by Spurrier, Jo
By the time Mira came to find him, Cam had his kitbag and his bedroll packed, and was checking over his armour and weapons.
He heard her pause in the doorway, and didn’t look up from examining the lacing that bound the metal scales to the leather jerkin.
‘Cam, what are you doing?’
‘I’m going after her,’ he said.
She drew a sharp breath. ‘You can’t! She said —’
‘I don’t care what she said! By all the Gods, that idiot girl … We should never have left her alone!’ He broke off with a shake of his head. ‘Well, there’s no time for that now. I’m going to bring her back.’
‘And how in the Fires Below do you expect to do that? Don’t you remember what happened the last time you faced Rasten? By all the Gods, Cam, have you forgotten the king still wants your head? Have you lost your wits completely?’
‘Sirri won’t let that happen. And if it brings her to her senses and gets her away from that animal, then my head is worth risking.’ He finished checking over his armour and slipped his sword from its sheath, holding it close to the lamplight to examine the blade for nicks.
‘And exactly what am I to do?’ Mira said. ‘Stay here and hold the fort?’
‘Just that,’ Cam said. ‘Mira, I know you won’t go off and leave Isidro undefended —’ As he spoke, he heard the sound of footsteps coming near, and then a rustle as someone ducked through the doorway.
‘Ardamon!’ Mira said with relief. ‘You have to help me, Cam’s going after Sierra —’
‘Good. I’ll go with him. He’ll need someone to smooth things over with the clan.’
‘We need to leave right away. She’s got a good lead on us, and Rasten will want to stretch that as far as he can —’
Mira covered her face with her hands. ‘I can’t believe you’re doing this to me. By the Bright Sun, you know I’ve been ordered to Ruhavera —’
‘But you won’t go as long as Isidro needs you here, will you?’ Cam said.
‘I — oh, you son of a bitch! Backed me right into a corner, haven’t you? And what about the cursed Akharians? We’ll have to put them off once again.’
‘Well, I was thinking about that,’ Ardamon said. ‘We’ve been worrying about hiding Sierra’s lack of control — maybe we should treat this as an opportunity.’
‘It’s a good point,’ Cam said. ‘It will give you something to do while we’re gone, Mira.’
‘Oh, thank you very much,’ Mira snapped. ‘Is there anything else you’d like to dump in my lap? Cam, what in the Fires Below am I to tell Isidro if he wakes up to find you and Sierra both gone?’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ Cam said. ‘Rhia thinks he’ll be out for days yet. I’ll be back with her long before he wakes up.’
Sierra stood blinking in the sunshine, shifting her weight nervously from foot to foot. Every noise, every raised voice and every whinny from the horse-lines made her start.
Rasten couldn’t let her out of his sight, still hardly daring to believe patience had paid off and she’d finally come back. He hadn’t wanted to leave her side at all, but he had to trust her if they were ever to succeed.
‘Ye Gods, man, she’s as skittish as a colt new to harness,’ the duke said, drawn by curiosity to look her over. ‘Why haven’t you put her in chains? I know you must have some.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Rasten said.
‘You’re a fool. By nightfall she’ll have lost her nerve and be running back to ground. If you won’t secure our liege’s property, I will.’ He turned to summon a guard when Rasten interrupted him with an icy tone.
‘No one touches her but me, your grace. Right now she’ll likely kill anyone who comes near her. Now, she’ll share my tent, but I’ll need a horse and gear for her, and an escort of men equipped to travel fast —’
Osebian barked a laugh. ‘You expect to ride out today? Impossible. An army of this size cannot break camp at a moment’s notice —’
‘It doesn’t need to. You’re staying here, your grace.’
Osebian’s eyes turned flinty. ‘Do not presume to give me orders, sorcerer.’
‘The command comes from my master. Returning Sierra to Lord Kell is the most important task in the kingdom. She has come of her own free will, but she will not stay if her allies are in danger. You must stay here and keep the peace, at least until she’s safely in Kell’s hands.’
‘While the enemies of the crown form an alliance against us? This is intolerable!’
‘Anything that happens between the Akharians and the Wolf Clan here is irrelevant, your grace,’ Rasten said. ‘If your pride is really so wounded, you may content yourself with the thought of making Mirasada repay the humiliation once you are wed. I promise you, any alliance between the Slavers and the Wolf will not harm your king one bit.’
‘The king’s honour is not a gambit to be sacrificed, sorcerer. If you’ve lied to me, I’ll see you pay the price for it,’ Osebian growled.
‘I expect nothing less, your grace.’
The sunlight hurt her eyes, but it was a relief to feel fresh air and daylight again. Spring seemed to have come upon the world overnight, and after weeks beneath the oppressive mass of the mountain, the open sky felt like freedom.
There was still snow on the ground, and this far north it would linger for some time yet, but the warming air smelled of water and earth. The pines were shedding their burden of ice, and the buds on the birches and maples were swelling with rising sap. It was the first spring Sierra had witnessed in three years, and she drank all of it in, grateful for the distraction from her fears and regrets.
They rode all day, and between her broken sleep and the sedentary nature of life within the Spire, Sierra was exhausted by evening. When Rasten called an early halt, Sierra was grateful, but when she ducked into the tent to warm her hands by the stove, she began to panic once again. Black Sun, what have I done? I must have lost my wits to end up here.
She heard someone approach, and knew it was him long seconds before he came to stand in the doorway of the tent. ‘Sirri?’
She went perfectly still, like a hunted beast.
Part of her — a large part of her — wanted to flee, to tear this flimsy tent apart and bolt into the night like a frightened horse. She could do it, if she wanted to. The two dozen men in Rasten’s escort would feed her more than enough to keep him from bringing her to heel.
No, she told herself. You’re doing this for Isidro. You need to do whatever it takes to leash this Gods-forsaken power — you cursed near killed him, don’t you dare forget that.
Rasten slipped inside to lay a hand on her shoulder, but despite the words she’d just repeated inside her head, Sierra felt her shoulder twitch in a deep and visceral response, an action with no conscious thought behind it. She tried to shrug his hand away.
She knew at once that it was a mistake, but she was too slow, already a step behind him. As the pit of her stomach was still sinking with the realisation, he snatched up a handful of her thick black hair. She moved — too slow — to slap his hand aside as Cam had taught her, but Rasten was ready for it and he seized her wrist, twisting it up behind her back.
‘You made a good start, down in the caves,’ he murmured in her ear, and as he spoke his power flowed out in a cord of energy that coiled around her neck. Sierra scrabbled at the strands with her free hand, trying to pull them away from her throat. She knew intellectually that she ought to surrender, to find some calm and put aside this urge to fight him — why was she here if not for this, to let him teach her as he’d promised all these long months? She knew full well what form those lessons would take — she’d seen enough of it before she’d slipped her chains and escaped into the blizzard. Wasn’t it a price worth paying if it meant the people she loved were safe? She forced herself to picture Isidro lying on the cold stone of the Spire, his face the colour of ashes and his lips tinged blue.
‘I suppose I could leave you alone if that’s truly what you want,�
� Rasten said, pulling her firmly against him as more cords of power wrapped around her, flowing over her breasts and belly in a touch that made her heart pound. ‘But you had the right idea earlier — fear is one of Kell’s chief weapons, you’d be wise to blunt it while you can, rather than face it all fresh and new on the rack. I can help you, Sirri.’
As the pace of her heart increased, her power rose to meet it, surging up within her like a geyser. Oh no, she thought. No! There’s nothing to be gained by fighting him. I’m here to learn to control it, not to let it rule me. Willing herself to calm, searching for a small core of stillness amid the power surging up within her, Sierra drew a breath to steady herself.
But it seemed that Rasten could sense the war within her, and that he somehow knew the battle she was fighting. As her chest swelled, trying to inhale, the cord of power around her neck clamped down to cut off her air.
With a great spasm of rage, the beast within her broke loose and burst from her with a roar. Sierra felt as though she was watching herself in a dream as she seized his wrist in her free hand and sent a searing bolt of power striking through him. It hit him like a blow from a sledge-hammer, and as he grunted from the impact she felt his hands clench from the shock, tearing hair from her scalp and squeezing the bones of her forearm with bruising force. But she barely noticed those small annoyances as a fresh wave of power hit her, beginning with a burning rush from the echo of his straining muscles and scorched nerves, but swiftly overtaken by a surge of pure and brilliant power.
In the aftermath of her strike, Rasten’s grip went lax and he fell back, sprawling on the sharp needles of spruce laid over the ground. Sierra stood, clenching her hands into fists and turning to face him, and Rasten lifted his head, brown eyes glittering in the lamplight. Then, he threw back his head and laughed.
Sierra felt herself advancing on him, fists clenched and power flowing over her skin in rippling waves that cast a harsh blue light over the interior of the tent. With a tremendous effort, she forced herself to stop, but she felt as though she was neck-deep in a raging current, somehow managing to keep her feet.
Rasten gazed up at her, his laugh giving way to a cough, but he was still grinning like a madman. He’d taken off his coat when he entered the tent, and the sharp needles of the spruce floor stabbed through his clothes to score a hundred stinging pin-pricks into his skin. To Sierra it felt like the warmest summer sun, a voluptuous heat playing over her back and her thighs. Power purred inside her, like some great cat curling around her spine, and flexing its claws.
Still chuckling, Rasten sat up to grab for her wrists again, and pulled her down on top of him. Sierra was too wrapped up pulling against the throb of power to react — until he wrapped an arm around her neck and kissed her, and she found herself kissing him back with furious hunger as she pressed him into the sharp needles. She caught his lip between her teeth, toying with the idea of biting down until she tasted blood. The thought shocked her, and she tried once again to pull herself out of the sucking mire of power, but before she’d regained enough control to move, Rasten had pulled himself free.
‘You see?’ he said, while his hands roved over her thighs, her back, her breasts, slipping under her clothes. His touch felt red hot, throbbing with the power contained beneath his skin. ‘You see what happens when the power takes you over? You can’t fight it, Sirri, not the way you’re trying to. You’re only fighting yourself. It’s your greatest weapon against him — your power gives you a shield, a sanctuary that you carry within you. If you have even one other person around, you can always retreat into that fortress and no one can touch you, not Kell, not me, no one, you understand?’
She ran her hands across his bare chest, though she had no memory of opening his jacket and his shirt. Old, pale scars mottled his skin, and she found herself wishing for the nails she’d bitten down out of worry when Isidro lay so weak and ill. She wanted to scratch him open, to see the blood flow and feel the trickle of heat and power that would come with the stinging echo.
She froze stock-still, and then straightened, pushing herself away. She’d never allowed herself to think this way about anyone — she’d always taken power as it came to her, she’d never set out to raise it, to carve it from the flesh of another. She pulled back, trying to scramble up, but Rasten tightened his hands on her hips to stop her. ‘Do you hear me, Sirri?’
He was lying on his back as she straddled him, but Sierra didn’t imagine for a moment the position left him at a disadvantage. Her heart was still pounding, the power still rushing through her head like a waterfall, but she was fighting her way clear of it for the moment, coming up for air. ‘I have to fight it,’ she said. ‘Or else it takes me over.’
‘It’ll do that anyway. You can’t stop it, Sirri, you might as well try to stop the sunrise. You say you want to learn control? If you want to ride it, you need to let it carry you.’ Rasten pinched her, hard. She hissed and recoiled, but already he was grinding against her, pulling her hips down against his. His pleasure at the sensation, together with the pin-pricks of the spruce needles still jabbing into his skin, drowned out the stinging pain of the pinch, making it feel hollow and distant even though his hard, iron-strong fingers still dug into her flesh.
Her power rose up again, all teeth and claws and jagged, brilliant light. ‘Kell will try to take it from you,’ Rasten said, his power rising to meet hers, as hot and fierce as the heat from a forge. ‘He’ll try with all he’s got. But you can stand against him, Sirri, I know you can. I’ll show you how.’
Osebian propped his chin on his fist and scowled at the game-board while Cortana languidly brushed a fair curl away from her neck and trailed delicate fingers down her collarbone.
‘Are you trying to distract me, woman?’
‘Indeed, I am, my lord. I’m bored to tears with this wretched game, not to mention the gossip of soldiers and their whores. If the weather is fair tomorrow, my love, shall we ride out for a hunt?’
‘And what game would you seek? With three armies foraging these hills, there’s naught to be had but worms.’
His mistress sighed and tossed her lovely head. ‘I suppose you’re right.’ Back in civilisation, Cortana was always busy, ferreting out snippets of information, gathering word of alliance or argument, seductions and rejections. Out here, with only the wrangling of their various enemies for entertainment, she was as bored as he was.
‘I suppose we may as well try our luck,’ he said, as a page crept into the tent to interrupt him with a bow. ‘Yes, what is it, boy?’ Osebian snapped.
‘Your grace, please forgive the interruption. A messenger from the chief of the Wolf Clan has come, seeking an urgent audience.’
‘Tarya? What does that stinking bitch want?’
‘The messenger said he brings a gift, my lord, but he has been ordered to present it in person.’
‘Oh, very well, send the wretch in,’ Osebian said. As the page retreated, he turned to his mistress. ‘Cortana, get out of sight. I don’t trust these northerners around women.’
She rose with a curtsey and vanished behind the screen in a corner of the tent. When the messenger arrived, a few moments later, it appeared that the duke was attended only by his manservant, who retreated with a bow at Osebian’s signal.
Osebian recognised the messenger: he was a minor clan member, a man of middle-years. He held a carved wooden box in both hands and went down on one knee to present it to the duke. ‘Your grace, our lady chieftain presents you with this gift as a token of her regard.’ He opened the box with a flourish to reveal a set of ermine pelts.
It was an odd gift to be sent with such urgency at so late an hour. As he tried to work out what game Tarya was playing, Osebian picked up one of the skins. Once lifted from its place, the pelt revealed a sheet of paper underneath, folded and fastened with the Wolf Clan’s seal.
Osebian tossed the pelt back and took out the letter. Breaking the seal with his thumb, he held it up to the lamplight.
We are
aware, your grace, of how badly our dealings with the Slavers have tried your patience and impugned the king’s honour. Rest assured our loyalty remains with the king, and as proof of our fidelity, we offer a small token of our regard — the location of the crown’s most wanted fugitive. Cammarian is at this moment travelling through Ricalan with a small escort of soldiers. All you need do, your grace, is sign the declaration included with this missive and return it with our messenger, and we will provide you with a map detailing the prince’s intended path. In return, all we desire is that our own men be returned to us unharmed, particularly our young clansman who is travelling with the fugitive.
With narrowed eyes Osebian glossed over the farewells and salutations that filled the rest of the page and turned instead to the second sheet of the sheaf.
This was a declaration written in both Ricalani and Mesentreian, acknowledging that the Wolf Clan’s dealings with the Akharian command were carried out with the full knowledge and sanction of Grand Duke Osebian Angessovar, and authorised in the service of the crown. Moreover, the duke swore in the king’s name that the chieftain and elders of the Wolf Clan would never be charged with treason for their negotiations with the Akharian legions to bring about peace in the north.
Osebian read through it carefully, twice.
Rasten had warned him that the clan might send someone after Sierra, but his spies had reported nothing out of the ordinary. The party must have been disguised as a foraging mission, or a dispatch for the Wolf Clan’s seat at Ruhavera. Either way it meant a very small force, no more than a score of men.
Why would Cammarian take such a risk? How could he hope to take the girl back from Rasten?
Osebian shrugged that matter aside — he didn’t know why the girl had given herself up, and he didn’t care. ‘How do I know this isn’t some wild goose chase intended to allow your clan to escape the king’s scrutiny?’
The messenger spread his hands. ‘Your grace, it will cost little to discover the truth. We have nothing to gain by deceiving you.’