Rise

by Andrea Cremer

  Drawing a quick breath, Eira said, “But when I first opened the way for you to be in this world, you made me turn away, for fear of what I would see.”

  “My other form was required for the crossing between worlds,” Bosque told her. “That body took your blood as a pact so that this body could be sustained here. But with the crossing complete, I may remain a man for so long as I choose.”

  He leaned forward, moving her onto the bed. “To provide whatever you need.” His lips touched the hollow between her ear and her jaw. “Or desire.”

  Eira felt her will to resist giving way, but there remained one thing she needed to know. “Wait.”

  Bosque stayed close, but he became still, no longer enticing her with his kisses.

  “This union is a deepening of our bond,” Eira said.

  “Yes.”

  She put her hand to his chest, holding him back, though he hadn’t tried to close the little distance that remained between them. “Our bond has always carried a price.”

  “An offering of blood,” Bosque replied calmly.

  “And now?” Eira asked, unsettled by his casual tone.

  “The same will be required. And as before, I cannot heal your wound,” he answered, his smile almost teasing. “But you need do nothing to make your offering. That task falls to me.”

  Eira stiffened. “What will you do to me?”

  “Only what you want me to.” Reaching down, Bosque gathered the hem of her kirtle. “Unless—”

  Bosque began to lift her kirtle. Eira closed her eyes, barely breathing. “Unless?”

  “Has another man taken your maidenhead?”

  “No!” Her eyelids snapped up, and she glared at him. “Did you think otherwise?”

  “I did not,” he answered, still smiling. “But you were the one who pressed me about the nature of the sacrifice.”

  “The—” Grasping his meaning, Eira choked on the remaining words.

  This time Bosque did bear her down onto the bed, his full weight pushing against her. Eira began to speak, but he stopped her words with a kiss that began gently and grew in urgency. Her lingering questions were soon forgotten.

  EMBER HAD WORRIED that Agnes would take the news of her wedding badly, but the opposite proved to be true, which made Ember sick with guilt.

  Secrets weighed heavy on the tip of her tongue, ready to be confessed. But she feared that revealing the coming battle would endanger Agnes more than leaving her in ignorance. Agnes wasn’t the issue. Bosque Mar was.

  The tall, silver-eyed man visited Agnes almost daily, despite the fact that the two sisters were busy with preparations for the wedding. Bosque would appear without notice, sometimes sitting with them, other times inviting Agnes to join him for a walk through the courtyard. Ember hated it. But she could make no excuse that would keep Agnes from accepting Bosque’s offers of companionship without telling her about his origins, and that very subject was what made Ember so reluctant to share her fears with her sister. Bosque’s gaze was uncanny. Ember sensed that each moment he spent in their company was one in which he delved for information, like a predator sniffing out its next meal.

  If Ember alerted Agnes to the danger, Bosque would notice her changed behavior, throwing suspicion on both sisters. Try as she might, Ember found no good choices in this matter.

  This particular afternoon, Bosque and Agnes were deeply involved in a discussion of the merits of a variety of spring flowers. Why a lord of the nether realm would have any opinions on blossoms, Ember couldn’t fathom, and she was relieved when a servant appeared with a message from Father Michael reminding her that she should make confession before the wedding mass.

  Hurriedly excusing herself, Ember fled the chamber and made her way to the chapel. She was certain that Father Michael hadn’t truly summoned her to make confession or discuss the wedding. The only benefit of so much flurry around the event was that the premise of preparation enabled Ember to avoid her betrothed. Each interaction with Alistair had become more difficult. He was constantly touching her, holding her hands, leaning in for a chaste kiss. On the one occasion when Alistair had pursued a more aggressive approach to the physical side of their betrothal, Ember insisted that she wouldn’t compromise her virtue and would only surrender to her passion on their wedding night. Had that been more than four days hence, Alistair might have persisted in his efforts to seduce her. To Ember’s relief, he relented.

  Alistair’s touch didn’t revolt her, nor was his company unpleasant. But those two truths made everything worse. To see him and know what was coming twisted a knife in Ember’s belly. Each interaction burdened her more than the last, so that Ember feared she might become physically sick from the tension mercilessly wringing her body.

  When Ember entered the chapel, she found Father Michael at prayer. She walked along the pews quietly, waiting until he rose to speak.

  The priest must have heard her approach. The moment he stood, he turned to greet her.

  “Thank you for coming so quickly, Ember.” Gesturing for her to follow, Father Michael crossed in front of the stained-glass window from which the archangel that shared the priest’s name watched over them.

  Settling into one of the front pews, Father Michael patted the wooden bench. “Please sit.”

  Ember took her place beside the priest. “Is there news?”

  “That’s why I’ve summoned you,” Father Michael answered. “With your wedding day so close, you must be prepared for what will happen. I would not have you enter the battle like a blind lamb.”

  Ember clasped her hands tight in her lap.

  “The ceremony will take place at the courtyard,” Father Michael told her. “At the signal, your father and Mackenzie will begin their attack. Cian will assist them in leading the clan warriors.”

  “What is the signal?” Ember asked.

  “When Alistair places the ring on your finger.”

  With a shudder, Ember dropped her head back against the pew. While the clansmen raised their swords, she’d be adorned in her wedding gown and flowers. Feeling a light touch on her arm, Ember turned to meet Father Michael’s gaze.

  “Do not belittle your role in this plan, Ember,” he said gently.

  Forcing a weak smile, Ember asked, “What else will happen?”

  “While chaos reigns out of doors, Rebekah will open a door in the great hall,” Father Michael told her. “Our hope is that the battle will hold Eira’s attention long enough for Rebekah to complete her spell, closing the rift.”

  “And Barrow?” Ember lowered her eyes as her pulse jumped.

  “He will be with Lukasz, Kael, and the Mamluks, guarding Rebekah.”

  Ember let her eyes close. She’d known it wouldn’t be possible for Barrow to stand among the clansmen who gathered for her wedding. The chance of him being recognized was too great. But a stubborn, irrational piece of Ember’s mind insisted that she needed him in the crowd, that once the battle began, she would want to shove Alistair away and rush over to fight at Barrow’s side so he would know without question that the ring encircling her finger was nothing but a ruse. By her action, she would refute the ceremony she’d taken part in, purging the false promises she’d uttered as she fought at Barrow’s side.

  Father Michael must have surmised the nature of her thoughts, for he said, “When the fighting begins, you should see to your safety and that of your mother and sister.”

  Ember looked at him, nodding, though her mind clung to the hope of somehow finding Barrow.

  “Mackenzie promised men to protect your family,” Father Michael reminded her. “When they reach you, stay close to them. Just as you are, they will be unhappy to be excluded from the battle at large. Let these warriors fulfill the task their clan chief has given them.”

  Finding all her counterarguments ignoble, Ember resigned herself to playing the role of spectator in the coming fight.

  Father Michael stood up. “Before that day arrives, however, I have another task for you.”

&nb
sp; Without further explanation, he walked away. Surprised, Ember hopped up and followed Father Michael out of the chapel, into his private quarters. He paused in front of a tall, narrow bookcase, looking back at her.

  “Lord Hart came to make confession,” Father Michael said. “From what he said, I understand you’ve spent little time with your betrothed.”

  Ember avoided the priest’s gaze. “I find it difficult to be in his company, knowing I deceive him.”

  “I do not envy you, Lady Morrow,” he said. “You’ve placed not only your body but your heart and spirit at great risk.”

  Father Michael pulled a book from the middle shelf and reached into the empty space. “For that reason, I am sorry to ask you to risk more, but fear I must.”

  Ember heard a click, and the bookcase whined. Father Michael took several steps back as it swung forward. “Do you remember what I asked of you at Eilean Donan?”

  “You spoke of fear over the work Alistair had been doing for Bosque,” Ember said.

  Nodding, Father Michael continued, “And since you have found it necessary to avoid Lord Hart, I assume you have not spoken with him of this matter.”

  Mute with embarrassment that she’d chosen her own needs over the priest’s request, Ember shook her head.

  Seeing the way her cheeks colored, Father Michael said, “Don’t chastise yourself, my child. I would be far more concerned if you pretended love for Alistair without a heavy heart.”

  Her eyes downcast, Ember murmured, “Thank you.”

  Father Michael beckoned Ember closer. When she reached his side, Ember saw a dark opening in the wall that had been hidden by the bookcase. “This passage leads to the catacombs where each day Alistair performs his work. He enters through a trapdoor in the cellar, but only I know of this entrance. Alistair took Lady Eira into the catacombs this morning.”

  “You would have me enter?” Ember gazed at the dark tunnel. “When they are still within the tombs?”

  “The answers we seek lie in the corridors and chambers beneath this manor,” he answered. “Your wedding takes place in four days. Alistair makes confession of his carnal desires, but not of what hides in the darkness below this manor. If there are secrets that will compromise our success within the resting place of the dead, we must know. Stay hidden in the shadows and learn what you can from listening.”

  Father Michael drew a dagger from the folds of his robes.

  “Take this so you have means to defend yourself.” He pressed the hilt into Ember’s hand. “I pray that you won’t need to use it.”

  Ember’s fingers closed around the hilt. She called to mind the gathered warriors of the clans, the risk they would take by staging a decoy attack. She drew further resolve from the faces of her friends. Lukasz, Kael, Cian, and Barrow would protect Rebekah as she attempted to close the rift. If the catacombs housed some unknown weapon, it could compromise everything.

  Taking a deep breath, she nodded a farewell to Father Michael and entered the tunnel. The light from the priest’s quarters faded quickly, leaving Ember in darkness.

  Blinking into the dark, Ember turned to follow the directional change of the tunnel and noticed a ruddy glow farther along the passage. She made her way forward cautiously. As her vision adjusted to the lack of light, she began to see the contours of the passage. When she reached the light’s source, a torch in an iron sconce, the tunnel curved again, pitching sharply downward. Ember took the torch from the wall and continued on her path. The more she walked, the narrower the passage became, and abruptly Ember was facing a dead end.

  Frowning, she gazed at the wall before her and wondered if Father Michael had ever used this tunnel and knew that it came out somewhere. She lifted the torch, searching the wall for anything she’d missed—a depression or hidden door. When she examined the corner of the wall, the shadows dancing in the torchlight grew more pronounced.

  Ember pressed her hand to the wall, feeling its shape. Without warning, the stone she touched was gone and her fingers grasped at air. The gap in the wall was nearly invisible, made to trick the eye into seeing a barrier where a small space existed. The hole between the wall she faced and the one to her side barely accommodated Ember. She squeezed through and came out at the back of a statue. An effigy of the Virgin Mary at prayer loomed over Ember and disguised the place from which she’d come.

  Slipping around the statue, Ember saw that she’d entered what must be the main corridor of the catacombs. The tunnel was wider, and the stone walls featured hollows at regular intervals occupied by sarcophagi. The corridor had a steep slope, and Ember began to follow the downward tilt of the path. She kept her eyes ahead. Surrounded by so many souls laid to rest, Ember couldn’t shake the sense that spirits watched as she passed by their burial sites.

  A sound rising from behind the curving wall in front of her brought Ember to a halt. She listened more closely and heard voices. Every foul curse she knew jumped onto Ember’s tongue, but she dared not cry out. The voices were much too close for comfort, and out of the corner of her eye, Ember caught the soft glow of lantern light spilling along the corridor. She searched the wall until she found an empty iron sconce. Quickly restoring her torch to an inconspicuous place on the wall, Ember cringed, realizing that she’d be forced to hide behind a sarcophagus. She scrambled over the cold, carved stone and rolled into the crevice between the wall and the coffin. Her shoulder dropped hard against the corner of the tomb, and she had to bite her tongue so she wouldn’t shout in pain.

  Ember hoped the shadows were enough to keep her hidden. There wasn’t space to curl into a ball. As it was, she could barely move and worried she wouldn’t be able to leverage herself from the tight space. Panic hit her like a blow to the chest. What if she couldn’t get out? Fear, rolling through her limbs, almost made her yell toward the sound of the approaching group. Better to be caught than to be trapped by this sarcophagus until it became her grave as well.

  Forcing herself to close her eyes and breathe, Ember beat back her anxiety. Instead of thinking about the rough stone, its cold touch reaching through her dress and making her shudder, Ember listened to the voices that grew ever closer.

  “I must say, Alistair,” Eira mused, “I never expected this. You’re quite the innovator.”

  Alistair’s reply was barely audible. “I only hope to please you, Lady Eira.”

  “You needn’t worry about that,” she answered him. “You’ve proven your worth many times over. I’ll readily admit that I find you quite… essential.”

  “I’m honored,” Alistair replied.

  “And what do you think of our young knight?” Eira asked.

  A smooth, low reply came. “I’ve always seen great potential in Lord Hart.”

  Ember went rigid. Bosque Mar’s voice never failed to make her pulse spike. She was startled that he was in the catacombs. He must have left Agnes shortly after Ember went to seek Father Michael.

  Keeping as still as she could, Ember prayed that the darkness was enough to hide her. She could hear their footsteps. Lantern light slid along the wall opposite her crevice. Eira and Alistair came into view first. Bosque followed, a tall guardian looming over their shoulders.

  “We won’t know until they’re unleashed,” Alistair said to Eira. “But I think they could make all the difference when it comes to a fight. The traitors will never anticipate this development.”

  “I agree,” Bosque said. “It’s an incredible feat. Something to celebrate at your wedding feast?”

  Bile rose in Ember’s throat as she waited for Alistair’s reply, but it was Eira who spoke.

  “Though we cannot share your triumph with the wedding guests, we shall toast you in secret,” Eira replied.

  “I am grateful, Lady Eira.” Alistair added, “I hope that Rhys will soon be able to join me in the manor. He has yet to learn control, but the child is eager.”

  “And deeply attached to you,” Eira noted. “That serves our purpose well.”

  There was a pause,
then Alistair asked, “When will she wake?”

  “After an hour or so,” Bosque answered.

  Eira added, “I’m more interested in when we’ll know whether Rhys was able to complete the rite as you envisioned it could occur.”

  “As am I.” Alistair’s voice was tight. “We simply have to wait.”

  “As you wish,” Bosque replied.

  A blur of questions seized Ember’s thoughts: Who slept while the three plotters acted? Who was Rhys, and what rite did they speak of? She realized only after the lantern light began to fade that the trio had passed her without incident. She waited until she could no longer hear their voices, then began the task of dislodging herself from the tomb. As she’d feared, in her haste to hide, Ember had wedged herself firmly between the sarcophagus and the wall. Though panic tried to keep her imprisoned by the coffin, Ember methodically squirmed and wriggled until the stones gave up their hostage. Hoisting herself onto the sarcophagus, Ember crawled back out of the tomb. She glanced in the direction that Alistair, Eira, and Bosque had gone. Their path led toward the passage by which Ember had entered the catacombs.

  Given her near discovery, Ember briefly considered returning to the passage and getting away from the tombs as quickly as possible. But the snippets of conversation she’d overheard were too troubling to ignore. What had Alistair done to so greatly please Eira and Bosque? And how could they be so confident that whatever it was, it signified the demise of Ember’s allies?

  Turning her back on the way to safety, Ember instead faced the slight downward pitch of the ground. She reclaimed her torch from the wall and followed the path deeper into the earth.

  The spiraling tunnel held nothing but the dead, and Ember’s head ached with frustration until she reached the point where the passage ended, opening into a broad chamber. At first glance, this was also simply a tomb—albeit a larger one—but the sarcophagi in the room had been changed. Their surfaces were covered with objects, as though they’d been used as tables.