Daughter of the Wolf (Pathway of the Chosen Book 2)

by Cat Bruno

  She turned to Aldric and wrapped her arm around him in a tight embrace. He stood unmoving until finally, awkwardly, he placed his arms around her. For a moment, they stayed that way, as a salty breeze, sea-scented and warm, whipped their clothes and threw Caryss’s hair across the mage’s face.

  “Did you tell the prince about the babe?” the mage asked quietly as she released him, tying her hair into a healer’s knot.

  Caryss shook her head and Aldric sighed again, as if with relief.

  Her hair tight against her neck and her eyes wide and green, Caryss told him, “She will be queen, Aldric. She will be like none other, like none that Cordisia has seen.” She gave him no time to respond as she begged, “Promise me that you will never leave her side.”

  In the dusky light of the setting sun, she could feel heat coming from him, as if his body was tinder and his words flame.

  “Just as I have sworn vows to you, I will swear them to the girl. I will teach her the ways of the mages, both dark and light, so she will not fear either. I will follow when it comes times for her to lead, even into the darkness, if that is what she asks.”

  With tears on her cheeks, Caryss could only listen.

  “Caryss, I will die for her, so that she may live.”

  “As would I,” Caryss sobbed as Aldric reached for her.

  *****

  “Who are you?”

  The image flickered, but she answered still, “I bring word of Caryss.”

  “What would you know of the girl?” he roared as flames erupted from his hands, casting streaks of red across the floor.

  “My lord, you misunderstand. She is like kin to me,” Nahla pleaded, on her knees, her hands mud-covered and raised.

  “Kin? That you even know her name surprises me,” he growled.

  For a moment, it seemed as if the man was real, and Nahla scurried backward, leaving trails of mud across the floor.

  “A few days past we met in the King’s City. She was in need of aid, and I her only friend,” she hurriedly explained.

  The flames lessened and then faded, as if he believed her. The man, pale and dark-haired, but edged in silvery shadows, steadied, yet his words sounded distant, echoing as if thunder.

  “Tell me what happened,” he demanded.

  She could see little of him as the shadowed halo darkened. Knowing he was her only chance at safety, Nahla squeezed her hand into a fist until blood fell again onto the floor. Hastily mixing the dripping blood with the dirt, she silently begged the Great Mother for more time.

  When the man’s face steadied, she cried, “She has the King with her, although his sons did not permit her to take him. She feared for her safety, and for the safety of the babe and escaped the palace at nightfall. I helped them find passage to my homeland in the Southern Cove Islands. Hours later, I was visited by the King’s Heir, who sought the healer and his father. Even now, his men wait outside my door.”

  “Why did you call me here?” the man snarled, showing his teeth, as if in threat.

  His eyes yellowed as he spoke, yet Nahla refused to cower this time.

  “I do not have long,” she yelled, letting her chestnut eyes meet his.

  “There is more. Much more,” she added, more quietly, thinking of the men outside her door. “But my magic is slight and already my fingers are burning. Please come to me as quickly as you can. My home is in the tenth block of the Lower Streets, near the piers. Ask for Nahla.”

  Long fingers reached for her, as if they could tear more words from her throat. While no fire burned there, his hands were hot like embers. Nahla knew that he could not touch her, yet still her skin seemed to blister and burn where his fingers neared.

  “Why would I help you?” the man asked, although she had to strain to hear his question.

  She had no time to think. No time to wonder if the healer had been crazed.

  “Caryss told me that I will bear a son of the Wolf.”

  When the man’s hands dropped, a chill came across her. Falling back from her knees, Nahla whimpered, fear coming despite her attempts to fight it.

  Suddenly, the man nodded. But he was more than shadow now, dark and opaque.

  When she blinked, he was gone, yet still she cried, “Hurry!”

  *****

  “Conall!” he screamed, racing across the shining ebony floor.

  His reception room was without warding, and those who entered had reason, or suffered for disturbing him without one. When the woman had first appeared, Conri had thought her to be from the kitchens, yet soon he knew his own error.

  Streaked by dusky sunlight, she had called him with blood. But it was the not summoning that had surprised him most.

  It was the name that she uttered, one that he had not heard in over ten moon years. Much had changed, he realized, screaming for his brother again.

  She remembered more now, more than he had ever allowed. Had he been stronger the night the babe was created, he would have never allowed the mind-lock to weaken. Now, he could no longer make her forget.

  Behind his eyes, a red haze formed, clouding his vision and again stirring the fire at his fingers. A noise startled him and he turned to find Conall hurrying into the room.

  Smoke, gray and swirling, circled the High Lord as he extinguished the flames.

  “Where have you been?” he demanded.

  A rare blush across his long face, Conall answered, “Tending to the Epidii.”

  “I had a visitor,” Conri explained, running his smoldering fingers through long, dark hair. “A woman from the King’s City. She claims to have seen the girl.”

  Conall’s gray eyes widened as he asked, “Mage-trained? How was she able to find you?”

  “She was not in the flesh. Her magic tasted ancient and unfamiliar. And of blood.”

  Conri watched as understanding spread across his brother’s face. Conall had always been well-learned, knowing more than even Conri could claim.

  “She uses earth-magic, brother. What news did she bring?”

  “The girl departed from the King’s City in haste. Has word spread that the King’s health has improved? She was there but a few days.”

  “There has been no news of the sort,” Conall told him. “My men would have reported it already, if it were the case. Who was the woman? How can you be sure that she is to be trusted?”

  Conri hesitated. “I tasted blood on her words.”

  “The old gods offer aid, but it comes with a price. It was the woman’s blood you tasted.”

  “I knew as much,” the High Lord stated, nearing his brother. “She made mention of the babe as well. Find this woman and bring her to me. I must know what has happened in Rexterra to change what the girl had planned. If this Islander knows so much, she must not be permitted to talk of the girl with others.”

  “Aye,” Conall agreed. After a moment, he asked, “When last did you see her?’

  It was clear of whom he spoke.

  “A moon or so ago,” Conri sighed, although there was much in his voice that Conall could not make sense of.

  “It has been too long. You should go to her,” his brother told him.

  Quieter now, the High Lord stated, “She will not want to see me. Not now.”

  “How can you be so certain?” Conall questioned him.

  Conri did not answer for a long while. Red rays of sunlight fell around him, staining his dark clothing until it shined crimson. He knew Conall suspected that something was amiss, and, finally, in a voice rimmed in fire and smoldering with flame, the High Lord explained, “The Islander called her Caryss. It seems she has remembered.”

  He did not need to look at Conall to know what the Tribesman thought.

  “Is there more? If not, I will depart at once.”

  Conri’s sleek face betrayed little now, as his face was again mask-like and cold, his eyes dusky and controlled. “See that the woman is not hurt, and get her to me as quickly as you can.”

  “As you wish, High Lord,” Conall replied,
before bowing and rushing from the room.

  Conri watched as his second-in-command raced across an open field toward the stables. Conall traveled much, more so than any other Tribesman, nearly all of it at Conri’s bidding. Yet there was none else he trusted as much, and only a few knew of the girl. The High Lord wanted to make certain that it would remain so, or he would have insisted long ago that the girl come to the Tribelands.

  The shaky peace that had long existed among the Tribes threatened to break and already the Crows had knowledge of Caryss. None would harm her, he knew, not until the babe was born, for doing so now would draw the attention of Nox, which none wanted. For now, Conri figured, Caryss was safe.

  Or so he had believed, until the Islander had appeared.

  Slamming his hand against the glass until it shattered into hundreds of sun-dyed shards, Conri fled the room, cursing his father.

  *****

  “Why did you dismiss the Kings Guard last evening?”

  He had expected the question. Ever since he realized that Delwin had learned the identities of the men who had guarded their father’s door, Crispin had readied himself for it. Even though the guards had been dismissed before Caryss had stepped into the room, others had seen the fire-haired girl and would likely have not forgotten.

  After a brief visit to Lillia, who had not seemed to believe the story of his injury, Crispin had gone to his office. With none around, he thought long on what he would say to his brother.

  Well-practiced and with even words, Crispin told him, “A few moons ago, I sent word to the Healer’s Academy that we were in need of a new Master. One that could, with luck, find what ailed father. I kept my mission hidden from all, including you.”

  “We have had an army of healers and mages for him,” his brother interrupted, slamming the thick, wooden door behind him as he entered.

  “Let me finish,” Crispin huffed, holding up a hand. “The healer who the Academy sent was on her Healer’s Journey and arrived in the King’s City several days ago. I had planned on telling you as soon as I met with her. Until I realized that she was Eirrannian, that is. I knew that you would not let her anywhere near father, even though she has been trained as well as any other, once you learned of her homeland.”

  When Delwin would have again interrupted, Crispin stopped him by standing up. Rising in haste, the chair fell hard to the floor, blowing paper and letters across the room. With a bang, the chair crashed against a shelf of books behind the large desk.

  “You know that my words are true!” he yelled, letting his anger ripple across the room before Delwin could strike first.

  His face aflame, red and bloated, in sharp contrast to his neatly pressed commander’s jacket, Delwin stepped toward Crispin until both brothers stared at one another across the desk. For a moment, neither moved.

  “I will admit that I should have informed you of my plan,” Crispin later confessed. “At the time, it seemed wisest to keep the news that father was in need of a healer quiet.”

  “Who is this woman?” Delwin demanded.

  Swallowing hard, Crispin told him, “She came well recommended by the Master Council. I did not she was Eirrannian until her arrival.”

  “Did she see father?”

  His brother’s words were clipped and tight, as if he had to force them out.

  Forcing himself to nod, Crispin answered, “For an hour perhaps. I was in the room at all times. She was young, but skilled, and had father awake within moments.”

  He watched Delwin, trying to interpret his reaction to the news that the King had woken, even for a short time. But his brother had spent half his life with the Royal Army and betrayed little.

  Trying to match him, Crispin continued, “Father even spoke a little, answering her queries about his health. She would have done more but had left her tools at an inn near the Lower Streets.”

  Without much effort, Crispin weaved lie and truth together to form a story that he hoped his brother would believe, a story that would allow Caryss enough time to travel far from the King’s City. Hours earlier he had decided that it must be so. For now, the King was safest gone from the city, but Crispin had to make it seem as if he had no part in his disappearance. To that end, he would make Caryss the enemy, without hinting to where she might have gone.

  “The girl did not know the city well,” he went on, “So I offered to go to the inn to retrieve her belongings if she would stay with father. Which meant that she would be alone with him, aside from another healer that had traveled with her. Another woman, I must add. With two trained healers at his side, I saw no need to call the Kings Guard back.”

  With his voice low, Delwin growled, “What are you telling me? Did this Northern bitch do something to father? And what of your eye? Were you attacked in the Lower Streets when you sought her things? Are you such a fool to be set up so easily?”

  By now, his brother fumed, although still he revealed little.

  Crispin’s words spilled free, as if they were truth, which, he thought, some were. “As for me, I do not think myself overly foolish, Delwin. She came bearing papers from the Academy, and I observed her skills myself. If it was she who has taken him from the palace, I do not think that she will not harm him. She is a healer and will honor her oath.”

  “You speak as if you know this Northerner. You have long been a fool where Eirrannia was concerned. A fault of our cousin’s, I would say. You played into her act,” Delwin screamed.

  Before Crispin could distance himself, Delwin had reached for him, grabbing at his tunic. Spittle hung at the corners of his mouth, wetting Crispin’s face as his brother yelled, “What treason is this?”

  Pushing hard at his brother’s hand, Crispin struggled to free himself. Once free, his tunic torn down the middle, Crispin stepped back, yet his hands burned with rage.

  “Would you have had me tell all of Rexterra that the King was near death?” he cried.

  When his brother said nothing, Crispin continued, bitter and unforgiving.

  “I will tell you what would have happened. Instability. Rebellion. We would have war on our hands. Our hold on the throne has never been weaker, as you well know. There are many who have long waited for a reason to strike, and the King’s death would give them one.”

  Delwin, wiping at his face with the back of his well-fitted sleeve, said nothing.

  “You know, just as I, how the leaders of the People’s Crown seek to stir an uprising. And that is only one of many enemies who would see Rexterra crownless. We might not agree on much, brother, but neither of us wants to see the throne taken from our family.”

  Dropping his arm, Delwin asked, “How do you know this healer is not in the employ of the People’s Crown? Is it not their way to work in such a manner?”

  The People’s Crown, Crispin knew, was a small, but growing, group originating in the Lower Streets that had grown displeased with the monarchy. Over the last few moon years, rumblings reached the palace of the organization, although they were not seen as much of a threat. Delwin had long feared the group would try to strike, just as he feared Eirrannia would and others to the east. To him, Rexterra owned all of Cordisia, and any talk of it not being so was near enough to cause war. For moon years, the King and Crispin both had advised Delwin to worry less, yet, for now, the People’s Crown was an easy target. One that Crispin would need to use.

  His plan had been a complicated one, he knew, yet he would not let his brother take the throne so easily.

  “This girl was no more than a healer. I checked with the gate-guards, and, according to their records, she arrived just before making herself known at the palace.”

  “Did you not say that she took rooms in the Lower Streets?”

  Delwin was far too quick, Crispin mused.

  “Only briefly was she there. Not long enough to encounter any from the People’s Crown.”

  “Why would she take father if she had nothing to gain?”

  With a long sigh, Crispin told him, in truth, “Sh
e believed he was being poisoned. She said as much before I hurried to get her belongings. Perhaps she wanted him far gone from here. She is healer-trained, Delwin, and seemed to only have concern for his health.”

  “What folly! This woman has put him in harm’s way by taking him from here, yet you seem unworried.”

  The accusation in Delwin’s words was clear, yet Crispin refused to further enrage him. Instead, he told him, “Where could one such as she go? She came with nothing, as a healer who had spent half her life on the other side of Cordisia. She has, at most, a day’s ride on us and has little knowledge of Rexterra or the lands beyond. Our men will find her by the morrow, I would guess.”

  “You think she is making her way back to the Academy?”

  Crispin was certain that as soon as Delwin exited his office he would have a battalion of Royal Army readied. In truth, Caryss could be only a half-day ahead of them, and, Crispin knew, there was a good chance that she was taking the King back to Tretoria. But it was a risk that he had to take, hoping that the woman who had struck him would not be so foolish to take the King where all would suspect.

  While his brother and his men followed that trail, he himself would not stop searching, thinking back to the woman near the piers. She knew more than she had told him, the prince realized, and, after Delwin’s departure from the city, Crispin decided to revisit her. Time would give him answers, Crispin thought, yet did not say.

  “It seems most likely. Within a quarter-moon, the King should be safely back.”

  “And if she is not at the Academy, then what, Crispin?” Delwin asked, arching an eyebrow as if convinced his brother had not been completely forthcoming.

  “If she is not found in a timely manner, then I will leave the search to you.”

  “Even if it takes me to Eirrannia?”

  Crispin hesitated, understanding what it was his brother threatened.

  “The Royal Army is yours to command,” Crispin told him, his words plain and steel-like.

  With a nod, Delwin left, hurrying off without closing Crispin’s door.

  As the prince walked to it, he thought of the healer. A moon was not nearly long enough for her to escaped beyond his brother’s reach. But it was all that he could give her, he thought, slamming the door closed behind him.