she could stop them.
“I can't wait to tell Jayme all you've done for me. Literally, Daymon, you've brought us back together, and neither of us will forget that. I never got a chance to thank you, but, well—thanks.” She watched, flinching, as he blinked at her, his eyes darkening with a depth of emotion she couldn't name, that she didn't want to name.
He stood in a single, fluid motion, refusing to look down at her. “I'm going out to hunt with the others. Don't wait up.” Tension knotted his voice, and he stalked off into the woods.
Alayne half-raised her hand to call him back, but dropped it into her lap. What was she going to do? Sit at his feet and feed him grapes as they grew old together? Love never worked that way, at least not for her. It wasn't in the cards.
Love. Whatever she felt, it wasn't hers. According to what Daymon had said, all her emotions were experienced through the filter of the Vale.
With sudden, gut-wrenching, animal fury, she hated the Vale and everything it represented. People believed that if they could possess the Vale, they could have power over everything and bring all things and people beneath their control.
But Alayne had possessed the Vale for eighteen years; Daymon's mother had placed it in her side when she was only a year old.
And she knew.
The Vale didn't stand for power; she had weakened beneath its influence. It didn't stand for control; she'd lost control the more she used it.
It didn't complete her; she had lost who she was. She wasn't who she was meant to be: Alayne Catherine Worth, Water-Wielder. She was a pawn in the struggle for the Vale, and she feared that soon, the Vale would win.
Helpless tears pricked her eyes as she watched Daymon go. She didn't understand herself, nor the feelings that roiled around her heart, particularly in respect to a certain Guardian of the Vale. Even if she would open all the secret compartments of her carefully guarded heart to organize them, how could she trust what she found? Anything he felt for her would certainly be tainted by the Vale, and the same was true for her.
Daymon's back was stiff as he swiped aside underbrush with extra vehemence, eventually disappearing into the trees. Alayne dropped her gaze to her reflection in the black steel blade. You, Alayne Worth, are a total coward, she told the miserable girl inside. Impatiently, she shoved the knife into the leather sheath Daymon had painstakingly laced for her.
The fire sparked in the darkness, its orange flames licking the ash-covered logs as the embers glowed dragon-red in the circle of stones. It was their last fire. Manders had declared that they were nearing the Capital, and a fire any closer to the City Centre would bring the masses down on their heads.
“Berries it is, I guess,” Kary had grunted when Manders informed them.
“Just make sure it's not poison berries. We'll be sick for days,” Bard had chuckled. “Hey, Kary, remember when we got hold of some of those, and we had stuff flowing out both—”
“That's probably enough,” Manders had interjected. “I'm not interested in knowing what was flowing out where.”
The fire lit their faces as they huddled around it. The bounty hunter sagged in his bonds against a tree. He had stumbled along with the group for days, saying nothing, refusing to answer any questions.
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