"I tried to kill him," Ciara said in a rush without looking up. "Bolin, that is. Did you know that? It wasn't the first time either. I think he must truly hate me. How could he not when I've caused him nothing but trouble?"
Nialyne reached over and took her hand. "Bolin does not hate you, child. You must put such thoughts from your mind. He cares for you very deeply."
Ciara snorted and Nialyne raised a delicate brow.
"I'm sorry. I just..." Ciara shook her head and stared at the fountain again. "He made a promise to my aunt to see me safe, or I'm sure he would have long since gone his own way. I'm a duty to him. Nothing more."
"He is a difficult man to know," Nialyne said. "Even as a child he kept himself closed to all but a few, and those few had to work to get in."
"You've known him a long time then?"
"Oh yes," Nialyne said, and smiled at the memory. "He was raised here, brought to me as a babe-in-arms."
"Oh." Ciara tugged at her lower lip with her teeth. "Soooo..." She dragged the word out, debating the wisdom of asking the question that had been begging an answer she wouldn't get from Bolin. "Is the Goddess really his mother?"
"It is rumored."
Ciara frowned. "Now you sound just like him."
"I didn't mean to," Nialyne said. "Bolin was brought here by the sisters of the Isle. They never said who his parents were, though they never disputed the claims that the Sciath na Duinne were her children. I was asked to raise him, train him in the proper use of his gift, and prepare him for service to the Emperor."
"The old woman we fought...she called him nephew."
"Did she?" Nialyne appeared to consider that for a moment. "Then I suppose that is our answer."
Ciara's face crinkled in thought. "So you're saying that old woman is the Goddess's sister? How is any of that even possible? I mean, the Goddess is--you know." Ciara twirled a hand in the air. "Out there somewhere."
"The Goddess did not always reside in the ethereal. For many centuries she walked this earth as any of us do. Granted, that was ages past, long before even the days of the Elder Priests." Nialyne gave Ciara a curious look. "I would have thought one of your calling would have been instructed in the lore of the Goddess."
"I'm sure my mother and aunt tried to instruct me," Ciara said. "But I was never a very good student. I probably heard the tales a hundred times but very little of it has stuck with me. I always had other things I wanted to be doing, like helping Findley with the horses."
"And being angry at the Goddess?"
Ciara bit the inside of her cheek. "Did Bolin tell you that?"
"He did not need to. For the first several days you were in my care your thoughts wandered and you gave voice to them frequently," Nialyne said, and though she may have disapproved of what those thoughts were, it didn't come through in her tone. "Konly and I spent some time guiding you from the veil. Much of what Bolin left unsaid in his telling of events, we found there. You were lost in such a tangle that for a time we feared we would not be able to bring you back."
"I think there was a time I didn't want to come back," Ciara said, her voice soft.
"We feared as much," Nialyne said. "Bolin in particular. I do not think I have ever seen him so troubled. He had already pushed himself beyond his limits, and he doesn't make the best patient as it is. For a time we worried we would lose you both."
"I'm sorry I caused you so much trouble. I wish there was something I could do to make it up to you."
"Heal, child. That is all we ask." Nialyne reached up and tucked a strand of Ciara's hair back into its wayward braid. "If you feel up to it, you could give Konly a hand. She has missed having another healer to work beside her."
"And then what? I mean, I don't know what I'm supposed to do now, or where I'm supposed to go. I don't even have a home to go back to." The words caught in Ciara's throat. "Everything is such a mess."
"You cannot undo what is done," Nialyne said. "I do not know what the future holds for you, but I will do all I can to help you along your path. You have great power, child. These things we cannot always choose for ourselves, but we must be willing to face the responsibility they bring. When you are ready, I will teach you how to use your power wisely and not to fear it."
Ciara couldn't contain the shudder that ran through her at the thought.
Nialyne squeezed her hand. "When you are ready. Not before."
***
Bolin wrinkled his nose and sniffed. A half moon cycle had passed since their battle with the crone, and he doubted he would find much in the ruins of her cavern. He held onto a fool's hope of finding at least one body. The crone's or Donovan's, didn't much matter. Both would have made life almost wonderful. None kept it far too complicated.
How any of them had made it out of that chamber alive still remained a mystery. Granted, Ciara lacked the training and focus her power required, but they had all underestimated her. She could have killed them without much effort had she known how. Thank the Goddess Ciara had turned the bulk of her rage and frustration on the crone. If nothing else, that one should be greatly weakened. Which made Bolin's priority finding and killing her before she could regain her strength.
As for Donovan--Ciara had protected him. Well, in fairness, Ciara's power had protected him. Donovan, loose in the world, would be a bigger threat than the crone. He would never stop hunting Ciara. By now he had to know Bolin had taken her to the Greensward. Her safety there would last only until Donovan found a way to successfully breach the borders.
Good luck to him on that venture. The wards that protected Galys Auld were a natural thing. Rising up out of the earth, they defined the Greensward's borders and guarded it against intruders. No one could pass through them without their knowledge and consent, and the knowledge and consent of the Galysian elders as well. The elders of Galys Auld were born to their position, powerful mages all, their magic tied to the land. Bolin, having spent a great deal of his youth in the Greensward, had never once been challenged by the wards. Not until he had taken Ciara over the border.
He marveled they had allowed her to pass at all. Perhaps Nialyne had a hand in it. Or maybe the wards took pity on Ciara because, like Bolin, she had been one step away from death and in the company of a Galysian scouting party. Still, they had snapped shut around Ciara as soon as she crossed the border. It sent a ripple of dissent through the Galysian elders. Nialyne, bless her soul, had been able to calm them until Bolin regained enough strength to face the council himself. That took the better part of three days. Ciara had come closer to killing him than she would ever know.
Bolin shoved a leaning timber onto its side with his foot. The swamp had already begun to reclaim the skeleton of the crone's chamber. Some of the larger pieces had sunk into the soft ground, while clinging moss and vines began to work at the rest. There were no clues to be found among the piles of debris as to the fate of his enemies. He walked the circumference of the ruins one more time, opening himself to any stray currents of magic that still lingered. As he made for the remains of the archway leading out a strange sensation flitted past. A vague whiff of odd magic that tickled his subconscious like the odor of some foreign food he had tasted once but couldn't quite recall. It brought Bolin to a sudden halt. He tried focusing on it but found the more attention he paid it, the harder it became to pinpoint. As he moved forward down the short corridor leading out into the swamp, the trace reappeared, then faded.
Sandeen flicked an ear back to acknowledge his rider's approach, but something in the trees had the grey stallion's attention. Even when Bolin gathered up the reins, the horse didn't turn to look at him. Bolin stroked the deep chest as he followed Sandeen's gaze. The stallion radiated curiosity, not worry, but Bolin and Sandeen didn't always agree on what warranted concern.
Leaving the horse, Bolin skirted a tangled mass of blackened roots that had long ago failed to keep purchase in the soft ground. He slipped through the tall grass with barely a sound, making a wide circle out from his original positio
n. Bolin eased a dagger out of its sheath, muscles tense, every sense alert. Grumbling and snorting reached his ears before he laid eyes on his quarry, perched on a rock, knees hugged to his chest.
"Hello, Grumnlin," Bolin said softly from behind him.
The little man shrieked in surprise and tumbled off the rock. He spun to face Bolin, eyes narrowed, brandishing a short knife that looked more like a letter opener than a weapon. "You."
"Put that away before you hurt yourself," Bolin said.
Grumnlin gestured at the naked blade in Bolin's hand. "You first."
Bolin obliged, and Grumnlin took advantage to dart away. He gave a strangled yelp as Bolin snagged him by the collar and hoisted him off his feet. Grumnlin flailed his legs in the air, and swung his arm around, the knife aimed at Bolin's chest. The fingers of Bolin's free hand snapped around Grumnlin's wrist, nails digging into flesh until the knife fell useless to the ground.
"That wasn't very polite," Bolin said, teeth clenched.
Grumnlin kicked at him. "Put me down! You don't hold me."
"It appears I do." Bolin glanced around. "Where's your mistress, Grumnlin?"
"Dead!" He aimed a fist at Bolin, and missed. "You kill Lady."
"You're not a very good liar." The hair on Bolin's arm stood on end. The same vague magic sense he had gotten in the ruins trickled off Grumnlin. "You found someone to help her, didn't you?"
Grumnlin folded his arms across his barrel of a chest and stopped squirming. "Put down."
"Why shouldn't I just kill you?"
Grumnlin's eyes went wide and he swallowed, hard, taking the threat to heart. "Not run. Lord not kill. Not run."
Bolin contemplated his options. Grumnlin had been known to carry out tasks for the crone, to stretch her reach beyond the confines of her prison, reason enough to leave him for the worms. Still, he could lead Bolin to her if she lived.
He lowered Grumnlin back onto the rock, and released his hold. Even standing to his full height on his perch, the creature came no higher than Bolin's chest. He met Bolin's hard stare, thumbs stuck through his belt and his chest puffed out.
"Some day, I kill you," he said, matter of fact, as though telling Bolin the swamp stunk.
"Possibly. But not today. It's admirable to be so loyal to your mistress. I hope she rewards you well."
"Lady make me."
"I'm aware of your origins, little man. Tell me, who did you find to help your mistress?" Grumnlin pursed his lips and glared defiantly. Bolin resisted the urge to back-hand him into the nearest tree. "You can die here, or you can tell me what I want to know."
"You no kill." Grumnlin squeaked when the tip of Bolin's dagger pricked his throat. It didn't quite break the skin. Yet. "No do!"
"I've no more patience for you, or your mistress. It will mean less than nothing to me to give you back to the swamp that bore you. Who did you find?"
"He found me."
Bolin whipped around, flipping his dagger into his left hand as he drew his sword and faced the woman who had come silently up on them. She spread her arms to the sides and surveyed him coolly with eyes of deep lavender. Grumnlin shifted on his rock, but thought better of it when Bolin's dagger reclaimed its position against his throat.
"And you would be?" Bolin asked, not even glancing at Grumnlin.
"A friend of Grumnlin's," she said. "Tell me, what has he done to deserve threats of death from one such as you?"
"That is no business of yours."
"Hmm." The woman studied him, her head tilted. "It may be."
She lowered her arms, and Bolin brought the point of his sword up a fraction. The elusive magic he'd felt belonged to her, but even this close he couldn't get a true sense of it. It had a foulness that made his skin crawl. Most magic began neutral in its conception and turned whichever way the possessor guided it. Bolin curled a lip. This magic had never been anything other than evil.
"Where is she, witch?" he asked.
The woman smiled. "Safely away from you, bastard son of a motherless whore."
"Pleasant."
Bolin lowered the dagger and Grumnlin bolted to hide behind the woman's skirts. She gazed lovingly at him, and reached down a hand to stroke his head as though he were some wayward pup.
"Do you have them both, then?" Bolin said.
"Are you going to try and take them from me?" She slid her gaze back to Bolin, challenge glittering in her eyes. "It should be fun. I've never met one of your kind."
She spread the fingers of her left hand, outstretched at her side. A black blob rested in her open palm as she raised it up. Slime oozed between her fingers, hissing when it hit the ground.
Bolin sheathed both his weapons. They'd do him little good against this one. His skin warmed where Ciara's pendant rested at his throat. The woman raised her hand and pinched off some of the blob, rolling it between her fingertips. With a sudden flick she sent it spinning toward Bolin. He twisted out of the way a breath too late, hissing at the searing pain that lashed across his arm. Before he could retaliate, the woman tossed the remainder of the blob straight up in the air. As it streamed down over her and Grumnlin they literally disappeared. Bolin made a desperate grab for the magic before it totally dissipated. He shuddered, immediately regretting his decision. The magic had a slick, oily feel and burned where it nestled inside him. He'd never felt anything like it, and he'd channeled more magic than he could name. He closed his eyes, and concentrated on isolating the sticky, black glob, but did not attempt to alter it. He needed to keep it only until he reached Galys Auld. There, the elders would hopefully be able to determine its origin and nature.
He looked down at his arm, lifting the tatters of his sleeve to reveal a jagged red welt just below his shoulder. The wound stung like something much worse. There'd be nothing in this place he'd trust to make into a poultice, so he tied the ends of the fabric around it and returned to where Sandeen stood, dozing.
He roused the horse and swung into the saddle. No sense lingering. His foray into the swamp hadn't been totally for naught. He hadn't found his quarry, but it seemed they had found themselves a new ally. Bad news all the way around.
Bolin turned Sandeen south, toward the Greensward, the bit of black magic roiling inside him like something he had eaten that wanted, instead, to eat him.
CHAPTER THREE
Bolin felt the Greensward's wards tremble as he approached, and Sandeen balked and tossed his head. The witch's black magic he carried hissed as the wards slid over it, and Bolin winced at the sharp stinging sensation it sent through him. He urged Sandeen forward, the wards crackling around them. They allowed him to pass but their presence followed. Bolin got the distinct impression had he not immediately made for Nialyne's chambers in the sprawling manor, they would have forced him there.
She met him in the doorway, the wind playing with the loose strands of her golden hair, her smooth brow furrowed as she watched him dismount. Eyes the deep green of lush summer leaves swept over him, and Nialyne shuddered. Without a word she turned and made for her private study. Bolin followed her in, closing the door behind them.
"The wards have never announced you in such a manner," Nialyne said. "Not even when you brought Danyala Ciara here. What is it you carry?"
"I'm hoping you can tell me."
"Do I dare ask where you came by it?"
Bolin wet his lips. The witch's magic made him sick. He'd barely eaten in the three days since leaving the swamp, and the wound on his arm burned like hell's own fire. "It seems the crone has herself a new ally. I don't know that I've come across her kind before."
"And so you took some of her magic? Without knowing what it is?"
"We need to find the nature of it to know our enemy."
Nialyne frowned. "Are you always so careless in what magic you hold?"
"Not normally," Bolin replied.
"Can you alter it?"
He grimaced. "I'd rather not. It's...I need a crystal."
Nialyne's brows hit her hairline. "Are you
serious?"
"When have you known me not to be?"
"Bolin--"
His knees gave way suddenly and he sat down, hard, relieved to land in a chair and not on the floor. He closed his eyes. Bile rose in his throat, and he forced it down, looking up at Nialyne from under his brows. "I can't keep this much longer."
The door opened without preamble and two men and a woman rushed in, elders all, expressions showing concern and confusion. The oldest of the men, Maurar, confronted Nialyne, taking no notice of Bolin. "The wards are screaming." The other man touched his arm before he could continue, and tipped his head to indicate Bolin seated in the chair before the fire. Maurar's irritated frown turned to surprise, and he bowed from the waist. "Danya Sciath, I did not realize."
The other two bowed as well, and Bolin scowled at the pretense. "I set off the wards." The words came out close to a growl. The witch's magic clawed at him to be released, its touch inside his soul burning like liquid fire. "It was unintentional."
The woman elder--her name escaped Bolin, though he should have known it as well as his own--studied him with a clear, level gaze. She shuddered just as Nialyne had. "You carry darkness, Danya."
"Elders," Bolin slipped into Galysian, out of respect, though speech came through clenched teeth. "A crystal would be most beneficial."
Maurar exchanged a look with Nialyne, but it was the other woman who responded. "You wish to entrap it."
"We need to discover its nature." Bolin's muscles convulsed and he gripped the arms of the chair until his knuckles went white. "I would rather not debate the issue."
He didn't miss the immediate stiffening in Maurar's posture. Few had the audacity to order an elder, and there were fewer still this particular elder would acquiesce to. "This is a most unexpected request."
Bolin shoved out of the chair. "It is not a request."
Maurar flinched, and the elder behind him blanched. Nialyne stepped smoothly in front of Bolin and pushed him back into the chair with a hand on his shoulder.
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