Rise

by Andrea Cremer

  Ember asked, “What did Lord Mar say about Henry?”

  “It was strange,” Agnes answered wistfully. “He said that Henry’s dishonor would haunt him all the days of his life.”

  “You don’t think Henry feels any shame?” Ember couldn’t put such heartlessness past Henry, but she wanted to believe otherwise.

  Agnes folded her hands in her lap. “It wasn’t what Lord Mar said. It was how he said it.”

  When Agnes paused, her gaze going to the window where rain battered the glass, Ember asked, “How did Lord Mar say it?”

  Agnes looked at her sister. “Like a promise.”

  ALISTAIR SLIPPED THE IRON key into his pocket, but he didn’t return to the stairs. He stood in front of the door to Agnes’s chamber for a long while, unmoving.

  Why did she return?

  Alistair had imagined Ember coming back to him too many times to count. Now that she was here, real, he was stricken with doubt. Tugging his hands through his dark curls, Alistair resisted the urge to unlock the door and take Ember from her sister so he could demand the answers he wanted.

  But Agnes was the reason Ember was here. It had to be. As much as Alistair coveted the thought that Ember came to him, it was the letter that had brought her to Tearmunn.

  And yet. And yet.

  Ember had gone to Château de Lusignan, as Alistair had asked. She’d returned to Tearmunn and had given testament to those gathered in the armory that her decision to leave had been misguided.

  And she’d come alone.

  Where are the others?

  To hope for even a moment that Ember had come back to him and not simply for Agnes’s sake seemed too great a risk. Forcing himself away from the door, though unconvinced he’d accomplish anything else of worth that day due to the distraction of his mind, Alistair returned to the manor’s ground floor.

  When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he was surprised to find Bosque waiting for him.

  “Would you be inclined toward a hunt, Lord Hart?” Bosque asked.

  “When?” Alistair found it strange that Bosque would suggest a hunt amid so much activity in the keep.

  “Now.” Bosque took a few steps toward the manor door, then turned, waiting for Alistair to follow. “If you’ll join me, we’ll find special prey. Our bounty will aid your work immensely.”

  Bosque exited the manor, and Alistair hurried to catch him.

  “My work?” Alistair asked when he reached Bosque.

  “You will have your prisoners for trials tomorrow morning.” Bosque kept up his swift, long strides toward the stables. “But they alone will not be enough.”

  “No.” Alistair had to jog to keep up with the taller man. “You’re taking me to hunt wolves, then?”

  Bosque cast an amused glance at him. “How else did you think to procure the animals?”

  “I was going to send woodsmen out to set snares,” Alistair answered.

  “This task is too important for servants,” Bosque said when they were just outside the stables. “Ready your horse.”

  “Will you bring the hounds?” Alistair tossed the question over his shoulder as he went to gather Alkippe’s tack.

  Bosque called to him, “We’ll have no need of hounds whose only hope is the destruction of our quarry.”

  Alistair grimaced at the foolishness of his question. To begin his trials, he needed wolves whole and alive, not torn to pieces by a pack of hunting dogs. When Alkippe was saddled and bridled, Alistair led his mare from the stable. Bosque had already mounted the shadow steed. Alkippe balked, snorting, but Alistair hadn’t expected the mare to behave otherwise. No matter how many times Alistair rode out with Bosque, Alkippe wouldn’t settle with the shadow mount near.

  Once when Alkippe was particularly troublesome and Alistair had grown weary of battling the reins, he’d suggested that Bosque might be better off using one of Guards’ mounts when in the company of other horses. Bosque had thrown back his head, laughing deep and long.

  When he finally answered Alistair, it was to say, “Would you give up your mount upon the offer of a much lesser beast?”

  Bosque’s question had made Alistair hunch up with shame. Alkippe had always filled Alistair with pride. She was as fine a mount as any in Conatus’s stables. Even so, Alistair couldn’t fault Bosque’s assertion. To ride the shadow steed was to harness a storm.

  Swinging into the saddle while Alkippe sidled away from Bosque’s mount, Alistair asked, “How shall we hunt when we aim not to kill?”

  “I hadn’t wanted to speak of it to you until I found what I’d been seeking,” Bosque told him.

  “And what was that?” Alistair checked Alkippe when she began tossing her head.

  “You’ll see soon enough.” Bosque glanced at the restless mare. “Keep her close.”

  Alistair nodded, gritting his teeth as he forced Alkippe to ride abreast of Bosque’s horse. He found himself wishing there were a way to explain to the mare that by fleeing the company of Bosque’s steed, she would doom herself and her rider to wander lost in a space between worlds. Since reason wasn’t an option, Alistair had to resign himself to the ongoing struggle between him and his mount as the air around them swirled, veiling the two horsemen in mist.

  “Are you pleased by Lady Morrow’s return?” Bosque’s question took Alistair by surprise.

  Still struggling to answer that question for himself, Alistair said, “I’m glad she lives.” That was true enough.

  Bosque laughed quietly. “Those weren’t the words I expected.”

  Wearied by his own doubts, as well as his mount’s agitation, Alistair cast his fears upon Bosque. “I don’t know if I trust her. That she would come for Agnes I understand, and though I want more from her, I dare not assume.”

  “The lady must have done your bidding, though,” Bosque offered. “Had she not gone to La Marche, she would never have received her sister’s letter.”

  Alistair nodded at Bosque’s recitation of the possibilities he’d been mulling over since Ember appeared.

  “You’ve been steadfast and cunning,” Bosque continued. “I’ve promised you rewards. Do you not think Lady Morrow should be among them?”

  Alistair barked a laugh, imagining Ember’s reaction to being called a reward. Bosque watched him, waiting for a reply.

  “On that front, what I think has never mattered,” Alistair said, his laughter growing tinny. “Ember’s mind has ruled our friendship, always keeping it from growing into something more.”

  “But she has changed. Thinking herself an Amazon, she discovered she is only a frightened maid,” Bosque told him. “The world has treated her brutally, and now she seeks a protector. The walls of a fortress won’t serve well enough for a trembling girl. I believe she’ll look to you in her need… if she speaks the truth about her motives for returning to Tearmunn.”

  “And if she lies?” Alistair blew out a frustrated sigh. “So much is at stake. I fear I can’t indulge my hopes when they might undermine Eira’s plan.”

  “Nobly put,” Bosque replied. “But why should the burden of trust fall to you?”

  “Could it be any other way?” Alistair glanced at Bosque.

  With a shrug, Bosque said, “I don’t see why not. Take what you want from Lady Morrow. Be the hero she longs for. Leave the matter of truth versus lies to me.”

  “Do you think she returned for love of me?” Alistair knew he sounded like a lovesick boy, but Bosque’s words enlivened a mad hope within him.

  “I don’t know.” Bosque didn’t look at Alistair, but he smiled into the mist. “I shall enjoy finding out.”

  Alistair shifted in his saddle, uneasy at the thought that Bosque could harm Ember as he investigated her trustworthiness.

  “There is one more piece of advice I would give you,” Bosque said, turning to gaze at Alistair. The silver flare of his eyes illuminated the mist.

  “Please.”

  “Be hard on her,” Bosque told him. “Ember knows of your love for her and y
et takes it for granted. Make her believe you are lost to her. Force her to win you back. What she has fought for she will more likely treasure.”

  Before Alistair could question him further, Bosque leaned forward, peering at the gray veil that enveloped the riders. “Ah. This is it.”

  The mists parted, revealing thick clusters of pine trees and a mossy bank that hugged a shallow stream.

  “We’ll leave the horses here,” Bosque said, sliding from the shadow stallion’s back. He waited as Alistair dismounted and tethered Alkippe to a tree.

  Bosque led them across the rippling brook and up a slope. The forest grew quiet as they walked. When they reached the top of the rise, Bosque halted. Alistair’s eyes followed the other man’s pointing finger, which directed his sight to a hollow beneath the trunk of a great fallen tree.

  “There,” Bosque said, his voice rich with satisfaction.

  “A den?” Alistair frowned.

  “Wolves are much like men—they are ruled by kings and queens.” Bosque gazed at the gap below the tree trunk. “Without the pack leader, chaos ensues.”

  Bosque turned to Alistair. “To complete your vision, you need an alpha wolf’s blood.”

  “And that’s why we’re here?” Alistair squinted at the den, but could see only darkness.

  “Partly.” Bosque held a bloodied rabbit in his hands. Alistair had no idea where the dead rabbit had come from. “She lies within. And she is hungry. Her pack went to hunt for her.”

  “And if they come back?” Alistair asked him.

  “They aren’t coming back.” Bosque motioned for Alistair to be still. “Wait here.”

  While Alistair watched, Bosque laid his kill just beyond the den’s opening and crept to the other side of the massive dead tree. They waited.

  Alistair couldn’t remember the last time he’d been still for so long. His limbs twitched, eager to move again. Bosque held his position as if he’d been carved of stone.

  A flicker of movement within the den’s shadow drew Alistair’s gaze. A stirring of shadows became a shape. The shape became a head. The female wolf emerged from the den, hovering at its edge. Her body was heavy, teats peeking out from the fur of her belly.

  Cubs. And from the looks of the mother, she’d very recently given birth.

  Alistair wanted to shout in triumph. It was exactly what he needed.

  Bosque never failed to keep his promises. This was special prey.

  The she-wolf sniffed the air. Her ears and eyes were alert, seeking danger. Hunger won out over caution, and the wolf proceeded from the safety of her den. She’d taken the rabbit carcass into her jaws when she suddenly yelped. Dropping her meal, she scrambled back to the den. Her head and shoulders were engulfed by the dark opening when her back legs went out from under her. The wolf collapsed on her side and lay still.

  Bursting from his hiding place, Alistair rushed toward the den. He didn’t know what had made the wolf fall, but he lamented the thought that he’d lost her at the same moment she’d been found. Perhaps she’d already been sick.

  Alistair knelt beside the tunnel and wrapped his arms around the wolf. Her fur was thick, a mottling of gray hues. Running his hands over her fur, Alistair’s fingers met with something cool and hard. Something metal.

  Wrapping his hand around the slender object, Alistair pulled it from the wolf’s shoulder. He peered at the dart’s needlepoint tip.

  “Take care not to prick yourself, Lord Hart.” Bosque was standing beside him.

  Alistair swore under his breath, then said, “You move without a sound.” He offered the dart to Bosque. “This is yours?”

  “A favored weapon,” Bosque answered. He showed Alistair a slim length of wood that had been hollowed in the center. “Poison on the dart took the wolf down.”

  “You killed her?” Alistair couldn’t imagine why Bosque would have wanted the wolf dead.

  “Of course not,” Bosque replied. “More of the poison would have taken her life. What I used knocked her senseless. You didn’t want her chewing through the nets on the ride home, did you?”

  Without waiting for Alistair to answer, Bosque crouched down and gathered the wolf into his arms. He lifted her effortlessly.

  “Go into the den and gather the cubs into your cloak,” Bosque told Alistair. “They’ll be small enough to bundle within the fabric until we return to Tearmunn.”

  Alistair poked his head into the dark tunnel. The tiny mewling sounds of the cubs calling for their mother filled his ears. His shoulders barely fit into the den’s entrance, but the hollowed space widened as he squirmed deeper into the earth. Blinded by shadows, Alistair used his ears to locate the cubs. Covered in fur soft as down and barely larger than his hand, the wolves were easy enough to gather into his cloak before he pulled up the corners into a sack.

  He found Bosque watching the den’s entrance expectantly as Alistair crawled back into the daylight with this squirming, whimpering bundle.

  “We should return.” Bosque started down the slope. “On the ride home, we’ll discuss the mother’s feeding and the process for weaning the cubs off her milk.”

  Alistair followed, numbed by the onslaught of events. Ember’s arrival. Prisoners and wolves stashed beneath the manor, awaiting his purpose. Forcing his mind away from unwieldy questions about what the future held, Alistair focused on the mundane: hopping over the creek, preparing for the ride home.

  As they neared the horses, Alistair laughed quietly.

  “What is it?” Bosque glanced over his shoulder.

  “Between your horse and the wolves.” Alistair grinned. “I wonder if Alkippe will survive the return trip to Tearmunn.”

  Bosque’s smile matched Alistair’s. “Would you like to wager on it?”

  EMBER WOKE AS A HAND covered her mouth.

  “Don’t scream.”

  The cry welling in Ember’s throat died, but only because she recognized the speaker’s voice.

  When Cian saw that Ember wouldn’t panic, she rose from her crouch. Taking Ember’s arm, Cian pulled her from the bed where she’d been sleeping alongside Agnes. Cian handed Ember a heavy cloak, which the younger woman fastened over her sleeping gown. They quietly stole from the room.

  The seasoned warrior took Ember only so far as a few doors along the manor corridor to another chamber. Hurrying inside the door that Cian had opened, Ember clasped her fingers in front of her lips so she wouldn’t give a joyful cry.

  Father Michael sat at a desk on the far side of the room, watching her in the soft glow of light cast by the lantern at his side. Though she stayed quiet, Ember flung herself at the elderly priest when he stood up, wrapping him in an embrace. Father Michael staggered back from her unexpected greeting, but soon he was clasping her tight.

  “My heart is glad to see you well, Lady Morrow.”

  Embarrassed by her unrestrained display, Ember let go of Father Michael and scuttled back, bowing her head in respect.

  “I take it that your response to Father Michael means your little speech this afternoon was an act?” Cian asked from behind Ember.

  Turning to answer, Ember noticed for the first time that Cian was fully armed, despite the late hour. And her hand was on the hilt of her sword. Ember stiffened, realizing that Cian might have believed that Ember would betray their secret.

  “It was,” Ember told Cian.

  Cian relaxed slightly, but kept a close watch on Ember. “Have you returned only to see to your sister?”

  “I did come to ensure Agnes’s safety.” Ember pulled the cloak tighter around her. “But that is not all.”

  “Sit, child.” Father Michael gestured to another chair, and Ember gratefully accepted his offer. Cian remained close to the door.

  The priest’s kind eyes put Ember more at ease.

  “What can you tell us of the others?” Father Michael asked her.

  “Barrow, Lukasz, and Kael are in France,” Ember said. “Sawyer was lost at sea. I don’t know what became of Fitch and Mercer. They
never joined our party on the road from Tearmunn.”

  Cian grunted in disgust. “Fitch proved spineless. He betrayed Mercer and would have revealed our presence.”

  “How did you stop him?” Ember’s eyes were wide.

  “I killed him before he could tell his tale,” Cian answered, and Ember flinched, knowing that if she’d been suspected of the same, Fitch’s fate would have been her own.

  Father Michael folded his hands on the desk. “We must know, Ember. Does it go as badly abroad as Lady Eira’s boasts would make it seem?”

  Reluctantly, Ember nodded. Any comfort she’d taken in seeing Cian and Father Michael faded as quickly as the glimmers of hope on their faces.

  “They all go to her.” Cian shook her head. “And there is naught we can do.”

  “We must not despair,” Father Michael said calmly, though Ember saw a great sadness in his eyes.

  Cian met his gaze, but didn’t answer.

  “What of Tearmunn?” Ember asked. “Have we no allies here?”

  “Those who would join us have either been cowed by fear into submitting to Eira’s will,” Cian told her, “or they are locked in the stockade.”

  Ember spoke, though she was afraid to learn more. “Lora? Ewan?”

  “Ewan remains part of the Circle, but he cannot delay taking the oath for much longer without risk of being put in irons,” Father Michael said. “Lora has disappeared. I pray that she simply fled the keep, knowing she would be imprisoned for refusing to give Eira fealty. But I fear something worse has befallen her, for I find it hard to believe she would have left without sharing her plan with us.”

  Made restless by this news, Ember stood up. “I know it wouldn’t be ideal to forswear oneself.” She glanced with guilt at Father Michael. “But couldn’t the oath be taken falsely?”

  Father Michael answered, “If it were so easy, I would gladly absolve those who pledged themselves to Eira’s new order, but the oath is much more than words. It changes those who take it.”

  “Changes them how?” Ember frowned at the priest.