Rise: A Nightshade Novel

by Andrea Cremer

  “As does yours,” Tamur answered. “And your sister’s.”

  Kurjii nodded grimly. “We’re deeply grieved that she has been seduced by this nether creature, Bosque Mar.”

  “He grows bolder by the day,” Cian replied. “The way he looks at my sister terrifies me. She believes he answers her commands, but he thinks only to rule her.”

  “From what we’ve been able to discover of Bosque Mar, your suspicions are true,” Rebekah told her.

  Father Michael clasped his hands together prayerfully. “God be praised. You have found something, then?”

  Rebekah smiled at the priest, but it wasn’t a mirthful expression. “We have, but I fear we don’t bring good tidings.”

  “But you have found a way to defeat him?” Cian asked the cleric.

  “Possibly,” Rebekah answered. “But only by cobbling together lore from some of the most ancient texts in our archives. There is no way to be certain it will conquer him.”

  “How is it that you’ve come here?” Ember asked.

  Kurjii and Tamur exchanged a glance, and Cian said, “Ember is one of the Guard, forced to hide her true allegiance for our purpose. You may speak freely.”

  With a curt nod, Tamur said, “Hiding is what many are forced to do now. Those who openly hold to the true mission of Conatus have been labeled traitors. They rot in our dungeons. Or worse.”

  “Worse?” Ember asked.

  “Lady Eira’s clerics-turned-conjurers demand allegiance while shadow beasts hover at their side,” Kurjii said, mouth turned down in disgust. “Any who resist or refuse to swear their fealty to her rule of our order are handed to the wraiths. Most who witness the torment abandon their convictions in order to avoid a similar fate.”

  Tamur sighed. “Upon their first arrival, Eira’s emissaries implied the oath taking would be voluntary, but now they have no qualms about forcing an immediate choice. The orders came from Eira that any who question or delay joining with her are enemies. She dismantles a resistance before it can be gathered.”

  “Then what are you?” Ember asked Tamur. “If not resistance?”

  “The last chance.” Rebekah answered Ember, though her gaze met Father Michael’s. “Before Conatus is lost.”

  A stirring of the crowd near the hall entrance turned Ember’s attention to the door. The gathered warriors quieted, stepping back as Lord Mackenzie entered the room with Ember’s father at his side.

  But Ember’s eyes fixed upon the trio that followed the two Scottish lords.

  Tamur leaned forward, murmuring into her ear, “You asked how it was that we came here, Lady Morrow. It was due to the efforts of your former companions.”

  Lukasz, Kael, and Barrow halted just inside the door. Lord Mackenzie lifted his hands, commanding the attention of all assembled.

  Paying the clan chief no mind, Ember was already pushing her way past burly warriors, elbowing them roughly to get through. As men grunted when she jostled and shoved them, Ember’s advance gained notice.

  Barrow saw her trying to reach him. His face paled, and he ran forward. Ember broke through the crowd and then she was in Barrow’s arms. With the castle’s lord, her father, and a hundredsome of Scotland’s battle-hardened men watching, Ember drew Barrow’s face to hers. Barrow held her gaze for a moment before he kissed her. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she breathed the scent of his skin.

  They only parted when Kael said loudly, “And I thought we’d come here to fight.”

  His words didn’t make Ember blush, and while she forced herself to step out of the embrace, she took Barrow’s hand, holding it tight, needing to feel that he was here, alive, safe.

  “Well, then.” Lord Mackenzie nodded at Barrow. “At least not all of the day’s talk will be of sorrow.”

  Ember risked looking at her father. To her surprise, he hadn’t transformed into a red-faced troll, but instead appeared to be on the verge of laughter. When he winked at Ember, she gasped.

  Following her gaze, Barrow whispered, “I’ve been speaking with your father and am happy to report I’m out of his ill favor, as are you.”

  Ember glanced up at him, wondering exactly what Barrow had told her father.

  “Would you like to kiss the lass again, Lord Hess?” Lord Mackenzie called to Barrow with a guffaw. “Or can we get to the business of war?”

  Hearty laughter filled the room, and Barrow said, “I will always want to kiss the lady Morrow, but out of respect to your lordship, I will wait… for a while.”

  At that, Ember did blush, and the warriors roared, snickering and slapping one another on the back. Ember ducked her head, but Barrow slid his arm around her waist, holding her close.

  “Rebekah!” Lord Mackenzie stretched his hand out, and the cleric came to join him. Addressing the crowd, Mackenzie said, “Though I am proud to call myself chief of my clan, I am not such a fool as to believe myself master of spirits and devils. Whenever those foul things that are not men, yet prey upon them, have troubled those under my protection, I have called upon Conatus for aid. Now the very order that has kept the darkest of things from infesting our lands falls under the sway of nefarious forces.”

  Lord Mackenzie’s arm swept the room. He paused to point at Father Michael, Cian, the Mamluk knights, Ember and Barrow, and lastly, Kael and Lukasz.

  “A few brave souls would resist this rising dark that threatens not only their order but the future of all men. I have called you to this keep asking that your brawn and steel join in their fight.”

  His face darkening, the clan chief continued, “You may notice that not all of your clan brethren are here. Some have already pledged their hearts to Lady Eira and her devilish hordes. But I know each of you, know that your clans have been steadfast in the old ways. This new, rising tide will drown us all. Those who welcome it are fools.”

  A somber, but affirming titter passed through the crowd and Mackenzie nodded, pleased.

  The Scottish lord pushed warriors aside until he stood next to Rebekah. Resting his hand on her shoulder, the clan chief said, “This woman brings us hope. Words drawn from the oldest of faiths and the chance to beat back wickedness that would rule us.”

  Bowing to Rebekah, Mackenzie stepped back, and the cleric lifted her voice.

  “They surround man on all sides as the earth does the roots of the vine; a thousand are on his left, and ten thousand on his right side.”

  Pausing, Rebekah let her audience absorb the words, then said, “So our sacred texts speak of demons.”

  Warriors shifted nervously, glancing around the room as if the hordes Rebekah spoke of might materialize at any moment.

  “We make the mistake of presuming that the worlds invisible to us can be nothing like this earth,” Rebekah told them. “But through our study, we know that those strange worlds touching ours should be seen as a darker reflection of our own. We know well how kings and princes strive for power. When has there been a time without war in the land?”

  Murmurs and nods answered her.

  “So it is for those creatures that inhabit the nether realm,” Rebekah said. “Like ours, their lives are ordered. Some beasts live like peasants, others make war in the way of knights. And like us, they serve at the pleasure of kings.”

  Rebekah bowed her head, as if overcome by great sadness. “One of our sisters has fallen under the sway of such a creature: a king of the nether who seeks to win the wars of his world by infiltrating ours. Lady Eira serves a creature who names himself Lord Bosque Mar. It is he whom we must defeat.”

  A grizzled warrior with two axes strapped across his back called out, “I do not like what Lady Eira has done, but we have all heard the tales of the shadow army she can summon. This creature she serves imbues her with power. All say that she is become invincible.”

  “No weapon can harm her wraiths!” another warrior shouted. “If we go to war against Eira, we offer ourselves up for slaughter.”

  Uneasy whispers and sullen expressions followed the objections.
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  Mackenzie motioned for silence. “Our swords may not kill these creatures, but Rebekah offers a way by which we may drive them back whence they came.”

  “How?” The question was shouted from somewhere in the crowd.

  “The oldest of magics, drawn from the earth herself,” Rebekah replied. “Any who ally themselves with Eira are tainted. The power upon which they draw is a disease to this world, and the earth would see the infection purged. Bosque Mar gained purchase of this world by opening a gate to the nether—a rift torn in the fabric of creation. We must heal the wound and thereby rid ourselves of this plague.”

  “We are not magicians,” the ax-bearing warrior objected.

  Mackenzie replied to him, “Nor need we be. But the gate of which Rebekah speaks lies within Tearmunn.”

  “Do you suggest we lay siege to Tearmunn?” the warrior shot back. “Eira will summon her wraiths to destroy us before we reach the keep’s walls.”

  Nodding gravely, Mackenzie answered, “Your words are true. The attack must be a surprise, or we are defeated before the battle begins.”

  The room grew quiet. Ember looked at the stern but fearful faces of the assembled warriors and set her jaw, knowing what she had to do.

  Slipping away from Barrow, Ember took a few steps toward the clan chief. “If I may, Lord Mackenzie.”

  “Lady Morrow?” Mackenzie’s bushy eyebrows went up in surprise.

  Ember’s heart was slamming against her ribs. She clenched her fists, wishing she could have spoken privately with Barrow before this moment.

  “I believe I can offer a way for the clansmen to enter Tearmunn without raising suspicion.”

  Mackenzie nodded, waiting for her to continue.

  “Lord Edmund Morrow will summon them to the keep”—Ember looked at her father—“to attend his daughter’s wedding.”

  “Good God, lass,” her father said, thunderstruck. “How did you find a husband for Agnes?”

  Ember shook her head. “Not Agnes. I speak of my own wedding.”

  Mackenzie and her father exchanged a doubtful glance. Behind her, Barrow coughed. When she turned, he was smiling at her.

  “I’m pleased you’re eager to marry me, Lady Morrow, but I don’t think I’d be welcome at Tearmunn. Even as your bridegroom.”

  “No.” Ember couldn’t meet his gaze. “I do not speak of a marriage to you, Lord Hess.”

  Facing Mackenzie and her father again, Ember said, “Last night I agreed to become the wife of Lord Alistair Hart.”

  EMBER WAS GLAD HER back was turned to Barrow. She couldn’t bear seeing his face.

  “Alistair?” Her father’s face gained a mottled purple hue. “You think I would give my younger daughter to the worthless brother of the cur who shamed my elder daughter by putting a bastard in her belly?”

  “Of course not.” Ember was glad to shout, wanting Barrow to hear what she was about to say. “I do not wish to marry Alistair, only to insinuate myself to his trust. He has long admired me. By assenting to become his wife, I gain freedom from suspicion about my reasons for returning to Tearmunn.”

  Edmund Morrow’s face returned to a normal color, but he looked to Mackenzie for guidance.

  The clan chief scratched at his beard while he thought. “A wedding. You are a nobleman, Edmund. You do have the right to call the clans to honor your daughter at a marriage feast.”

  “I would give my support to this strategy.” It was Lukasz who spoke. The commander came to Ember’s side. “The festive air of a wedding will provide ample distraction so that we can infiltrate the keep.”

  “Are we only to be wedding guests, then?” The ever-doubtful warrior laughed. “Shall I leave my axes at home?”

  Rebekah answered him coolly. “I fear not, my lord. The spellwork required to close the rift takes time. Your weapons will be needed to draw Eira’s forces away from a second, stealth party that will protect me while I perform the necessary rites.”

  “Make no mistake,” Mackenzie added, “even with the advantage of surprise, the fight will be hard, our losses many.”

  Lukasz said to the man so full of objections, “Consider the choices. Risk your life now or wait for the wraiths to prey upon your families.” The commander raised his voice. “I bear witness to the slaughter of Dorusduain! An entire village emptied of men, women, and children. Not a single soul was spared—all to satisfy the cravings of those beasts ruled by Bosque Mar and welcomed into this world by Lady Eira.”

  “Dorusduain!” A returning shout filled the room.

  “Dorusduain! Dorusduain!” A chorus of booming voices echoed through the hall.

  Mackenzie nodded his approval, letting the battle cries go on for some minutes before he once again lifted his arms to quiet the warriors.

  “Your courage speaks of your honor!” Mackenzie let his gaze sweep the room. “Return to your clans and await news of Lady Morrow’s wedding. When the date is set, I will send word of how the attack will proceed. Now, rest here and enjoy my hospitality. Food and drink will fill these tables within the hour.”

  A cheer went up from the crowd. As the mood of the hall transformed from tense to jovial, Ember returned to Barrow. His face was unreadable as she approached.

  “I had no time to explain,” Ember said. “Or to tell you what’s transpired. I’m so sorry.”

  Barrow’s smile was thin. “You shouldn’t apologize, though I cannot feign happiness at this news.”

  “Nor does it bring me joy,” Ember replied. “I do not love Alistair, though it pains me to deceive him in this way. Once he was my dearest friend, but he has been twisted by Eira and Bosque.”

  “It is a petty thing, but I would be more at ease if you despised Lord Hart.” Barrow drew a long breath.

  “I cannot hate Alistair,” Ember said. “But my heart is yours alone.”

  Though sadness still touched his eyes, Barrow bent to kiss her.

  “Betrothed to one man, yet kissing another?” Edmund Morrow broke into the tender moment. “Conatus has truly corrupted my younger daughter.”

  Ember turned a cold gaze on her father. Once she would have feared his judgment, but no longer.

  Raising his brow at her withering glare, Edmund laughed.

  “I tease you, Ember, and yet you throw daggers at me with your eyes.”

  “My memories of your humor must be faulty,” Ember answered. “For I can only recall your reprimands.”

  “Ah, lass, you are hard on your father.” Edmund sighed. “But I suppose I have earned your wrath.”

  Ember frowned at him. “Your good spirits are strange to me, Father. At our last meeting you condemned my decision to join the Conatus Guard.”

  “I still would see you married rather than charging into battle,” her father replied. “But the grief of your mother at losing both her daughters in such quick succession has softened the gristle of my heart.”

  “You would restore Agnes to your home, then?” Ember asked. She had no interest in making peace with her father unless he planned to make amends with her sister.

  “Aye,” Edmund said, though he looked as if he’d swallowed something terribly sour. “I can’t have joy in your sister’s condition, but I know her to be a sweet, loving girl. That damnable Henry is to blame for her misfortune.”

  “You’ve treated her horribly,” Ember said, unwilling to forgive him too easily. “And she suffered long for it.”

  “Will you torture me by harping on my poor judgments, Ember?” her father asked.

  “I may,” Ember answered, meaning it.

  “You’re a hard lass.”

  Ember nodded in answer. With a groan, Edmund looked to Barrow. “My daughter is swayed by you, Lord Hess. Will you speak on my behalf?”

  Barrow smiled at him. “I’ve learned to trust in Ember’s choices. I cannot spare you her wrath for fear of earning it myself.”

  “Very well.” Edmund shrugged. “I will do my penance.”

  Lord Mackenzie joined them, saying, “I bid
you come with me to my quarters. There are matters to be discussed away from this throng.”

  Following the clan chief from the hall, they were met by Lukasz, Kael, Father Michael, Cian, and the visitors from Krak des Chevaliers. Mackenzie led their small party through the castle, the din of the clansmen’s feast fading to a murmur. When they were ensconced in Mackenzie’s private quarters, the clan chief collapsed into a chair. His weary gaze rolled over to Cian.

  “You have the clans, my lady.”

  “And you have our gratitude,” Cian answered with a short bow.

  “The wedding should take place as quickly as possible,” Mackenzie said, looking at Ember. “Will your betrothed assent to that?”

  Ember nodded, dread snaking through her belly. “I believe he will.”

  “We should consider that I have no love lost for those who rule Tearmunn,” Edmund interjected. “If I seem too amenable to this arrangement, it could draw suspicion.”

  “Demand the amount that would have been your daughters’ dowries instead be paid to you,” Father Michael suggested. “Alistair has no fortune, but Eira and Bosque will see to it that his happiness is ensured. They will agree to your terms, and you will still appear to object to the marriage, but for your own greed.”

  “That sounds like me.” Edmund smirked. “Doesn’t it, Ember?”

  “Yes,” Ember answered truthfully. She’d remained skeptical of her father’s change of heart toward herself and Agnes, and as she watched him, she realized there had been little change at all. What Edmund Morrow took joy in was vengeance. Thwarting Eira’s plans constituted retribution for taking his younger daughter from his home and offering his elder daughter a place of comfort and honor when he’d denied her the same.

  Wishing she could spit bile into her father’s face, Ember instead kept silent. No matter his motivations, her father’s cooperation was vital to their success. Until she could be rid of him again, she would have to pretend she believed her family fully reconciled.

  “It’s settled, then.” Edmund beamed at her. “I’ll send for your mother to join me at Eilean Donan. We will accompany Mackenzie on the day of the wedding.”