“The Darkwater Forest is virulent beyond redemption or diminishment,” Bolt said.
Cailin’s eyes grew distant, and I wondered what other talents the queen might possess. When I’d delved her I’d seen an intellect few could match. “Always?” She gave a vague wave of her hand. “Everything has a beginning and an end even if we are often too timid to see the possibility of it.” She sighed. “No matter. Is our immediate threat ended with Laewan’s death? Has the forest returned to its prior state?”
I turned to Bolt, waiting for him to answer, hoping for some insight into the Vigil that Pellin and the rest refused to share with me, but I was disappointed. He shrugged and shook his head. “We don’t know, Your Majesty, but with the death of Laewan, we’ve earned a respite.”
Cailin cocked her head in thought. “Or the enemy’s moves are hidden from you.”
“Possibly,” Bolt admitted. “With the cleansing of the threat in Bunard, the Vigil will be able to resume its duties policing the rest of the kingdoms.”
I saw Cailin give a quick nod of acknowledgment, if not satisfaction. “Well then, to other matters,” she said, turning her attention to me. “Lord Dura, I am reinstating your betrothal to Lady Gael.”
Gael’s smile, filled with triumph, lit the room, and for a moment I was tempted to believe that Queen Cailin could actually do what she said. An aching need hollowed out my middle, like a dagger cut that spilled my guts, overwhelming me with emptiness even as Bolt stirred in discomfort at my side.
“How is this possible?” I asked.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bolt wince. “Wrong question,” he whispered, but only I heard him. He wore his disapproval like a coat of mail whenever I tried to secure a future with Gael.
“Is it not enough that it is possible?” Gael asked me, her voice nearly as sharp as the blue-eyed gaze she favored me with. Even anger directed at me couldn’t diminish the grace of her features. But instead of giving myself over to thoughtful consideration of them as I’d always done before, I found myself imagining them succumbing to the ravages of time while I remained unchanged.
I shook my head. “No, not anymore.”
Gael came forward until we were close enough to touch, but she held her arms at her side, refusing contact. “You owe me an explanation, Lord Dura. If I have beggared myself to no end, I at least demand an explanation.”
“Beggared?” Oh, Aer, no. “You’ve surrendered your gift?”
Bolt gave a small groan beside me but held his tongue.
Gael gave one sharp nod, her eyes no longer blue but slate, like clouds that carried lightning with them. “Was that not the plan? Uncle fought me, brought every lever to bear to force my marriage to Rupert, but I threatened to surrender my gift to his rival, church law or no, even if the crown threatened my banishment.”
“And I would not have,” Cailin said, “even though the church would have encouraged me to do so.”
“The gift lies with my uncle now,” Gael said.
“But Bas-solas,” I mumbled, searching for some way to comprehend what had been done.
Gael cut the air with her hand. “You survived. That was all I needed to know. Most of my possessions have been sold, the remainder packed for whatever journey lies ahead of us. Us, Willet.”
Bolt sighed, shaking his head. I turned to him like a drowning man reaching for a branch. “Is it forbidden?”
“Willet . . . ” His voice rasped. “You can’t seriously—”
“Is it forbidden?” I demanded.
His face closed, all emotion squeezed away until his countenance became like rock once more. “No. It is not forbidden.” He nodded toward Gael. “But if you do not tell her, I will, though you may hate me for it.”
My laughter sounded more like a bark. “I’m disappointed that you think so little of me. I will tell her,” I said as I turned to confront the questioning in Gael’s eyes. “Now.
“The gift that Elwin gave me, that the Vigil possesses, does more than allow me to see into the hearts and minds of others. It extends my life.”
Gael’s brows drew together in doubt or consideration. “How long?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know, but Custos showed me two memories he had of Pellin that were thirty years apart. It was difficult to tell if he’d aged at all.”
She turned from me to Bolt. “How old is he? How old are they?”
Bolt’s mouth worked for a moment as if he couldn’t decide whether to answer. “Pellin is over seven hundred years old, Bronwyn a bit less.”
Gael’s eyes narrowed. “And Toria Deel?”
My guard shrugged as if the question were unimportant. “About a hundred.”
For some reason this last answer was the one that brought shock to her gaze. “She’s a girl.”
“Can’t argue with you there,” Bolt grunted. “But she’s Elanian. A hundred years hasn’t been long enough to take the edge off her temper.”
Gael inched closer to me, her hand taking mine, but the gloves I wore prevented me from delving her. “You don’t want to watch me grow old.”
She hadn’t asked, but I answered anyway. “We were supposed to grow old together, and it wasn’t supposed to take most of a millennium for me to age.”
“Does the prospect of being married to a crone unnerve you, Willet?” She smiled.
I shook my head, disbelieving. How could she possibly find this amusing? If we both lived to be a thousand, Gael would find a way to surprise me. But we weren’t going to live that long. Only I. “Will you still be willing to take me to your bed when you’ve become old enough to be my mother?”
I saw her pause, her eyes fading from the color of flint, not yet turning blue. “Children?” she asked.
I nodded. “I’ve always wanted children, with you. As many as you would wish.” I waved an arm at the stones of the tor that surrounded us. “Enough to fill a castle. Enough to see all the different facets of your beauty and personality and fire.” My voice rasped under the strain like a saw through wood. “Would you have me bury you, my sons, my granddaughters, and all the rest of my descendants for hundreds of years? How much grieving do you think I can stand?”
“No.” Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, but they stayed there. She refused to blink them away. “No. We have a chance for love.”
I nodded. “But how long will it last? Will you give up the children you’ve always wanted simply to keep me from grief?”
Gael stepped back from me, dropping my hand, and with that one movement it felt as if she’d pulled my heart from my chest and taken it with her. I shouldn’t have been able to feel it. Why didn’t I feel numb?
“Do not think this is over between us, Willet Dura,” Gael said.
Somewhere in my chest, something fluttered and I felt blood move through my veins again as she continued. “The man who rescued himself from the Darkwater and saved Bunard from the slaughter of Bas-solas can find a way for us to be together.”
Before I could respond, Gael curtsied to the queen and left, her footsteps coming more quickly until, at the last, she opened the door and ran away.
Chapter 5
I made my obeisance to the queen as quickly as protocol allowed, but it still took me three corridors and a set of stairs to catch up to Gael. If she wanted me to find a way for us to be together, I was going to have to dig my head out of the well of other people’s memories I’d fallen into and resume the habits of the king’s reeve. And there was one very large loose end I’d left dangling for too long.
I caught up to her and grabbed her by the arm, but when she turned she ducked her head, scattering tears across the floor. She didn’t look up from the stones beneath us until she’d scrubbed each hand across her cheeks, pulling her shoulders back to face whatever I had to say.
“If you want me to find a way for us to be together,” I said, “I’m going to need your help.”
She nodded but I saw her eyes narrow in surprise. “That’s a better response than I expected—and sooner as we
ll. Name it.”
I pulled a face and figure into my memory against the tide of everything that had happened in the preceding weeks, a young woman, hardly more than a girl, with raven hair and a dress that showed too much skin. “I sent Gareth to you with a message that I needed a serving girl working in the tor taken out of the city and hidden. Where is she?”
Gael shook her head at me, and a trapdoor opened beneath my stomach before she spoke.
“I don’t know.”
“Did you get the message?”
Gael nodded. “I sent Marya to retrieve her, Willet. I gave her enough money to send Branna anywhere in the seven kingdoms. She took her out of the city and returned just before Bas-solas.”
I nodded, trying to ignore the dip in tone and volume at the end. “Perfect. Let’s find Marya and ask her where Branna went.”
Gael started shaking her head before I’d finished. “She’s dead, Willet. Marya died during Bas-solas.”
I couldn’t recall leaving Gael’s presence or doubling back to retrieve my weapons from the queen’s guards. Bolt didn’t say much as we descended the tor back to the Merum cathedral, not that he had much chance. I chewed and gnawed imprecations most of the way. The only consolation was that with Marya’s death, Branna was forever beyond reach of those who sought her. I turned my attention to the task Gael had laid upon me: to find a way for us to be together.
It couldn’t be done.
For us to marry, one of two things would have to happen: I would have to surrender my longevity or Gael would have to acquire it. To accomplish the first I would have to die and then somehow come back to life after the gift had departed. For the second, one of the Vigil would have to bestow their gift on Gael. Neither option lay within my power.
Torchlight appeared on the streets as sunlight faded behind the western hills and the sky turned purple, then charcoal and finally black. Stars winked into view as we entered the courtyard, and a sliver of argent appeared through the peaks to the east as a gibbous moon ascended. My steps faltered, and I reached out to pull Bolt to a stop beside me.
“What?” he asked, his hand on his sword in anticipation.
I closed my eyes, listening. “Nothing. That’s just it. No screaming, no killing, just the sounds of nighttime in Bunard—the way it used to be.” Voices spilled out from the Eclipse across the way, and a sudden longing for hospitality and ale washed over me.
When we got to the Merum cathedral I kept going, descending the rise that encompassed the churches of the four orders to cross the broad arched bridge leading over one of the branches of the Rinwash River and into the nobles’ section of the city. Behind their high walls I could hear snatches of music and laughter, carried to me on the air as it cooled. The tones sounded almost normal. Perhaps Bunard would recover after all.
“You can’t mean to see her again,” Bolt said.
I shook my head. “No.” I had no solution to offer Gael, and seeing her would only remind both of us of a future we couldn’t have. At that moment I might have taken a sword to Elwin myself. His gift had stolen my future. “I need something else tonight.”
“Are you headed to the poor quarter?” he asked, his voice tight.
I frowned, though he wouldn’t be able to make out my expression in the dark. “Why would I do that?”
He cleared his throat, coming as close to uncomfortable as I’d ever heard; if the sound of rocks grinding could convey such a thing. “Some men seek the comfort of a woman when their lives have taken a bitter blow.”
Laughter caught me by surprise, and pig noises came out of my nose before I could get my mouth open. “You think I’m on my way to see one of the night women?” I wheezed. For a second I couldn’t get my breath. “Do you have any idea what Gael would do to me if she found out I’d sought the arms of another?”
“Leave you?” Bolt asked. I couldn’t help but detect a hopeful note in his voice, as if seeking solace for a price might not be such a bad idea after all.
My laughter took on an edge of hysteria. “I wouldn’t get away so easily. The woman has claimed me. No, I would endure a mixture of kindness and anger along with a very real possibility of physical violence until I saw the error of my ways.” My laughter subsided as the realization of just how much I’d lost hit me again. I shook my head. “I want to go to Braben’s. I want to hear the warmth of simple voices with small concerns and the sound of wagers being placed on a game of bones.” I shrugged. “Besides, I’m tired of wine.”
We walked in silence until we crossed over the next bridge and entered the upper merchants’ quarter. Foot traffic thinned, and for several stretches, Bolt and I walked alone on the street.
His arm caught me in midstride. “Stop,” he whispered.
I halted, my weight forward on my feet and my hands on the daggers I kept hidden on various parts of my person, ears straining to hear. The clop of a hoof against stone sounded in the distance, came three more times before Bolt relaxed enough for us to continue.
We strode along the southeast arc of the city until we came within sight of the tavern at the north end of the lower merchants’ section. A few scorch marks still showed where Laewan’s men had attacked it, but light spilled through the clear windows overlooking the street. Through them I could see patrons talking and laughing by lamplight, the customary blur of features as usually seen through glass, absent. “Nice windows,” I remarked.
Bolt nodded. “Pellin paid for them along with the rest of the repairs. His way of thanking Braben and apologizing at the same time.”
I laughed softly. “You mean the church paid for them.”
By the warm yellow light coming through the window, I saw Bolt’s head cock to one side in dismissal. “It amounts to the same thing. The Merum have their Archbishop, the Servants have their Chief, the Vanguard their Captain, and the Absold their Grace. They all answer to the Vigil. Through the centuries, it’s the one thing that’s kept the church from dissolving completely.” He stopped to peer over his shoulder into the darkness, listening. “Let’s get inside.”
I stepped through the door into brightness and warmth, my steps growing light, as if I were shedding weight as I went. The tavern wasn’t quite filled to capacity—many in Bunard had yet to recover from the slaughter of Bas-solas—but those present, craftsmen and women and simple traders from near and far, enjoyed each other’s company as if it were a balm to the soul. Braben owned a gift—a partial, or else he’d be a noble—of helps, a way of making everyone feel welcome.
“Lord Dura.” Braben, a heavyset man with thick forearms and hands the size of plates, called my name from behind the bar. A few of the patrons turned in our direction, casting glances over their shoulder before returning to their own conversations. I searched Braben’s expression for mistrust or anger. The last time I’d been in his tavern, I’d brought an attack that almost cost him his livelihood and his life. If anyone had a right to a grudge, he did, but all I saw in his face was the same welcome I’d always received—Aer bless him.
I pointed to an empty table close to an interior wall near the fire but away from the windows. I moved toward it, but I was three paces from the door when I realized I was alone. Behind me, Bolt stood in the entrance of the doorway facing out, as still and focused as a hound on the scent.
Gooseflesh raced down my spine until it hit my feet and I moved back to Bolt’s side, my right hand palming a dagger inside my cloak in case I needed to make a quick throw. “What is it?” I whispered.
He gave me a brief shake of his head, as if he wouldn’t or couldn’t answer. I moved to the side and watched as his gaze swept toward each of the passersby outside the bar, focusing on them for a split moment before dismissing them as a threat and moving on.
With a last glance for the street directly in front of Braben’s, he pivoted on one heel and stepped sideways away from the open door, putting the wall between the two of us and the open air beyond. “Let’s have a seat.”
I indicated the table I pointed at b
efore. “Will that do?”
He checked over his shoulder and then back at the table and gave me a terse nod. “We may stay here tonight.”
I put a smile on my face and didn’t let it slip until we were seated and Braben’s backside retreated from us after putting a pair of mugs on the table. “What in the name of all that’s sacred is this about?”
Bolt didn’t bother to look at me. He’d pulled his chair to the outside of the table and, despite the effort he put into striking a relaxed pose, looked like a coiled spring. “You’ve been in the Vigil for less than a month, Willet.” His unblinking gaze, as tight as the rest of him, never left the door.
I snorted, yet I couldn’t help but follow his example. No one entered or left the tavern and the street outside remained empty.
“Have you ever traveled beyond the confines of your city?” Bolt asked.
I laughed, but in the presence of his scrutiny it sounded both harsh and feeble. “You know I have, or do forced marches to the vale between Collum and Owmead to fight a war not count?”
He nodded as if I didn’t have his attention. “They count, but you’re talking, what, thirty or forty leagues? The northern continent is vast, and the world more so. It holds stranger things than you can know.”
The dismissive tone, more akin to what I would hear from Pellin or Toria Deel, irked me. I leaned in close so that no one could hear what I said next. “Stranger than coming out of the Darkwater and sensing murder in my sleep?”
A ghost of a smile played across his face, but whatever kept his eyes glued to the door chased it away. “No, but there are still many things you haven’t seen—me either, for that matter.”
By the bar, people jostled and shifted, and a man turned to confront another, but there was nothing but empty space between them.
Or was there?
For the barest fraction of a heartbeat I thought I’d seen someone, a woman carrying ale tankards.
I looked away.
“Here! Watch where you’re going!” a man growled.
I turned toward the disturbance, saw a man with his arm out grasping at air.
The Shattered Vigil Page 5