Rise: A Nightshade Novel

by Andrea Cremer

  “I asked a question,” Eira said, not wanting him to know how far off balance he’d put her. She laid her hand over his, thinking to push it away from her, but the moment her fingers touched his warm skin, they curled around his hand as if by instinct.

  “Your future is also mine, Eira.” He wound loose strands of her hair around his wrist like a serpent. “And our bond is already formed, joining our two worlds. I suggest only that there is a further path we might walk together.”

  “Do you want me as a lover?” Eira pulled away from him. “Or do you simply wish for me to bear your child?”

  “Is there a reason I can’t desire both?” Bosque asked. She kept her distance, and he didn’t attempt to draw near again. “And the child will not be mine, but ours.”

  “I—” Eira stared at Bosque. Her skin was still flushed and strangely hot from their brief closeness.

  “Consider what I’ve said.” Bosque retreated to the door. “When I speak of this again, I’ll require your answer.”

  When he’d gone, Eira went to her bed. She lay down and closed her eyes, pondering a question she never had expected to be asked.

  DAY AFTER DAY PASSED, but Ember couldn’t shake Alistair’s visit from her mind; nor could she think of any prior incident in her life that she’d given such scrutiny. Once Alistair was out of the room, Ember had been able to catch her breath and collect her wits, only to find herself utterly bewildered by what had transpired.

  In a matter of minutes, Ember had broken down, been reduced to a pathetic, weeping lump of a girl. All because Alistair had treated her more coldly than she’d ever believed he would, or could. His words had bruised her spirit as well as her heart. Though she didn’t love him in the way he wished, Alistair had been her only friend besides Agnes throughout her childhood. He’d been the only one who hadn’t chastised her for longing to wield a sword and become as accomplished a horseman as any boy.

  Shocked and humiliated by her own naiveté, Ember had to admit that, while she had believed she would have to persuade Alistair that she had returned to Tearmunn for his sake as well as her sister’s, she had never imagined that she would arrive to find him turned against her.

  But what bothered her most of all was the kiss. It was too easy to remember the feeling of Alistair’s mouth on hers and the way she’d responded. Ember recalled the first time Alistair had kissed her, how invasive his ardor had felt. This latest kiss Ember had wanted, but not because she wanted Alistair. In beating her down with his words, dashing her hopes to insinuate herself into his confidence, Alistair had rendered Ember a hollow shell, desperate to be filled with some affirmation. The kiss had served that purpose, and Ember was deeply shamed by her behavior.

  Even so, she couldn’t understand why the kiss had happened. As much as Ember longed for some sign that Alistair still cared for her, she hadn’t brought her lips to his. Alistair had kissed her. If he despised her, as his words and manner implied, why would he want to kiss her like that? Perhaps, believing that Ember had at last returned his affections when his own had cooled, he’d offered the kiss as a final insult. A reminder of what she would now be denied.

  The thought had been like a fist in her belly.

  All Ember could do was wait for Alistair to return, and while she waited, she swore to herself that a scene like the first would never be acted out again.

  But Alistair didn’t return, leaving Ember to wonder if she was truly held captive in Tearmunn by her enemies or if she’d simply imprisoned herself.

  Servants came and relocated Ember to chambers of her own. Bosque Mar did visit them again, informing Agnes and Ember that they were free to move through the manor as they pleased, but if they desired to go elsewhere in the keep, they must be accompanied.

  Over the course of the next week, Ember and Agnes shared days that Agnes greeted with cheer and Ember found monotonous. While Alistair didn’t appear, Lord Mar did visit them several times. On some occasions, he would converse with them for hours while Agnes embroidered and Ember sat with a needle and thread in her hands. Agnes chattered contentedly, showing no sign of being unnerved by the man’s strange eyes or mysterious origin. Though Ember supposed Agnes knew nothing of Bosque’s true nature, she nonetheless abhorred how easily Agnes accepted his invitations to walk the grounds of the keep or visit the scribes’ library. For her own part, Ember found it difficult to speak at all in Bosque’s presence. She made every effort to avoid making contact with his silver eyes. What Lord Mar’s assessment of her was, Ember couldn’t know.

  When eight days had passed with no sign of Alistair, Ember began to wonder if he would ever visit again. Resting her forehead against the window, Ember stared down at the practice field. She watched pairs of the Guard battle each other. Her fingers twitched, wishing for the leather grips of Silence and Sorrow. She’d left her blades in Barrow’s care, fearing that if they arrived with her at Tearmunn, the weapons would be lost forever.

  Ember didn’t turn at the light knock upon her door. “Come in, Agnes.”

  “My lady?” Ember whirled at the man’s voice, the burgundy silk of her gown rustling with quick movement. A Guard stood in the open door. Ember worried at how many of the Guard were now strangers to her. Eira had been recruiting knights, expanding the Guard well beyond its traditional number.

  “Your presence is required in the great hall.” The Guard bid her follow him.

  Ember left her room and descended the stairs at his heels. A flurry of possibilities swirled through her mind. Ember suspected any leniency she had been afforded upon her arrival had run its course and now she would face an interrogation.

  The Guard opened one of the doors to the great hall, letting Ember pass, and closed it behind her. Only a few steps into the room, Ember froze, stunned by the changes that had taken place since her departure. Structurally, the room was the same, but had she not known that this had once been the Tearmunn hall in which she’d begun her initiation to Conatus, Ember might not have recognized it.

  The hall had been transformed into a throne room, Lady Eira’s throne room. The warrior woman sat in a high-backed chair elaborately carved from ebony. When Ember entered, Eira beckoned to her. Ember came forward but stopped again, gasping when she saw what stood directly behind the throne.

  The cedar of Lebanon’s lush green canopy was gone. The sacred tree’s richly textured bark had been stripped away, as if the trunk and branches had been flayed. What stood in the tree’s place was a monstrosity, pale as dry bones and devoid of life. At the base of the tree was a gaping wound. The tree’s heart had been destroyed, leaving an empty carcass behind.

  Gazing at the desecrated tree, Ember saw that what she’d assumed to be the gutted trunk teemed with movement. Shadows revealed edges of sickly green and dull bronze as they pooled and eddied within the dead tree.

  “Welcome, Lady Morrow.”

  Ember gave a small cry, jumping away from Bosque Mar, who had appeared without warning beside her.

  “I’m sorry to have startled you,” Bosque said. His smile gave no sign of real concern for her. Pushing her forward, Bosque said, “You linger near the door when you’ve been invited to join us.”

  Ember walked quickly toward Eira so Bosque’s hands would no longer be able to guide her. His touch made beads of cold sweat form on the back of her neck.

  Ember’s eyes kept returning to the nest of shadows that marred the sacred tree. Even without knowing what the darkness was, she feared it.

  Alistair was standing at Eira’s right hand. Bosque walked past Ember to take up a post on her left. Ember dared to look at Alistair; he met her gaze, but his face gave no indication as to whether he was pleased or displeased to see her. Ember couldn’t stop herself from searching for any sign of emotion in Alistair’s eyes, or any curve of his lips, and where there had been cold, heat immediately raced up her neck and into her cheeks. Staring at the floor, Ember clenched her fists. She didn’t want to think about the kiss. She hadn’t enjoyed it. Had she?

&
nbsp; Keeping her head bowed, Ember didn’t bother to turn when the door to the great hall opened and closed again.

  “Ah, Father Michael. Thank you for coming.” When Eira spoke the priest’s name, Ember was so relieved, her knees threatened to cave. Gratitude filled her when Father Michael stopped at her side, holding her with his kind eyes.

  “Good morning, my child.”

  Alistair had one arm propped on the top of Eira’s throne. He leaned against the ornate chair, almost lounging. “Well, Father Michael, you said you had an urgent matter involving Lady Ember Morrow to discuss?”

  Father Michael nodded. “I received a missive from Lord Mackenzie. He currently plays host to Ember’s father and offers to act as a mediator between Lord Morrow and his elder daughter.”

  “To what purpose?” Eira asked the priest.

  “The tongues of men love to wag over the misfortunes of their fellows,” Father Michael answered. “Mackenzie knows of Agnes’s sorrows and wishes to see her restored to her father’s good will, provided for once again by her own family. Mackenzie has always been a clan leader who values loyalty over grudges. He believes it more honorable for Agnes and her unborn child to be acknowledged by her father than for Lord Morrow to continue to shame his own flesh and blood.”

  Bosque folded his arms across his chest. “And what does Lady Morrow think of this?”

  “Of course I—”

  “Lord Mar speaks of Agnes, not you,” Alistair cut her off.

  For a moment, Ember felt the rush of shame and confusion that had overwhelmed her when she’d last met Alistair, but before she pulled her eyes from him, she caught the way one corner of Alistair’s mouth hooked up in pleasure at the way she reeled from his reproach.

  Ember’s self-doubt dwindled as outrage spread through her veins. Alistair was enjoying making her suffer. Wrapping her arms around her waist and bowing her head, Ember feigned the submission Alistair doubtless wanted to see. In truth, she was holding herself back, longing to pummel his smug face.

  Still addressing Father Michael, Bosque said, “I’ve had the pleasure of spending many hours with Agnes and have found her to be quite happy here. Do you think it worthwhile to even attempt reuniting her with a father who has already shown his disregard for her?”

  Ember listened to Bosque speak of Agnes with rising alarm. He showed far too much interest in Agnes’s welfare, and Ember couldn’t puzzle out why her sister would be of any consequence to him.

  “There is wisdom in your counsel, Lord Mar,” Father Michael answered. “But I am tasked to restore all lost sheep to the flock. Lord Morrow is quick-tempered and stubborn. He may well already regret his mistreatment of Agnes, but men too full of pride need help in righting the wrongs they’ve done. I would lend my aid to this cause and see the girl and her family reconciled.”

  “I won’t send poor Agnes to a man who has abused her so,” Alistair told the priest. “She is in good health and spirits here. If he harangues her again for her condition, it could endanger the lady and her child.”

  Father Michael bowed his head in assent. “Of course you’re right, Lord Hart. That is why I ask to go as envoy to make peace with Lord Morrow. And I would bring Ember with me to speak on behalf of her sister.”

  “You want to take Ember to Mackenzie’s castle?” Eira leaned forward on the throne, like a hawk looking down at prey from its perch.

  “I am little more than a stranger to Lord Morrow,” Father Michael said. “My words alone, I fear, cannot hope to soften his heart.”

  “But—” Ember hesitated; she looked to Father Michael with a frown. The thought of leaving the keep was more than appealing, though Ember feared she would put heels to her mount and run to the coast without looking back.

  “Say your piece, Ember,” Lady Eira ordered.

  Keeping her eyes downcast to appear as timid as she could, Ember said, “I too would see my sister’s honor restored and my family’s wounds healed, but my own relations with my father are hardly ideal.”

  Father Michael touched her arm. When she lifted her eyes to meet his, she found his smile mischievous. “You forget your own transformation, Lady Morrow. Your father raged his way out of Tearmunn because you pledged yourself to the Guard. Now you’ve forsaken that role.”

  Ember nodded, and Father Michael said, “I remember that Lord Mackenzie once hoped you might become the wife of his son, Gavin. Perhaps that match could still be made, pleasing your father and Mackenzie.”

  “No!” Alistair straightened, all the haughtiness draining from his face. With that single word, Ember knew that Alistair had concealed his true feelings for her. Her pulse jumped both with renewed fury and a thrill of resolve. By letting his mask slip in that moment, he affirmed Ember’s belief that she could make her way into his heart and thus be positioned to play a vital role when the moment of Eira’s downfall was at hand.

  Bosque checked Alistair with a stern look. Recovering his composure, Alistair said, “Ember remains under suspicion for colluding with traitors. Do you think marrying her off and releasing her from Tearmunn is wise?”

  “Forgive me, Lord Hart,” Father Michael replied, “but I’d been led to understand that Lady Morrow’s story had been verified by the Circle at Cernon. Are you questioning their assessment?”

  Though she wanted to smirk, Ember kept her face blank. Alistair glared at the priest, but didn’t answer.

  Father Michael took Ember’s hands in his. “Would you consider making peace with your father by offering to marry Mackenzie’s son and fulfilling his former wishes for you?” He squeezed her fingers tight, his gaze intent.

  Ember’s eyes widened at Father Michael’s question. He’d planned for this moment, giving her an opening. Making them wait for her answer, Ember looked at her shoes and bit her lower lip while her fingers tangled together as if from anxiety.

  “I would do this for my sister, if there is no other way.” With those words, she stole a glance at Alistair.

  As she anticipated, his gaze was fixed on her, fearful and hungry. When their eyes met, Alistair’s lips parted, and he leaned forward as if he was about to come for her in that very moment.

  Ember broke their gaze, returning to her timid pose.

  “Lady Eira.” Father Michael released Ember’s hands and faced the throne. “Will you allow me to travel with Ember to Eilean Donan?”

  When Eira hesitated, the priest added, “I’ve been told that a number of both the highland and lowland clan chiefs are assembled at the castle to settle disputes and discuss the succession. They offer a captive audience to which I could present the worthiness of your cause.”

  “I can handle the clans myself,” Eira answered, her eyes narrowed.

  “My lady, I have no doubt you can and will,” Father Michael replied. He gestured to the empty chairs at the Circle’s crescent table. “But you’ve sent the rest of the Circle as envoys into Europe and Asia. I would speak for you closer to home if you would name me as another of your messengers.”

  Eira relaxed into her throne. “Very well, but I doubt you’ll meet with success. Lord Morrow is a boor of a man. You can’t travel without escort. Though I trust our brethren of Cernon, Lady Morrow’s recent trespasses still cast doubt upon her. I wouldn’t have you attacked on the road west and left for dead, Father.”

  Ember had to hold her breath so she wouldn’t laugh at the suggestion that she could ever attack a man as good as Father Michael.

  “I’ll accompany them.” Alistair had reassumed his disdainful attitude, but now that Ember knew his guise, she could look right through it. Still, she quickly averted her eyes and began to fidget as she had when he’d successfully undermined her sensibilities a week before. The more Alistair believed he was manipulating Ember, the better she could mold his actions to her own devices.

  Father Michael took a step forward, lifting his hands imploringly as if begging for reprieve. “Lord Hart, I would not insult you, but consider this: we go to Lord Morrow in hopes of restoring his chil
d. A daughter who has been shamed because of your brother’s actions.”

  “I am not my brother,” Alistair answered through gritted teeth.

  “No one has suggested you are,” Eira interjected. “But Father Michael is right. If you appear at Eilean Donan, all that will come of this is a brawl.”

  Silenced by Eira’s judgment, Alistair went still, but his fists were clenched at his sides.

  “I will serve as escort.” Cian stepped from the shadows beneath the gallery, and Ember swallowed a gasp. Her attention had been held so fully by the transformation of the hall and those who stood at its center that she had never noticed Eira’s sister lurking to the side of their conversation.

  Cian approached Eira’s throne, giving a short bow. “Like Father Michael, I have not yet traveled as your envoy. I am happy to serve you thus now.”

  Ember was surprised when it was Lord Mar who answered Cian. “There is a reason you have not been sent abroad.” His words carried more than the hint of an accusation.

  Offering another stiff bow to Lord Mar, Cian said, “I have not adequately expressed my thanks for your patience regarding the oath.”

  “My patience is not endless,” Bosque answered.

  Eira raised her hand. “Stop this.” She turned to Bosque, and an unspoken agreement seemed to pass between them.

  Addressing her sister, Cian continued, “The clan chiefs know me. And as your sister they will acknowledge my right to speak for you.”

  Holding Cian in a speculative gaze, Eira finally said, “Yes.” She looked to Father Michael. “When do you travel?”

  “If it pleases you, I would travel on the morrow at dawn,” Father Michael answered.

  “Make your arrangements,” Eira told him, then said to Ember, “Speak with your sister of these things. If she wishes to return to her family and Lord Morrow assents to reclaim her, I will send her to him, but I will not force her to return to a family that cast her off unless she chooses to go.”