by J. V. Jones
Melli found herself liking Bailor; he always seemed in good spirits and he treated her kindly when he had no reason to. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“His Grace awaits.”
She had expected his answer, but it still sent a chill up her spine. The next few days would change her life, she was certain of it. She might escape from the duke, murder him, run into a long lost friend of her father’s, or even talk her way to freedom. Anything could happen. And, as Melli fastened the pin on her cloak and went down to meet the duke, she prayed it would be for the best.
• • •
Tarissa was vicious. She fought dirty and she wasn’t above using her feminine charms to her advantage. She and Jack were in the south field, and they were sparring with short blades. This was the first time Jack had ever fought with Tarissa, and he’d made the grave mistake of making allowances because she was a girl. Her calluses were earned with blood. And judging from the wicked slash she’d just delivered to his wrist, she would soon be sporting a few more in his honor.
Tarissa flashed a tremulous, worried smile. Jack, who was on the offensive, felt sorry for her and began to back away. It was a mistake and he was annoyed with himself for not realizing it sooner. Tarissa was in like lightning. A sharp blow to his already injured wrist, and his blade was in the air before he knew it. Tarissa sprang forward like a cat and caught the knife by its handle before it reached the ground.
“Ha!” she cried from the mud. “Ha!”
The sight of her triumphant grin was the most annoying and the most exquisite thing he’d ever seen in his life.
“So Rovas thinks you’re ready, eh?” she said, waving his knife in his face. “Let’s hope there are no women in the garrison. You’re a fool as far as helpless damsels go.”
Jack joined her in the mud. “A fool, am I?” With a quick sweep of his left hand, he disarmed Tarissa of both knives and then quickly pinned her to the ground. “Act helpless now.”
Tarissa pursed her lips as an invitation to a kiss. There was no way he could resist her, and he leaned forward to meet her lips. The next thing he knew she had her hand on his throat. “Don’t think I need to, do I?”
They rolled and kicked in the mud, laughing and pinching and trying to pull each other’s shoes off. This was the first time they had been alone in two days and Jack was relishing every minute of it.
Rovas had left for market an hour back and Magra, busy with spring cleaning, had given her permission for them to take a short walk together. Earlier, as they had walked hand in hand to the practice field, Jack decided he would not mention what had happened between them the other night unless Tarissa brought up the subject first.
Scrambling up from the ground, Tarissa offered her hand. “Come on,” she said. “It’s time we got cleaned up.”
At first Jack thought they would head back to the cottage, but Tarissa skimmed past the building and led him down the back and through the trees. The earth was soft underfoot. The past few days had been warm enough to melt much of the snow and the soil had drunk itself sodden. A slight breeze cut past their faces, but it wasn’t enough to dry the mud on their cheeks.
“Down here,” said Tarissa as she pushed through some bushes and slid down a rocky embankment. Jack followed her. At the bottom of the incline was a stream that broke into a waterfall and then formed a pool of the clearest, brightest water he had ever seen. Snow still lay white in the shadows, but the water’s edge was ringed in green and yellow. Daffodils, golden and glorious, swayed softly on the breeze.
“Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Perfect,” said Jack.
The water played lightly on the rocks, dancing and tinkling and flashing like crystal. Two willows trailed their naked branches into the pool, and somewhere in the undergrowth the first courting calls of spring could be heard.
Tarissa took Jack’s hand and led him to the water’s edge. She slipped off her shoes and dipped a toe in the water. Pulling a face, she quickly withdrew. “It’s colder than it looks.” The light reflecting from the water’s surface sparkled upon her features. There was gold to match the daffodils in the hazel of her eyes. A streak of dirt rested upon the curve of her cheek. Jack pulled off his waistcoat and plunged it into the water. Wringing it out, he raised the damp cloth to her face. Gently, he began to rub the mud from her cheek. Tarissa’s skin was as smooth and warm as brass about a lantern, and the mark came off with the lightest of touches. Next he moved to her hands, spreading out her fingers to reach the soil that hid between. Every so often, he would pause and dip the waistcoat in the water to wash away the dirt. Lastly, he came to her legs. He drew her dress up to her knees and ran the cloth down the length of her calf. Ankles, toes, and arches were cleaned with tender care. He didn’t stop until every last speck of dirt was gone.
Jack looked up to see that Tarissa had tears in her eyes. “What’s the matter?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, Jack.”
“For what?”
She didn’t reply. She reached out to kiss him instead. Jack tasted the salt tears on her lips. What did she have to be sorry about? He didn’t understand. The memory of the other evening flashed through Jack’s mind and he was helpless to stop it. All questions faded into insignificance as she moved her body closer. His hands encircled her waist. The flesh to either side was the most tempting of distractions.
A second later she pulled away. Jack got the distinct impression that he’d just fallen victim to another of Tarissa’s fighting feints.
“What was Melli to you?” she asked, diverting his thoughts a second time.
Jack thought for a moment, and then said, “She was a friend.”
“And she was running away, too?”
How was Tarissa able to guess so much? He hadn’t told her he was running away. He was surprised at the turn the conversation was taking. Why in this beautiful, intimate place did Tarissa choose to talk about the past? “We were both afraid of what would become of us if we stayed in Castle Harvell.” He didn’t want to lie to her, but wasn’t ready to tell the truth, either.
“Was it something to do with what happened to you the other day, when you came in the cottage and collapsed by the fire?” Tarissa took his hand and drew it to her lap. “Jack, I know that you’re different from other people. That much has been obvious ever since you made the shelf fall into the fire. Why can’t you tell me about yourself? Is the truth so damning?”
Jack leaned over the edge of the pool. Two faces were reflected upon the water’s surface. It took a split second to discern which one was his. Under the gentle light of the shaded grove, both faces looked the same. Suddenly he knew he could tell her anything. He felt closer to Tarissa than anyone else. She was generous and kind; he could trust his secrets with her.
“One morning, many months ago now, I burnt the first batch of morning loaves. I was frantic—the master baker has beaten the hides off boys for less. I felt a pain in my head, and the next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground and the loaves were no longer burnt, just browning.” Jack looked up to check on how Tarissa was taking the story. She smiled a soft encouragement. He continued:
“It was sorcery, so I had no choice but to leave the castle. I couldn’t risk being stoned.” There was more to tell, and Tarissa knew it; she left the silence for him to fill.
“For months now I’ve felt as if I were being pulled along. Forced into situations where I had little control, taking steps that I felt weren’t mine to choose. Something was drawing me forward, but I don’t know why, or where I was headed. When Rovas told that there was a chance Halcus might go to war against Bren, something snapped inside of me. I wanted to put down everything and dash away to where the action was. The other day when I got ill, Rovas said something about an empire of blood—” Jack hesitated for a moment; even now the words still haunted him. “Tarissa, when I heard him say it, it was like a blade in my soul. My legs gave way, the world seemed to crowd around me. I thought I was going mad.”
He was shaking now, the memory almost more than he could bare. “I felt as if I was being punished for failing to understand.”
“Failing to understand what?” Tarissa asked.
Jack managed a wiry smile. “I don’t know. Perhaps I was meant to play a part in the war.”
“Was meant to?”
Tarissa was quick, more than a match for him; she’d put her finger on the heart of the matter. “Yes. Was meant to. Something happened to me the other night, I don’t know what, but I feel free now. It’s as if I’ve been living with my hands tied behind my back and suddenly the ties have been cut.”
“That was the night I came to you.” It was not a question.
“I don’t know what I would have done without you,” said Jack. He caught hold of Tarissa’s hand and brought her fingers to his lips. “You saved me that night. Whoever cut the ties left me with an open wound, and you were there to stop the bleeding. I will never forget what you did. Never.”
Tarissa leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “I would do anything for you.”
Hearing those words, Jack understood the meaning of truth and friendship. There was not a doubt in his mind: she would do anything for him. And he would do anything for her. Jack realized he loved the chestnut-haired girl at his side. He brought her close and held her until the willows cast their shadows into the pool.
• • •
The day was drawing to a close by the time they headed back. It was cold now and the breeze was trying hard to be a wind. The lights from the cottage could be seen in the distance, and both of them were reluctant to reach their destination. Tarissa had her arm through his and every couple of steps they would pause for kissing.
“Now that you’re free to do as you please,” she said, “what will you do?”
This was a subject that had been on Jack’s mind constantly for the past two days. There was only one thing he was certain of: Tarissa had to come with him no matter what he did. He had come to the cottage with two skills to his name—baking and scribing—and he would leave with a third: fighting. Somehow among the three he should be able to make a living for Tarissa and himself. The question was, where to start from? He would never go back to the kingdoms, and he now had no desire to see the city of his dreams. So Bren was not an option. Despite his stay here, Halcus was, and always would be, enemy territory. That left Annis and Highwall.
Highwall was a fortress city. Named for the size of its battlements, it was almost a match for its greatest rival, Bren. It was famous for producing the best weapons in the north and the skill of its engineers was legendary. If war was coming, then Highwall would be certain to play a major part.
Annis, on the other hand, was said to be a place of beauty and learning, of craftsmen and artisans and artists. Jack remembered his mother had a bracelet carved from bone, It was intricately crafted and inlaid with silver and quartz. When he asked her about where it came from, she said it was made in Annis. Perhaps he would head there, then. Not because he thought he would learn anything new about his mother—she had bought the bracelet from a tradesman visiting Castle Harvell, or so she said—but because it was obviously a city that valued honest skills and fine workmanship. And, if he couldn’t get a job as a baker or a scribe, then sooner or later his newly acquired ability with a blade would come in useful. Annis might not be famous for soldiering, but its people would fight if they believed themselves threatened.
“I think we will head for Annis,” he said.
“We?”
Jack felt a little abashed. He grinned, probably rather sheepishly. “Well, I was hoping—”
“Hoping, were you?” interrupted Tarissa, stopping in her tracks and putting hands to hips. “Next time perhaps you should ask before you hope.” Her voice was brutal, but her eyes gave her away.
Jack swept her off the ground. She scratched; she kicked; she screamed. “Are you coming with me to Annis?” he asked, still holding her firmly. “Or will I have to throw you down the hill?”
Tarissa’s feet were kicking air. Her face was beet-root red. “We’re not on a hill,” she cried.
“Well, I’ll just have to carry you until I find one, then.” Jack slung her over his shoulder as if she were a sack of grain and began walking back the way they’d come. Tarissa screamed afresh, kneed him in the chest, and pummeled his back with her fists.
Jack began to whistle and broke into a run, or as close as he could manage under the circumstances.
This seemed to have the desired effect, for Tarissa stopped fighting and shouted, “All right, all right, I’ll come with you to Annis. Just put me down!”
Jack held her firm. “Is that a promise?”
“Yes!” Tarissa was on the ground in an instant. A second later she was chasing him back toward the cottage.
In his whole life, Jack could not remember ever being so happy. He had been worried in case Tarissa hadn’t wanted to come with him; after all, the only life she knew was here in Halcus. Rovas was many things: a liar, a user, and a bully, but he provided well for his family, and Tarissa would be giving up a life of comfort and stability. She was taking a risk coming with him. There was no telling what Rovas might do when he found out that she and her mother were gone. He considered them his property, and he wouldn’t take kindly to them taking off without his permission.
Jack kissed Tarissa lightly on the cheek. He would not let her down.
There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her. Jack’s mind raced ahead of his legs. He would work day and night. Surely someone would employ him as a baker. In the evenings he could scribe by candlelight. He no longer felt worried about people discovering he wasn’t normal: sorcery seemed a thing of the past. If anything happened again, he felt confident he could control it. As long as he had Tarissa, he could do anything.
There would be problems, though. He had no letters of introduction, no proof of his trade. Money would be very tight and they might have to live roughly for a while. And then there was Magra. She had to come with them; Tarissa would have it no other way. They were mother and daughter, and Jack understood the value of family. There would be three in the party for Annis.
Jack knew it was a great responsibility that he was taking on, but he felt as if he needed to do it, not only for Tarissa, but for himself. Two nights back something had happened; it was almost as if a part of him had been taken away. He felt lighter and more free than he had in months, yet the sensation of weightlessness, of having no ties, no responsibility and no fate, left him with a feeling akin to hunger. There had to be a meaning to his life. He didn’t want to drift aimlessly with no purpose or commitments, with nothing to worry about but feeding and clothing himself. His back was built to bear more.
Tarissa and Magra would be his purpose. He would spend all his waking hours working to give them everything they needed. It would be a welcome burden.
After a minute or so of being chased, Jack decided to let himself be caught. Tarissa ran toward him, giggling and cursing and out of breath. “So I’m forced to go with you to Annis?”
“You wouldn’t want to break your promise.”
“I wouldn’t want to be without you.” She raised her head and kissed him softly. “I love you, Jack,” she said, taking his hand and leading him back toward the cottage.
Eighteen
Rovas was waiting for them. A bench lay upturned on the floor and Magra was busy mopping up what looked to be the remains of a bowl of stew. Jack was instantly on guard.
“Where have you been?” demanded Rovas, his voice dangerously low.
“I have already told you that,” said Magra, looking up from the floor and speaking very precisely. “I sent Jack to look for Tarissa. I was worried about her. She had been out on her own too long.”
Magra was giving them an excuse. Judging from the shaking of her hands and the disorderly state of the cottage, she had just been subject to one of Rovas’ temper tantrums. The beginning of a matching anger began to rise within Jack. Magra and Tarissa were his fa
mily now and he wouldn’t stand for anyone upsetting them.
Jack moved forward and came to stand directly opposite Rovas. Although smaller than him, the smuggler was twice as wide. He was barely two feet away and his breath reeked of ale. “Well, we’re back now,” said Jack, turning his voice to a threat. “So there’s no need for you to worry.”
The two men looked at each other. Rovas’ eyes were filled with loathing. Jack didn’t want to think about the reason why the man hated him so much. Such thoughts were best kept in the dark. He was aware of a buildup of tension within his head and a burning sensation in his throat. Sorcery or fear—it was hard to tell. Whatever it was, he worked to keep it under control. Afraid that his bile might carry a sting more deadly than acid, Jack made a determined effort to stop his stomach from contracting. He wanted to deal with Rovas alone. With muscle, not sorcery as his weapon.
Rovas backed away.
Sighs of relief could be heard from Tarissa and Magra. Part of Jack wanted to sigh along with them, but he stood firm, never once taking his eyes off the smuggler. He was suspicious: Rovas was not a man to back down lightly.
“Well, Jack,” he said. “It’s obvious you’re ready to avenge your sweetheart’s death. Aggression like that will come in useful when it comes to dealing with Captain Vanly.”
“He’s the man who murdered Melli?” Jack was tense. He had managed to control the swell of sorcery, but at what cost? His heart was beating wildly and he was aware of a warm trickle of blood running from his nose.
“Murdered and raped her, then cut off her head.” Rovas’ lip curled to a sneer. A sharp intake of breath sounded from Tarissa.
The words were a finely aimed barb. Jack covered the space between him and the smuggler, his hands grabbing for the man’s throat. Rovas was ready. A mighty punch sent his head reeling. The two men fell on the floor. Pots and pans scattered about them. Jack hit his jaw on the side of the table and the smuggler landed on top of him. Tarissa was screaming. Sorcery was building. Rovas had got hold of a knife.