Rise

by Andrea Cremer

  The commander stood, telling Sawyer, “Come with us. We’ll find something to eat.”

  Sawyer nodded and followed Lukasz from the small room.

  “Good to have you back, friend,” Kael said, and then left with the others.

  Still silent, Barrow lay on his back, giving no acknowledgment that he knew Ember was still there.

  Ember took the cup from his hand.

  “You need to finish this.”

  Barrow stared at the wood planks above him, his eyes full of unshed tears.

  “He died because of my foolishness,” he said quietly.

  Ember placed her hand over Barrow’s. “He died because we were forced to run in the dead of night.”

  When Barrow didn’t reply, Ember dipped her fingers in the tonic and brought them to his lips. He started at her touch, but then clasped her wrist tightly in his fingers as he opened his mouth, half kissing, half drinking the tonic from her skin.

  Shivering, Ember leaned down, pressing her mouth to his. Barrow’s tongue touched hers. His arm came around her back, drawing her against him. Through the kiss, Ember felt him tense with pain, and she quickly pulled away.

  “Don’t,” Barrow whispered. “I can bear it.”

  “Your lie tempts me.” Ember smiled at him. “But I won’t risk hurting you. Please finish this.”

  She handed him the cup. Barrow sat up and drained it, shuddering as he swallowed.

  “Vile,” he told her. “Strange how I didn’t mind when I sipped it from your fingers.”

  Taking the cup and setting it aside, Ember said softly, “Don’t try to hold me… but I need to touch you.”

  Meeting her gaze, Barrow nodded and became very still. He sat quietly, watching as she reached for him. Their quiet breathing was the only sound as Ember moved her hands through his hair. She touched his neck, sliding her hands up and tracing the shape of his jaw with her fingertips. Then cupped his face in her palms.

  As Ember spoke, her cheeks became wet with tears. “I am so sorry that you lost Toshach. But I cannot regret what he did, for I could not bear to lose you.”

  Barrow drew a ragged breath, lowering his eyes, and a few teardrops escaped onto his cheeks.

  “I love you,” Ember whispered. No words she’d spoken had ever felt so important or so frightening. “I have loved no one but you.”

  Barrow looked at Ember, and she saw that his deep gray eyes were the color of the sea upon which they now sailed.

  “Kiss me, Ember.”

  She was careful to hold herself above him when she moved close. His mouth was gentle and warm, tasting her, breathing her breath. Ember’s eyes were closed, her body caught between the sweetness of his kiss and the ache of needing more. She broke the kiss, murmuring, “Heal swiftly, for my patience is short.”

  “As my lady wishes,” Barrow answered. His voice was drowsy, and Ember realized that the tonic Sawyer had made most likely contained a sleep draught.

  “Will you tell me now how you came to my rescue?” he asked.

  Ember backed away slightly, wondering what Barrow would make of her tactic with Alistair. Lukasz and Kael had seen the expedience of her decision, but Barrow already bore a grudge toward Alistair when it came to Ember’s affections.

  “Because it was Alistair,” Ember told him, “I was able to persuade him to let me go, but—”

  She hesitated, waiting for his response. When he laughed lazily, Ember sat up, banging her head on the low wooden beam that curved over the berth.

  “Ow!”

  Barrow didn’t react, and she saw how quickly he was drifting off.

  Before his eyelids fully closed, he rolled out a few words, though exhaustion put strange lapses in his speech. “Poor lad. Of course he came after you… I would have… He can’t have you… kill him… sorry bastard…”

  Smiling, Ember stretched out on the bed beside Barrow, close enough so her body touched his but keeping her weight from leaning too heavily against his bruised chest. Their fingers laced together. Ember rested her chin on Barrow’s shoulder, listening to his breath slow as the rocking ship lulled him back to sleep.

  Her own eyelids heavy, Ember was about to let slumber take her when she heard a stirring at the door. Lifting her head, Ember met Lukasz’s gaze. The commander paused in the doorway. He looked at Ember and Barrow lying together on the narrow berth. Ember started to rise, but Lukasz lifted his hand and gave a brief shake of his head. The commander stepped out of the doorway, pulling the door shut. As he did, Ember thought she saw him smile.

  ALISTAIR WALKED THE perimeter of the great hall, taking note of the changes Eira had made in the chamber. No longer a gathering space for Conatus, Eira had commandeered the hall for her own purposes. The room now served as a meeting place for the Circle but felt more like a throne room in which Eira held court. A massive, ornately carved ebony chair had been placed in front of the dead tree that harbored Bosque’s rift. The glossy black polish of the thronelike seat offered a stark contrast to the bone-white, lifeless trunk. Alistair didn’t know where the chair had come from, though he suspected it had once belonged to Abbot Crichton.

  Eira had other chairs and a table carved in the shape of a crescent moon added to the hall as well. The inner curve of the table faced Eira’s seat and the rift, while the outer edge featured much more diminutive chairs for the rest of the Circle. There was no chair for Bosque. Whenever Eira received visitors, the tall man stood at her side, just behind her left shoulder. Alistair did have a seat, one of the plain chairs designated for Circle members. At Eira’s decree, Alistair had been named to the Circle, a new voice for the Guard in the absence of the commander. No one had complained.

  These changes suited Alistair. He much preferred that the order be ruled by a single, strong voice. Eira had explained how often accommodating the diverse opinions of the Circle had weakened Conatus. Better to be finished with such a burdensome form of leadership. While building her vision for their future, Eira, enforced by Bosque’s power, would not make any concessions.

  But that didn’t mean the transition to a new order would occur without incident, unexpected turns of events that were sometimes helpful and sometimes irksome. Such was the case with the two things that delayed their travel to Inverness into the afternoon. The first delay was of the irksome sort.

  Mercer was dead. When the guard had opened his cell to give the prisoner his morning meal, Mercer lay unmoving on the floor, his glassy eyes open wide.

  Though by no measure a devastating loss, Mercer’s demise was nonetheless frustrating. He’d given up no useful information, despite Bosque’s extraordinary means for extracting desired answers. More troublesome were the questions that remained about how Mercer’s life had come to an end.

  “You cannot trust your peers,” Bosque told Eira. “Someone took the traitor’s life.”

  Eira cast a doubtful glance on Mercer’s corpse, which she’d ordered to be brought to her in the great hall for further examination. “Perhaps his body couldn’t withstand the torment. Many men die under the torturer’s care.”

  Bosque smiled briefly. “No.”

  “How can you be sure?” Eira asked.

  “My wraiths can feed off a man for years,” he told her. “They would not be so careless with a fine meal. And they do not kill prisoners without my command.”

  Alistair peered at Mercer’s stiff body. “There are no marks on his body.”

  “Poison is the assassin’s favorite weapon,” Bosque answered him. “Who had access to the prisoner’s food?”

  With a shrug, Alistair told him, “Any number of people. The kitchens aren’t guarded. It would have been easy for someone to add a fatal seasoning to the meal without garnering attention.”

  “That is what I suspect happened,” Bosque said. “It would be wise to question the kitchen staff.”

  “When you say question—” Alistair looked to Eira, wondering if Bosque meant to set his wraiths on the cooks.

  Catching Alistair’s meaning
, Bosque smiled. “Fear not, young Lord Hart. I only use extreme measure on those whose actions have earned that reward. Until we have the suspected assassin identified, a simple review of the persons who were in the kitchen when Mercer’s last meal was prepared will do.”

  “I’ll have Cian do it,” Eira said. “She seemed reluctant to travel with us to Inverness.”

  “And why is that?” Bosque asked her.

  “Hunting her fellow Guardsmen turns my sister’s stomach, I’m afraid,” Eira said. When Bosque raised an eyebrow, Eira added, “She’ll come around.”

  “I’m sure,” Bosque replied, though Alistair thought his tone skeptical at best. “Perhaps Claudio should assist her in the task.”

  “If you think so,” Eira said. “It would add more weight to the investigation if two Circle members conducted the search.”

  Bosque nodded. “Give the orders and meet us at the stables. We’ll depart when—”

  A sharp rapping at the door stopped their conversation.

  “Come!” Eira called.

  One of the guards posted outside the great hall stepped into the room. His eyes briefly passed over Mercer’s corpse, and he swallowed visibly.

  “Pardon me, Lady Eira,” he said. “But a visitor has arrived and pleads that she must be seen.”

  “Very well,” Eira said.

  The guard cleared his throat. “My lady, the visitor asks not for you, but for Lord Hart.”

  Eira turned to Alistair. “Are you expecting a guest, Lord Hart?”

  Alistair shook his head, but his heart gave a wild flail of hope. Perhaps in reaching the coast, Ember had looked over the sea and realized how pointless the voyage would be.

  “Lord Hart?” the guard asked, shifting his weight as he hovered near the door.

  Opening and closing his mouth, Alistair couldn’t find breath to answer.

  “Send the visitor in,” Eira answered with a laugh. “Lord Hart is taken by surprise and can’t find his voice.”

  The guard bowed and slipped out the door, returning a moment later with a slight figure who was covered head to toe in a traveling cloak. The visitor lifted pale, trembling hands and pushed back the cloak’s hood.

  The face revealed wasn’t the one Alistair had hoped for, but was nonetheless familiar.

  Agnes Morrow hurried forward and then awkwardly dropped to her knees.

  “My lord Hart, I am your humble servant who begs for your mercy and the refuge of this place,” Ember’s sister said.

  Taken aback, Alistair reached down to help her rise. “Lady Morrow, you need not kneel before a longtime friend.”

  As Agnes turned grateful eyes on him, Alistair saw how colorless her skin was and the way her face was pinched with weariness. He wondered if the illness she’d experienced upon her last visit to Tearmunn had worsened.

  “Why are you here, Lady Morrow?” Alistair asked. “I thought you would be settling in at your new French estate.”

  “And why pleading for refuge?” Eira cut in. “Are you not the daughter of a lord?”

  Agnes wobbled a bit when she curtsied to Eira. “My lady, I have brought dishonor upon my family and have been cast out.”

  “What?” Alistair couldn’t believe her words. If any daughter merited Lord Morrow’s ire, it was Ember. Agnes had always been the obedient child.

  Eira’s eyes narrowed. “Dishonor?”

  Hanging her head, Agnes murmured, “Yes, my lady; thus, I come to you asking for mercy and shelter. I may no longer claim my former station. Whatever work you might find for me I would do with a thankful heart.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Agnes,” Alistair said, flustered. “You will not shame yourself through common labor. Your father is known to have a quick temper and often speaks rashly. Whatever the quarrel between you is, we will resolve it soon enough.”

  Eira stepped closer to Agnes. “Push back your cloak.”

  “My lady?” Agnes looked at her with wide eyes.

  “You heard me.” Under Eira’s hawkish gaze, Agnes seemed a trembling rabbit.

  With shaking hands, Agnes unfastened her heavy cloak. She let it drop into a heap at her feet, lowering her head once more.

  Eira looked Agnes up and down, her eyes stopping on the unmistakable swell of Agnes’s belly. “You’re with child.”

  Alistair began to swear, drawing startled looks from Eira and Bosque. Struggling to compose himself, Alistair said, “Lord Mar and Lady Eira, if you’d please give me a moment alone with Lady Morrow.”

  Eira seemed ready to object, but Bosque laid his hand on her shoulder.

  “Of course, Lord Hart,” Bosque told him, leading Eira from the hall.

  When they were gone and the door closed, Alistair came to Agnes, taking her hands.

  “Is it as I suspect?” he asked, his throat tight.

  Agnes began to cry. “I thought he loved me.”

  “My brother is brash,” Alistair said, peppering his words with another round of curses. “Too quick to make declarations he has no intentions of following through… but how were you to know that?”

  “When I arrived at Château de Lusignan, I had convinced myself I could still become the count’s wife.” Agnes struggled to speak through her tears. “I insisted on keeping my own ladies-in-waiting, and with their help, I was able to hide my condition through the wedding. But in the marriage bed, there was nothing—” Agnes broke down.

  “The count returned you to your father?” Alistair asked when her weeping subsided.

  She nodded. “The marriage was annulled, of course, and my father was furious. My mother pleaded with him to have mercy, but his condition of letting me stay was to confess the name of the father.”

  “And why didn’t you?” Alistair had little sympathy for his older brother’s actions.

  Henry had indulged his desire for Agnes fully aware that he would marry another. The arrangement for their father’s second son to become the husband of Lady Howard of Yorkshire had been made when they were small children. Lady Howard’s estate was much greater than Lord Morrow’s, though the lady herself was half as pretty as Agnes. Henry had taken full advantage of his proximity to Agnes, and distance from Lady Howard, as long as he could. Once the time for the wedding had arrived, however, Henry discarded Agnes without explanation or apology.

  That Agnes would continue to protect Henry’s name bespoke her love for him… and her naiveté. Though he wouldn’t tell Agnes for fear of breaking her heart even more, Alistair wagered that if Henry were to face accusations of fathering an illegitimate child, he would deny the bastard was his without care that it meant bringing further shame to Agnes.

  Though Alistair couldn’t undo his brother’s churlish deeds, he could honor his family and Agnes by protecting her now.

  “You will have your refuge, Agnes,” Alistair told her. “I give you my word—which is much truer than Henry’s.”

  He guided her to a chair. “Wait here. I’ll return shortly.”

  Alistair left Agnes sniffling at the crescent table to join Bosque and Eira where they waited in the hall.

  Before speaking to them, Alistair addressed the guard at the door. “Go find a maid to show Lady Morrow to a room in the manor and attend to her. Make sure she understands this is her new position. Someone else will take over her former responsibilities.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The guard bowed and went to find a maidservant.

  Eira locked eyes with Alistair. “You’re giving orders now?”

  “I’m helping a friend,” Alistair said, unwavering. “It’s the chivalrous thing to do.”

  “Send her to a nunnery,” Eira said with a snort. “We’re in the midst of our own troubles and can’t worry over the health of a girl and her bastard. Chivalry be damned.”

  “Lady Eira,” Alistair said through clenched teeth, “I would not argue with you, but I ask that you not insult Lady Morrow. She is a naive girl, misled by another. The dishonor is not hers to bear.”

  “But the child is,” Eira
answered coolly.

  “If I may.” Bosque’s smooth voice slipped between them. “Lady Morrow’s arrival presents an advantage, not a burden.”

  “How?” Eira turned on him, seething.

  “I can think of two things,” Bosque told her. “If you’ll forgive me for saying so, your sister, Cian, seems reluctant to embrace the changes you’ve made in Conatus.”

  Eira didn’t answer him, but she nodded.

  “Perhaps an act of charity would reassure her?” Bosque said.

  “It might,” Eira said. “And the second thing?”

  “Of course the utmost care will be given to a lady of Agnes Morrow’s station and to someone in her condition,” Bosque replied. “But that same care might also be provided for a valuable hostage.”

  “What?” Alistair said sharply.

  Bosque silenced him with a glance.

  “A hostage?” Eira frowned at Bosque.

  “Lady Morrow may have been disowned by her father, but I’m certain he expected nothing less than for Conatus to protect her,” Bosque explained. “And in protecting her from public shame, we’re doing him a service.”

  With an assessing gaze, Bosque said to Alistair, “Your interest in the lady’s condition suggests an intimate knowledge of the situation.”

  “The child isn’t mine,” Alistair replied. “I swear it.”

  Bosque didn’t look away, and Alistair relented under the force of the man’s silver stare.

  “My brother Henry.” Alistair’s shoulders slumped. “He took advantage of her long infatuation.”

  “And your brother is now married?” Bosque asked.

  Alistair nodded. “He is a lord in Yorkshire.”

  Turning to Eira, Bosque said, “As you plot your new course and break from the rule of the church, you’ll want the support of nobles—both in coin and men. Use every advantage you have.”

  “I can see the wisdom of what you say,” Eira told him. “Lady Morrow will be given a home in Tearmunn.”

  “Alistair will send a letter to Lord Morrow, informing him of our generosity,” Bosque said. “And he will also request that Agnes send a letter.”