Emergence (Book 2)

by K. L. Schwengel

  "Blyth," she said, without looking away from Bolin, "there is a crystal in the box on the mantle. If you would, please."

  A tremor started in Bolin's arms and worked its way through his entire body. Ciara's pendant flared against his skin, a different type of heat to what currently threatened to rip him apart from the inside out. He gritted his teeth to keep them from chattering. Someone handed Nialyne a milky white, multi-faceted stone about half the size of her fist. She cradled it in her palm and covered it with her other hand.

  "You are sure of the wisdom of this?" she asked, for Bolin's ears alone.

  He shook his head. "Not in the least."

  Her expression hardened. "We will discuss this later, if we are still able."

  "As you will." He held out his hand, palm up, unable to keep it from shaking. "The crystal."

  Nialyne placed the stone carefully in Bolin's hand and he flinched, almost dropping it when the witch's magic flared as though recognizing the trap. Nialyne cupped his hand with hers to steady him. Bolin sucked in a ragged breath. He could take magic into himself--any magic--alter it, strengthen it, use it, or hold it for use at some later time. Rarely did he hold it without changing its original essence. He had never given the reasoning behind that much thought. He did so now. Altering the magic made it his and gave him control over it. Not altering it was like bringing an unchained and armed enemy into your camp.

  He took anther breath, and turned his focus inward toward the oily, black blob. The weight of the crystal in his hand, and Nialyne's soft touch, were his anchors. The witch's magic resonated with violence and hatred, and though there were four people in the room with the natural magic of the Greensward strong in their veins, Bolin had no desire to find out what would happen should he fail to entrap it within the crystal.

  His awareness narrowed to the magic and the crystal. For the moment, nothing else existed. Pain ripped through him, and he cursed. Loudly. Searing hot knives tore through flesh and bone as he pulled the magic out. It fought him with all it had; substantial even in such a small bit. Ciara's pendant blazed in response to the threat, but Bolin couldn't spare even a thought to quiet it. He became aware of Nialyne speaking in ancient Galysian, opening the crystal so he didn't need to. The closer to the crystal the magic got, the more it fought him, and for a moment he doubted he would succeed.

  It gave a last, pain laden surge and Bolin's vision went black. Then the crystal snapped shut.

  Bolin huffed out a breath, blinking sweat from his eyes. Nialyne took the crystal from his hand and someone else replaced it with a glass of herb wine, which he nearly spilled on the way to his mouth. Unholy mothers, he never wanted to go through that again. He wiped a shaking hand across his face. Nialyne set the crystal in the center of the table and the four elders gathered around it. Maurar opened his mouth to say something when the door flew inward and Ciara blew into the room.

  Her eyes skimmed over the elders, landed on Bolin and went wide with surprise before flooding with relief, followed just as quickly with concern. She offered no deference to Nialyne or the others; they could have just as easily been pieces of furniture. She went directly to Bolin and dropped to her knees next to the chair, resting her hand on his arm.

  "Are you all right?"

  He directed his gaze pointedly at Nialyne. Ciara's brow furrowed. She gave a quick glance over her shoulder and scrambled to her feet.

  "I'm sorry, Danya Nialyne," she said, and bobbed a quick curtsy. "I didn't mean to barge in. I just--"

  "There is little excuse for rudeness," Maurar interjected, and his dark eyes slid past Ciara as Bolin shoved unsteadily to his feet. "No matter the source."

  Bolin dipped his head respectfully. "My apologies, Danya Maurar."

  It didn't suffice. Maurar's expression remained pinched, his shoulders back. The crystal probably didn't help his mood any. It had gone from milky white to sludge colored, and every now and again it vibrated against the table top, the witch's magic roiling in its once pure center.

  "What," Maurar spoke in Galysian, and gestured at the crystal, "do you intend to do with that?"

  "I had hoped you could discover its nature," Bolin replied evenly, also in Galysian. Ciara scowled, her gaze flicking between the speakers in a conversation she couldn't understand.

  "You cannot leave that here. Even encased in the crystal it is making the wards chatter." Maurar rolled his shoulders back and folded his arms across his chest. "I will not allow it."

  "Would you rather the source of this magic be allowed free rein in the lands at your border?"

  The elder's chin rose. "We can protect our own borders, Sciath."

  "And to the unholies with the rest of the empire?"

  "Danyas," Nialyne said, voice sharp. Bolin's shoulders snapped back, and Maurar's mouth clamped shut on whatever ill-advised retort had formed there. "I will retain the crystal. For now. Danya Blyth, if you could fetch the rest of the elders, we shall discuss our further course of action." She turned her gaze to Bolin. "You and I shall talk later."

  Bolin narrowed a look Maurar's way, but bowed his head to Nialyne and the other elders. "As you will, Danya." He turned, caught Ciara by the elbow and escorted her from Nialyne's study.

  ***

  Ciara found herself trotting to keep up with Bolin as he pulled her along. She rubbed her elbow when he finally released his grip, which didn't happen until they were nearly to the fountain in the center of the square. "Did I do something wrong?"

  Bolin slid a reproving look her way. "Outside of barging in on a roomful of elders?"

  "I didn't know."

  "Which is why most people would knock when confronted with a closed door."

  So much for Bolin being happy to see her again. "I thought something was wrong. I felt the wards, I think, and then…something else."

  That got her a sidelong, frowning glance. Ciara had imagined this moment so differently. She had hoped some of what she felt before Bolin left would have carried over. Instead, she got the cold, inscrutable Bolin.

  She sighed. "I'm sorry."

  Bolin shook his head. "It wasn't you." He studied the side of her face as they walked. "You look well."

  Ciara failed at containing a snort.

  "Ciara?"

  When she didn't respond he stopped and turned her to face him. Ciara stared at his chest, unable to make herself meet his eyes. Something glinted silver through the laces of his tunic. She reached up to slide a finger under the chain around Bolin's neck, drawing out what should have been her pendant from beneath his shirt. It warmed to her touch as she traced the intertwining sigils with the tip of her finger; her mother's, her aunt's, the Goddess's, and now...

  Ciara looked up, her brow furrowed. "It's different."

  "I believe the fourth is yours," he said, his voice soft.

  "Mine?" Ciara studied the intricate design. The pendant had been such a simple, elegant thing before. Though still beautiful, the roundness had gone out of it. There were more angles and sharp lines now, and the silver had a dark edge. "How?"

  "I'm not sure."

  Bolin's pulse beat in the hollow at the base of his throat, and Ciara's quickly caught pace. She let the pendant slip from her fingers, and took a step back.

  "Would you like it back, then?" he asked, an odd, husky tone to his voice.

  She backed another step, and shook her head. "No."

  "You've only to ask if you do. It is yours after all."

  Her lips parted to say yes, but the word made it no further. She had nothing else of her aunt save memories, but she had enough magic issues to deal with these days. She hardly needed another. Even something as simple as the pendant.

  Bolin cleared his throat. "It's no doubt what you felt."

  "What I felt?" Ciara blinked. "Oh. Why?"

  "Like the wards, it didn't agree with what I did."

  "Is that why Maurar was arguing with you?"

  "Danya Maurar." Bolin stressed the title. "He and I have never seen eye to eye."


  "I know the feeling," she said before her brain caught up with her mouth. Surprisingly, Bolin looked amused by that, if the slight softening of his expression and the light in his eyes were any indication. Ciara started walking again, angling back toward the fountain to give her something to do besides stand there like an addle-pated girl. Bolin fell into step beside her, and for a while they walked in silence.

  Almost to the square, Bolin asked, "Are you comfortable here?"

  Ciara cocked her head at him. "I suppose so. Why?"

  "It wouldn't be the worst place for you to stay. At least for now."

  "As opposed to being whisked away to Dryw Hrine?"

  "Aye."

  "I see."

  "You don't consider it a better option?"

  "I hadn't really considered it at all," Ciara said. "What about your promise to my aunt."

  "My oath was to keep you safe." They had reached the fountain and Bolin watched her as Ciara sat on the edge to trail her fingers through the water. "I believe Donovan is still alive."

  Her hand stilled. "And the old woman?"

  "I don't know."

  Ciara studied the rippled reflection of the clouds in the water. She shivered, and turned her face to him, trying to keep the fear from overtaking her. "He'll come for me, won't he?"

  "He can't touch you here."

  "But he'll try?"

  Bolin drew in a deep breath. His gaze wandered to the dancing fountain, eyes unfocused as though seeing something else. His mouth compressed into a hard line when he looked back at her. "I don't intend to give him the opportunity."

  A spark of irrational anger ignited as the meaning of his words sank in. Ciara stood and started toward the gardens and the private entrance to her room in the back wing of Nialyne's manor. It shouldn't matter to her what became of Donovan. She knew that. He had no love for her as a father should for a daughter, and she had none for him. He'd tried to use her for his own purposes, pushed her to kill, tried to kill Bolin. Goddess above, he'd kill them all if given the chance. It made no sense to Ciara that she felt a need to protect him. Perhaps their blood-bond ran stronger than she knew.

  She stopped when Bolin called to her, but didn't turn.

  "Look at me," he said, as he came up beside her.

  Ciara refused to meet his eyes. "You mean to kill him."

  He spread his arms. "Do you have a different suggestion, then? Or would you prefer to put yourself back in his hands? Was he that grand a host?"

  Ciara's fingernails bit into her palms as she curled her hands into fists at her side. "There has to be another way."

  "As long as Donovan is alive, he'll be a threat. Do you think he's just going to go lick his wounds and forget about you?" His anger matched hers. "He has a much better idea what he's up against now, but he's not a fool. He knows what power there is in the Greensward so he won't move against it until such time as he decides he's strong enough. And what do you think will happen then? Do you think the elders will just roll over and let him invade their lands? They'll fight him, and innocent people will die."

  "Then I'll leave."

  "Are you not listening? As long as he lives, there's no place you'll be safe. None. At least here we have some time."

  "Time for you to hunt him down." And now she did turn on him because another thought occurred to her, and fear mingled with the anger. "If he gets the chance again, he'll kill you. You're not invincible."

  Bolin opened his mouth to say something, then shook his head instead. Ciara could see the anger drain out of him. "All the more reason." He cupped the side of her face. "I can't keep you safe while he lives."

  "Who's going to keep you safe?"

  "I can take care of myself."

  Ciara made a face. "I saw how well that worked."

  "I had you to worry about," he said, and dropped his hand. "That's why this time you'll stay here, out of harm's way."

  "What if you don't come back?"

  He didn't give her the reassurance she hoped for. In fact, for a long time he said nothing at all. "Then you will need to trust to Nialyne for guidance."

  "That's not very comforting."

  "Would you prefer I lie to you, then?"

  "I'd prefer none of this to have happened," Ciara said. "I would have been perfectly content living out my life as a simple healer, as all the women of my family before me. Perhaps some day having a daughter of my own to follow my path."

  She walked away, only as far as the nearest flowering bush. She caressed the silken petals between her fingertips, wishing she could curl in on herself the way flowers did, shutting tightly for the night, closing herself off to the darkness.

  "I can't ever have a simple life, can I?"

  She thought maybe Bolin had left, but then she felt him come up behind her. He stood quietly for a moment before sliding an arm around her shoulders and turning her, drawing her into his arms. Ciara buried her face against his chest. She loved the smell of leather and horse that seemed to always cling to him, the warmth that flowed off him, and the strength in him that made her feel safe. She had forgotten how much until just this moment.

  "I don't have an answer for you," he said, his voice rippling up softly against her cheek. "And if I could find a way to give you back all you've lost, I would. But life is not always as simple as we'd like."

  "It can be."

  "Not in my experience." He held her for a moment longer, a moment Ciara would have rather lasted a lifetime, then pushed her gently away. "You need rest."

  Ciara groaned. "That's all I've been doing."

  "I dare you to argue with Konly," he said, a rare, mischievous glint in his light eyes.

  "Oh, no." It hadn't taken Ciara very long to learn how obstinate the master healer could be with her charges. It had taken a wealth of promises that she'd follow each of Konly's instructions to the letter before she'd been allowed to move from the healer's hut to more private quarters. Ciara had no desire to jeopardize the small amount of freedom that had given her. "Will you be leaving soon?"

  "Not for a few days.

  "Then I'll see you before you go?"

  Bolin placed a gentle kiss on top of her head. "Aye."

  "And when you come back? Then what?"

  "We'll talk."

  "About?"

  "Many things," he said. "Go on. I've no desire to be on the master healer's bad side if she finds you out and about."

  Ciara opened her mouth to argue, but the look on Bolin's face told her she'd get no further with him so she nodded and went to her room, leaving him standing in the garden.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Donovan rested his elbows on the table, steepled his fingers, and leaned his head against them, pinching the bridge of his nose. The priestess had carried out his orders. The crone no longer lived. Not in the corporeal form. Her presence, however, twisted within his skull, and the sharp tines of her power bit into his. They clung to it like the thorny vines that crept up any tree having the audacity to try and sink roots within the Nethers, eventually strangling the life from it.

  This vine, however, would not strangle him.

  In his joining with the crone, Donovan had learned the words to control her power. The fact they resisted his efforts at manipulating them to his needs proved an inconvenience. When he regained more of his strength, perhaps, they would more easily bend to his will.

  The familiar scent of cool, dark earth preceded the priestess into his study. Donovan did not look up. "You are late."

  "I have much to prepare."

  "You have been testing the limits of my tolerance." He pinned her with a look. "An unwise practice."

  "Her magic is hard to appease, isn't it?" Teeva walked around behind him and guided his head back to rest against her breasts. Her fingers pressed into his temples, a circular massage infused with her own blend of darkness. "It fights for supremacy with your own. You will overcome it, in time."

  Donovan relaxed into her ministration. The binding ceremony needed the blessing of the
dark moon, still days away. Their joining would be both spiritual and physical. The latter had begun to grow in appeal. He could have taken her at any time, even now, and relieved the tension her touch elicited, but the union would be little more than the basest rutting. Pleasure, infused with power? That held much more appeal.

  "Enough." He rolled his body forward, and her hands slipped away. "Where have you been?"

  She circled the room, her fingers trailing above whatever she passed, but touching nothing. "Walking with the shades. I am not accustomed to fortress walls."

  "You will learn to be."

  She stopped at the furthest point opposite him, and leaned her head back as she followed the intricately carved edge of the bookcase that rose unbroken to the ceiling. "I found someone in the fen. He searched for you and the Lady."

  Donovan pushed out of his chair.

  "I have never met his kind before. He tastes..." She closed her eyes as though savoring something on her tongue. "Strong. He stands on the edge between the Goddess and the unholies, and neither has fully claimed him. I find that strange."

  "Did you speak to him?"

  "Yes." She turned to face him and a smile curved her mouth. "I marked him as well."

  "Meaning?"

  Teeva let her hand drop to her side and extended her fingers toward the floor. A tar-like glob rose from nothing, and she held it out to Donovan, cradling it in the palm of her hand. He crossed to where she stood and looked down at the offering. He had not seen her magic manifested until now. Black and thick, radiating heat he could feel from an arm's distance, it churned in her outstretched hand.

  "He could not avoid my touch, and now my shades can find him across the veil."

  Donovan lifted the mass from her hand and rolled it between his fingers. His power quenched the fire in it that would have otherwise burned his skin. Born of emotion, infused with hatred, tempered with malice, Dominion magic could be nothing but evil. Those who possessed it could never walk in the light. Donovan wondered if even the great Sciath na Duinne could force it to a non-malevolent purpose.

  He smiled with the thought it would be at his disposal.