Dain rose and returned to Bolin's side. As their eyes met, Bolin sent out a silent wave of gratitude for Dain's tact and foresight. He couldn't have guaranteed he wouldn't have forcibly removed Maurar from Nialyne's chair had the elder claimed it as his own. That day would come soon enough, but Bolin didn't care to witness it.
As Maurar finally took his seat, Bolin stepped forward and addressed the elders. He found his gaze locked on the flower Dain had brought as he relayed the events leading up to Nialyne's death. He distanced himself from the telling of it, as though watching from the wings as someone else delivered the dispassionate account. Even as he told of holding Nialyne in his arms as she gifted him the power she had held, he did so without emotion. If he allowed even a breath of grief to edge past the wall he'd constructed, it would have shattered.
"And yet you hold yourself blameless?" Maurar's quiet question slid into the silence following Bolin's accounting.
He shifted his gaze to the elder, brow furrowed, not sure he'd heard clearly. "Did I say as much, Danya?"
Blyth opened her mouth to speak, and Bolin raised a hand to stop her.
"This is not a trial," Dain said from behind him. "Danya Nialyne chose her path of her own volition, full well knowing what risks she may encounter."
"She chose her path for me." Bolin kept his eyes on Maurar. "No one here is fool enough to believe otherwise. I would have gladly gone to the Halls in her stead. I would do so now, without hesitation, if it meant returning her to your arms. Do you honestly think I will not bear the burden of her sacrifice for the rest of my days?"
"Fine words and empty platitudes." Maurar's face wrinkled in distaste. "You and death are bedmates. It follows at your heels like an obedient dog. Nialyne wasted her life on you. How many times did I try to tell her you would drag her to her ruin? You should have remained gone the first time you left. You stole her from me. From all of us."
Bolin backed as Dain stepped suddenly before him, his eyes dark, his power rising around him. "Do not."
Bolin only then realized the Greensward's wards were screaming in defiance. He glanced down, surprised to see the witch's oily magic dripping from his fingers.
Do it" the voice whispered. The world won't mourn one less pompous ass. He desires to be in his beloved's arms once again? Then send him to the Halls.
"Lord General, leave. Now."
Bolin squeezed his eyes shut, his pulse hammering.
"Call the guard," Maurar said. "I want him in chains."
"Leave." The Emperor signaled two of his guard and turned Bolin by the arm. "See the Lord General to his room."
Bolin went without further argument, his steps wooden. He would have killed Maurar if Dain hadn't stopped him. What in the Goddess's name was wrong with him? He had failed Nialyne, brought her shame and dishonor, had brought Dain shame and dishonor.
"Remain here," he told the guards when they reached his rooms. "No one but the Emperor is allowed entry."
Bolin stood in the quiet of his room, heart threatening to shatter his chest, palms slick with sweat, a tremor working its way through him. He raised his left hand and stared at his now empty palm, then clenched his fist tightly enough to drive his fingernails into his flesh. Beyond the horror of what he would have done, rose an even greater one. Not only was he unaware of drawing on the witch's magic, he had done so within the Greensward.
The tremor became too much to fight, and Bolin leaned back against the door. He slid to the floor when his legs refused to hold him any longer. Burying his head in his arms, Bolin gave in to the shame and horror buffeting him in equal measure.
***
The ceiling came into view first. Bolin stared at it, trying to recall when and how he'd gotten into bed. Part of the answer came when he rolled his head on the pillow and found Dain standing by the window, hands clasped behind his back, his robes exchanged for only slightly less formal attire. He flicked a look Bolin's direction, then returned his gaze to the scene beyond the window. A light breeze stirred his hair and drew Bolin's attention to the fact the Emperor had not removed his coronet. Not a good sign.
"I have done my best to placate the elders," Dain said. "In your defense, Maurar was just as prepared to kill you, as you were to kill him. He even went so far as to threaten me after you left. I stopped myself short of claiming his head. I do not believe, however, he will make that error ever again. Both of you are grieving, and neither of you holds any love for the other. That, in no way, excuses your behavior. It merely gives a partial explanation for the inconceivable depths of your lapse in judgement."
Bolin propped himself up on his elbows. His skull ached, but the steady throbbing he felt didn't come from any physical injury.
"Those are my wards you feel," Dain said to Bolin's unspoken question. "At the moment, they surround both you and Maurar. I am still attempting to work out what to do with the pair of you."
Bolin swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. "You may want to have me executed."
"Danya Maurar as well, then?" Dain shook his head, still looking out the window. "No. I think not."
"Dain." Bolin waited for the Emperor to face him. "That wasn't a flippant request. I wasn't even aware of drawing on the witch's magic. To be honest, most of the time I can't even find it, which is disturbing enough. I like to believe I would have caught myself before actually turning it on Maurar, but I can't seem to say that with any amount of conviction. What I do know, is I should not have been able to bring it forth within the Greensward."
"So, you are willing to concede the Goddess and Thadeus are correct in their assessment?"
Bolin wanted to deny it, but the words jammed behind his teeth.
"Then we need to get you back to Nisair as quickly as possible. The Goddess gave you no indication what Darkness plans?"
"Beyond using me? No. We can assume it hopes to destroy her. To destroy Light and take its place. To do so will mean eliminating all other possible threats."
"Such as the Imperial bloodline."
"Aye. The mages, as well. Even the Greensward. Any source of power great enough to stand against it."
Bolin dropped his head into his hands, not even lifting it when a gentle knock on the door heralded Blyth's appearance. She carried a tray with a large mug and a pitcher of steaming water. She said nothing as she mixed something in the mug and then came to stand before Bolin. He never saw her hand move when he looked up, and actually heard the slap before the sting of it across his cheek registered with enough force to make his ears ring.
She shoved the mug at him. "Now, drink this."
Bolin was too stunned not to comply. He started to speak, but Blyth stopped him.
"Say nothing. Not one word." Blyth lowered herself into a chair, looking far older than her years. "I could have set things right. Could have overturned Maurar's censure of you, but the two of you couldn't set aside your differences for one day. Not one single day. Not even in reverence of a better woman than you will ever know the likes of again. Do the pair of you think you are the only ones grieving Nialyne's loss? It has cut across this land like a jagged knife. She was much beloved as, believe it or not, are you."
Bolin opened his mouth, closing it again when Blyth's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"I will hear nothing you have to say. Not now. But you will hear all I have to say, and you will heed it. We will lay Nialyne to rest tonight, beneath the blanket of stars and the quiet of the deep night. I cannot forbid you to be there. Even if I could, it would break my heart to do so. But I warn you, Bolin, if you do one thing to further insult her memory, you will answer to me. After which, I will petition the Emperor to remove your head. Nialyne named you her son. As such, it falls to you to offer her to the Goddess's embrace. Leave your pride and arrogance behind for this one night. There is no room for it here."
Bolin bowed his head, as much in submission as shame.
Blyth let out a long sigh. "As hard as it is to admit, I believe Nialyne would have actually expected suc
h behavior from the two of you. She was forever threatening to lock you and Maurar in a room and let you have at each other. Her funeral, however, is not the place. Should you wish accommodations set up for such an event on the morrow, do let me know, I'll see wagers are laid. Maurar loved Nialyne, Bolin. Deeply. And she him. But you had her heart and her devotion, and he could never compete with that. Worse, I think, you took it for granted."
Bolin's head snapped up. "I never--"
"You did, as all children take their mother's love, but to Maurar that was an unforgiveable insult because he cherished Nialyne."
"And I did not?"
"Of course you did. No one doubts that." Blyth pushed out of the chair and this time when she put her hand against Bolin's cheek it was with tenderness. "Were we able to go back in time, knowing what was to come, Nialyne would have made the same choice. And it was just that, Bolin. Her choice. Do not belittle it with anger. She is with you here." Her hand lowered to the center of Bolin's chest, and Nialyne's power pulsed warmly beneath her touch. "Another thing you have, that Maurar does not."
She bent to kiss Bolin's forehead before turning to Dain. "Now, Your Majesty, in the matter of Danya Maurar threatening your life, I have been charged with requesting your leniency in view of the level of his grief."
"Granted," Dain said. "However, you will relay to Danya Maurar, Galysian Elder, the same warning you have provided the Steward of Galys Auld."
"So I shall."
Blyth bowed to them both and left, taking her tray and the pitcher with her. Bolin downed the rest of the drink she'd prepared in one scalding swallow. It brought more tears to his eyes, hiding the ones already there.
"I think," Dain said, after Blyth left, "if I did not already have a wife, I would pledge to that woman. You and I will need to talk further. Remember who and what you are, Bolin. At the moment, you might want to lie down again. If I'm not mistaken, Danya Blyth drugged your tea."
CHAPTER THIRTY
Donovan reined in just outside the open gate to High House, not because of the two overly large hounds standing just on the other side, fangs bared and hackles raised. He could have killed them with a word. Or controlled them just as easily. For now, however, he needed to resist antagonizing his daughter. He needed to win her over, to persuade her that, in this instance, they would need to put their differences aside.
He edged his horse closer, and reached out to ring the large, brass bell hanging from the pillar beside the arch. The hounds took another step forward, their demeanor not altering. Long moments later, just as Donovan would have reached out to ring the bell a second time, the door to the keep swung open. A boy of perhaps eight or nine, stepped onto the stoop, an apple in his hand. He took a bite as he surveyed the hounds and then Donovan. Drawing the back of his hand across his mouth, he twisted to call over his shoulder.
Donovan's horse shifted nervously beneath him, eyes wide and nostrils flaring as it watched the hounds. A man emerged beside the boy, lean, clean shaven, with short-cropped hair, and an unmistakable air of power. He laid a hand on the boy's shoulder and said something that sent the lad scurrying back inside, then moved unhurriedly down the steps and across the yard. The hounds sat when he stopped between them. He stood with feet apart, hands resting casually on the weapons at his waist, head cocked. Light eyes narrowed as they swept over Donovan.
"What's your business here?" he asked in a voice devoid of actual warmth.
"Are you the lord of High House?"
The man's mouth twisted into a smirk. "Naught but the hired help."
Donovan lifted a brow. "I very much doubt that. Still, I would speak to the lord."
"You'll speak to me or no one." Though he kept his tone pleasant, a current of menace ran beneath it. "I've asked your business here. I won't ask as politely a second time."
"I am looking for my daughter," Donovan said. The man's expression did not change, though Donovan sensed a shift in his attitude. Not for the better. "I have reason to believe she is here, and would like to speak with her."
"Ah, Lord Donovan is it?" The man tapped a finger against his chin, his face creasing in feigned contemplation. "Last I heard, you were wanted on charges of treason against the empire. Bold move, coming here so openly."
"Do you intend to arrest me in the Emperor's name?"
"I'd sooner execute you myself." He said it in an off-hand manner, his expression mild, which somehow made the threat all the more unsettling. Or would have, if Donovan was one to be affected by such intimidations. "You'll wait where you are. You move, toy with the hounds, or otherwise cross that threshold, and I'll know of it."
Donovan smiled and tipped his head in acquiescence. He had not been able to get a feel for exactly what kind, or how much, power the man possessed. Not that he tried overly hard. He resisted that urge, as well as the urge to simply enter High House using whatever force necessary. That would not serve his purpose at the moment.
And that purpose walked out of High House with her chin up and her spine erect. Though her clothing would have marked her as a servant, she carried herself with an air of self-possession Donovan had known existed, but never before witnessed. The man accompanied her. His positioning, and the subtle change in his demeanor, told Donovan he served as the girl's--no, the woman's--guard.
As before, they came only as far as the hounds.
Donovan smiled. "Hello, Daughter."
Her brow furrowed, and she asked, "What are you doing here?" Though her manner suggested she already suspected the answer.
"As blunt as ever, I see. May I come inside, or shall we discuss the matters between us out here?"
"That depends on what you've come to discuss."
"Your beloved general and his tenuous future."
She may have grown in confidence and poise, but she had gotten no better at concealing her emotions. That became clear as a flicker of fear chased across her face, followed by a rolling of her lips and tiny shake of her head as she attempted to present a braver countenance.
The miniscule tilting of her guard's chin interested Donovan far more. The man leaned down to whisper in Ciara's ear, never taking his eyes from Donovan. She nodded and clasped her hands in front of her, once more assuming the regal bearing of a Lady of the Empire.
"All right," she said. "We'll talk inside."
"Your hospitality is most gracious."
Donovan nudged his horse forward but it balked when the hounds stood. The guard crossed the distance between them and took the bit to lead the animal toward the house. The hounds parted, falling in behind, then trotting up to lay on the front stoop as Donovan dismounted. When Donovan made to follow Ciara into the keep, the man stepped in front of him with the smooth, casual grace of an efficient killer.
"A word of warning, my lord." The words were soft, and had Donovan been a lesser man the nuance present in their tone would have given him pause. "Give me the slightest provocation, and it will be my utmost pleasure to kill you."
He relayed the threat as though he were doing nothing more than telling Donovan to watch his step going in. No ego, no bravado, not a hint of doubt. Donovan allowed a smile to play across his lips. "It is quite possible the lady would disallow that."
The man chuckled, an unnerving sound when coupled with the coldness in his eyes. "I won't be asking her permission."
"Do you honestly think you can best me?"
"Care to find out?" He stepped back with a mock bow, and gestured Donovan on ahead of him.
The boy who first came to the door, sat near the bottom of a flight of steps against the back wall. He stared brazenly at Donovan, curiosity radiating from him.
"Be about your chores, Engel," the man said.
The boy frowned, getting reluctantly to his feet. "But, Ferris --"
"An gachun glaoch athier na do?"
Cearnease, if Donovan was not mistaken. Something about the boy's father. The child's eyes widened and he shook his head, casting one last curious look Donovan's way before leaving his pe
rch to skip toward a door at the rear of the room.
Ciara had entered a room opposite the stairs that turned out to be what passed for a study in the utilitarian keep. A huge desk dominated the far side of the room, with sparsely populated shelves behind it. Thick, dust laden tapestries covered the walls, and a similar one had been spread across the floor in front of the fireplace. The man, Ferris, indicated one of several chairs scattered about, and Donovan settled into one of the uncomfortable, straight-backed behemoths. The mockery of padding beneath the upholstered cushion did nothing to soften the seat. His daughter claimed a similar, but unmatched, piece of furniture across from him. Her guard leaned against the wall by the door, one leg cocked to rest the sole of his boot against the stone, wrists crossed over the pommel of his sword.
"Have you wondering, don't I?" he asked with a rakish waggle of his brows when he caught Donovan studying him.
"I admit to a passing curiosity. You are clearly not one of the Emperor's lap dogs. You present yourself as my daughter's guard, though your insolent manner suggests it is not your usual role."
"'Tis at present. That's all you really need to know."
"You didn't come here to discuss Ferris," Ciara said, only a slight waver in her voice to hint at her desperation to know Donovan's true purpose.
He leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs at the knee, and studied her at his leisure for the first time since losing her from his fortress in the Nethers. "You have grown, Daughter. You are beginning to wear your power well. Tell me, where is the creature?"
"You said you came to talk about Bolin's future?"
"So impatient. That has always been a weakness of yours. As is the general."
Her jaw clenched. "If you have something important to share, do so."
A surge of power accompanied her demand. Donovan considered answering with a display of his own as a reminder of what he possessed.
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