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

by Cat Bruno

  It was evening and the falling sun was the color of fire, orange and red rays painting the thin clouds around it. She wore no robe or coat, but sat on the sand anyway, letting the warm, salty air pull her hair from the healer’s knot. It had grown long in their travels and lighter, too, although it was still streaked with coppery flames.

  Asha was alive. Her babe was as well. The king was awake and fine, more so than he had been since she had first met him, and Sharron and Aldric fared well too. All was as fine as Caryss could hope, she thought. And so she stared at the sea, thinking of the times when she had done the same in Tretoria. She was not the same girl as she had been then, yet the brush of mist that tickled her face brought her to smile again. Overhead, gulls called to her, shrieking just at the ones had done near the Academy. Lying back, she closed her eyes, letting the sun warm her freckled cheeks.

  It was not until the gulls quieted and the air cooled that Caryss knew that she was no longer alone. Even here, he finds me, she thought, unmoving.

  As she opened her eyes, her gaze fell upon thick-soled, closely fitted boots that climbed up lean legs. The man’s dark jacket was no surprise, snug against broad shoulders and loose where his waist narrowed. She looked up, toward the man’s face, and hurriedly scrambled back until she was half-kneeling.

  Before she could cry out, a deep voice called, “My brother sends his regards, Bronwen.”

  Rising, she called to him, “Bronwen was little more than a child, and one who knew little. I am Caryss, as I was born and as I shall forever be.”

  With a bow, he told her, “Then Caryss it must be. All the same, my brother wishes to know how your travels have been and where next you intend to go. Your departure from the King’s City was surprising, especially as rushed as it was.”

  She began to interrupt, but he raised a hand, silencing her.

  “Your absence was not unnoticed. Your friend Nahla was visited by the King’s Heir himself. Can you imagine that meeting?” he laughed. “A king-to-be in the Lower Streets? You seem to have a way to make men do what they normally might not, Caryss.”

  Even with a body’s length between them, his words were sharp. When he called her name, the letters rolled from his tongue like the hiss of a snake. His smile did little to reassure her.

  “You know much about me, yet I do not even know your name.”

  “My brother speaks so little of me then?” he teased, letting all hint of threat vanish. “I am Conall, Rexaria.”

  “Conall,” Caryss murmured, letting the name roll from her tongue, “Tell me what you know of Nahla. Is she in danger?”

  She had not considered fully what harm could come to the woman after she left the King’s City. But, now, with Conri’s brother standing just steps away, worry filled her. Nahla had done much to help them flee the city, and, if her actions had become known, the woman would be jailed, and perhaps worse. As she waited for Conall to answer, her palms grew sleek with sweat and her throat burned. Her peace had not lasted long.

  She stepped nearer and pleaded in a gruff voice, “Please tell me of Nahla.”

  Again their eyes met. She watched as the dusky purple haze deepened, yet did not blacken. He looked less like Conri than she would have thought, but none could doubt that they were kin.

  “The woman is fine,” he finally conceded. “She is not without her own power, I’m learning. She was able to contact Conri, a feat that few have been able to do, and the High Lord sent me to find her. I was able to bring her north, although it was not without incident.”

  Gasping, Caryss whispered, “You are the boy’s father.”

  When he smiled, she thought again of how unlike Conri he was.

  “Tell me what you know of the boy,” he asked, although it sounded much like an order.

  “I saw him at Nahla’s breast,” she stuttered, “Then, later, I realized he was kin to my own child. I told her as much, although she thought me mad.”

  “Is she with child?” she asked, half-believing.

  “You can ask her when I take you the Tribelands.”

  She did not think that she could speak, but, finally, she hissed, “I will not go there.”

  “Caryss, the Rexterran Army is at your back after what occurred in the King’s City. You have few options.”

  When she did not answer, he asked, “Do any others know that you are here?”

  “We came by sea,” she told him, “And there were but a few aboard the ship.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “In the Cove?” she uttered, stepping away from him.

  When he nodded, she explained, “I came here for my own reasons and do not answer to Conri. I am safe and would not accept his protection if he offered it. Return to him and remind him of such. The path I walk is my own now.”

  His eyes darkened, and Conall growled, “He is High Lord, girl. You would be wise to remember it.”

  With eyes green and glowing, Caryss countered, “I am a healer! He would be wise to remember that. I will not break my vows, nor will I fight his battles.”

  Conall laughed then, the sound mocking and cruel, then said, “What weapon could you wield that we would need? Your hands are smooth and your arms weak.”

  “The weapon I wield is the one that many will covet. She grows strong even now, and, once born, will strengthen every day. Until none will be able to match her.”

  Her words silenced him, and Caryss watched as the knowledge of their truth struck him. Moons ago, she would have shook in front of the Tribesman, yet now his presence was little more than irksome. She feared little from him, which he now sensed.

  “She will be a babe for many moon years yet. What then? If she is all that you say she will be, many will hunt her. Without the aid of the Wolves, the cub will not survive long. Think of her safety if you will not think of your own,” he warned.

  With flushed cheeks and blazing eyes, she screamed, rushing toward him, “I think of little else! We will be in Eirrannia before the moon ends. There, we will be safe from the Rexterran forces and from any else who might seek to harm her. That is all Conri needs to know.”

  Lowering her voice, she added, “When last Conri and I were in the North together, he killed my parents. Did you know as much, Conall?”

  She did not take her eyes from him, as if willing him to answer.

  Their gazes locked, Conall stated, “He was without choice.”

  With a laugh, she cried, “There is always choice! He has made his. And I have made mine. Tell him I will not see him. Tell him I need nothing from him.”

  Her voice trembled, but Caryss looked again at him, raising her voice over the increasing tides, “The girl is mine. Remind him that he promised her to me.”

  Conall paused, watching her, then quietly said, “As you wish. If you need aid, find me, Caryss. I will do all that I can to keep you safe.”

  The air around them warmed, and Caryss stood motionless as he walked from her, toward a shining spot near the water’s edge. Even from a distance, she knew what it was, having seen such an animal once before, moons prior. Without turning back to her, Conall mounted the spirit animal, the epidiuus, and, within moments, was mid-air, astride the glowing animal, as if he rode the moon herself.

  Once both were gone from her sight, Caryss retraced her steps, following her footprints in the sand, thinking of little as she walked with her eyes downcast. The gentle roll of the waves as they bubbled against the shore, now calm, and the hushed song of the wind as it flitted by her ears accompanied her as she walked, blinding and deafening. Caryss continued on, forgetting all as she moved from footprint to footprint, making her way across the beach.

  Into the silence came a deep voice, crashing into her like a storm, jolting her eyes upward and her hands protectively across her midsection.

  “Who was he?”

  Steadying herself until her life pulse slowed, Caryss told him, “He is kin to the girl. Brother to her father.”

  “He is far from home, is he not?”


  “No farther than I,” she sighed, wanting little more than to be gone from the beach.

  “Why did he come?”

  Caryss dropped her hands to her side. “To make certain that I was safe. To offer me protection I suppose.”

  “Yet he left. And you are still here.”

  “Otieno, I will not take what aid he offers,” she insisted. “I will not have my daughter born among the Tribe. You know nothing of them.”

  “I know little of your Cordisian ways.”

  “The sword across your back tells a different story. I have seen similar in the North.”

  Her words were ones that she had vowed to keep hidden, yet in her anger now, the accusation escaped through her dry lips.

  “So says the healer,” the diauxie shrugged, unbothered.

  “Even a healer can recognize a Northern Greatsword. Must it always be this way between us?”

  Otieno sighed, “Our paths have now crossed, yet we have always walked on opposite sides.”

  “Nahla warned me that you would speak in riddles if I let you. I have enough swords at my back, and I do not need to add yours. Can there be no peace between us?”

  Lifting his palms to the sky, as if in tribute, he told her, “Your battles are my own. We are not enemies, nor we will ever be.”

  “Then tell me how you came to have the sword,” she demanded.

  They were near to the edge of the village and voices could be heard in the distance, which caused them both to hesitate. Caryss thought that Otieno would use the distraction to avoid her question, but when he began speaking, she turned toward him.

  “Many moon years ago, a lesedo visited me at my mother’s house. I was but a child then, and had not even entered the King’s Service. I do not know how he found me, but he had urgent need of a diauxie. My mother told him that I was untrained, little more than a babe really, although I was perhaps ten moon years.”

  “Yet he would not be dissuaded,” Otieno added. “I recall fearing him, although I feared little then. It was not his pale skin that I feared. It was the sword he carried across his back.”

  While he paused, she filled the silence, asking, “What would he want of a boy?”

  “It is difficult for those who are not Island-born to understand what my people do. What one sees as dark, another sees as light. Yet, it is only the diauxie who can see what lives in the shadows between the two.”

  More riddles, she thought, making little sense of his tale.

  “The man I spoke of was heavily shadowed. More so than most, much like the dark mage you travel with, yet more so. He had spent moon years away from Cordisia, trying to free himself of the taint. When he finally arrived in the Cove, he was half mad with dark rage, and willing to try anything to escape the shadows. When I explained to him that all of mage-skill would be gone if I did what he asked, he still did not waver. So I did what he requested. And, as payment, he gave me the sword, for he claimed to no longer need such a weapon.”

  “What is it that you do, Otieno, to wash the dark away?” she whispered.

  He looked away, chestnut eyes troubled and heavy. “I take it from them.”

  Frustrated, she sharply replied, “Yes, but how?”

  “I take it from them, no more than that, leseda.”

  Knowing she would get no more, Caryss stomped away, understanding less of the man than she had moments before and wondering anew why she had sought him.

  She ran back to him suddenly, a thought heavy on her mind.

  Breathing hard, she asked, “Will you be able to take her darkness from her as well?”

  Otieno did not seem surprised by her words.

  “Yes. But I will not do so.”

  “What if she asks you to? Like the man who gave you the Greatsword.”

  “She will not ask,” he evenly stated, as if he had known the answer long before. His voice did not quake or tremble. To hear him, it sounded as if truth was all he knew.

  “What if I ask you to?” she half-pleaded.

  When he looked at her, his eyes were as dark as storm clouds. When he spoke, his voice boomed.

  “I still will not do so. Make your peace with her father and her shadows before she is born, leseda. Love all of her or none of her. You do not have long to decide.”

  It was his turn to walk away, angrily, which is what he did, striding from her as his thick legs powered across the crushed shells of the city street.

  With little regard to the Islanders around her, Caryss screamed after him, “Everything I do is for her!”

  Otieno did not turn nor did he slow his pace, and Caryss could not be certain that her words had even been heard. Tears rimmed her vision, but she fought against their release, squeezing her eyes closed until they lessened. She thought of running after him, but hesitated, knowing not what she would say.

  Knowing not if he had been wrong.

  *****

  17

  Upon his return, Conall hastily found his brother, certain that he would want to hear of his trip. Conri was seated at a large desk, with quill in hand, scratching marks onto a thick piece of parchment. If he heard his approach, he made no indication.

  “Should I come back later?” Conall asked, pausing a few steps from where his brother sat.

  Dropping the quill and rubbing at his forehead, Conri replied, “Of course not. Tell me all that occurred. Is she safe?”

  “By she, you mean Caryss.”

  The High Lord looked away from him then. “I was too weak to finish the mind-lock,” he explained.

  “Conri, she seemed well. But she is not one who seems easy to control. An odd choice, I must admit.”

  “It was not my choice, or have you forgotten?” Conri roared at him, rising to full height.

  “I meant no harm,” Conall told him calmly. “The girl refused my aid and refused to return the King. When I told her of your wish that she come to the Tribelands, she scoffed. I would have taken her by force, but she has others with her.”

  “The mage? Are you no match for him, Conall?” the High Lord laughed harshly.

  “There was another who watched. He is of a kind I have not seen. Much stronger than the mage, I fear. And, to answer you brother, no I did not want to challenge him just then. I feared the girl would intervene.”

  With a nod, Conri told him, “No doubt she would have. She has changed much in the last few moons.”

  Walking toward the windows, the High Lord added, “Nahla tells me that Caryss is building an army of sorts.”

  Conall paused at the mention of Nahla, but slowly said, “A wise move. Although a few men, however powerful they might be, will be little help if the Rexterrans find her.”

  “Which is why they must not!” Conri howled, pounding fists against the large windows until the room shook with his anger.

  Turning back toward Conall, the High Lord commanded, “Bring her here! At once.”

  “She will not come,” Conall sighed, long used to Conri’s fury and no longer threatened by it.

  With a voice older than mountain and colder than river, Conri warned, “She is without choice. I will no longer abide her foolishness.”

  “The girl wants nothing from you. You will only make her hate you more. Think on this, I beg of you. She is safe, yet. Now is not the time to intervene,” Conall pleaded.

  Even accustomed to the High Lord’s whims had not readied him for his brother’s current wrath. Conri’s eyes blackened and his lips swelled, teeth gleaming and sharp.

  “Take her,” he hissed, “as she took the King.”

  There was little to be said, and less to be argued, so Conall nodded at his brother, turned, and fled from the room. This time he would not hurry, giving the girl time to disappear.

  *****

  White-haired and stooped, the woman quivered in front of him as his guards held her between them. Her gaze was clear, and, even though she trembled, there was defiance behind her pale blue eyes.

  “Release her,” he called to his men, never ta
king his eyes from her.

  When the woman fell to her knees, it was Crispin who walked toward her and offered her a hand, gently pulling her to her feet. After she steadied herself, he motioned for her to join him at his table. Once the two were seated, he poured her a steaming cup of tea, offering it to her as he would any other.

  “My men tell me that you know the Islander who sells herself near the piers. When did you last see her?” he asked, sipping at his own tea.

  Her hands were clasped tight around the small mug, obscuring the flowers painted there. The old woman did not look up as she stuttered, “Several days past. But not so much as a quarter moon.”

  “And where did you see her?”

  “Near the piers,” she answered hastily, although her words were faint.

  “Did she board a ship?” he pressed, growing impatient.

  After a moment, the woman told him, “Perhaps, but I was too far away to notice which.”

  “Is your stall open every morning?”

  With a nod and clearer words, the woman answered, “Aye. Most of my sales come early with all the people about.”

  Beside the prince, his guards stood, having brought the woman to him after a half-day spent searching for the Islander and any who might know of her. Crispin had railed against them when he learned that Nahla had disappeared, threatening to replace them all. Each day past, the healer stepped further from his reach. And Delwin readied to strike.

  Pushing the cup from him until its contents splashed across the lacy table cover, Crispin looked back to the woman. She was the only one who admitted to knowing the Islander. And his last hope.

  “In recent days,” he hurriedly said, “Have you seen a woman with hair the color of fire? She is of the North, but speaks Common as if from elsewhere.”

  He waited, without breathing, for her answer. Even though thousands of people traveled through the piers and the central square each day, Crispin suddenly realized that the woman might have seen Caryss, especially since she looked like few others.