The Zi'veyn: The Devoted Trilogy, Book One

by Kim Wedlock

  He breathed a laugh, and though he surely tried to hide it, she could see that he was secretly satisfied. "You...yes, I suppose you would." But his expression became quickly tormented. "Then why didn't you...not even once--"

  "Because," she replied softly again, "you were the one who left. Fled in the middle of the night."

  Hurt pierced his eyes, but still she smiled, sadly and regretfully, and his heart dropped only further.

  "Yes," she nodded, "I was upset. I was heartbroken and I was angry. If you had stayed for those final few days of grace, I would have left with you. I would have never left your side again. How could I? Neither of us understood what had happened to you, and the king had ordered you banished long before your wounds would have healed. With the aid of healers, you would have been fine, but I couldn't shake the possibility that it would happen again, and I couldn't bear to--" She bit her quivering lip and forced a smile. It would have convinced anyone else. "But I understood, in time, that you were trying to protect me. So though I tracked you down, I kept my distance, because you didn't just leave me behind, you left the world behind, and I didn't want to drag everything back along with me. It was enough to know you survived."

  "Don't do that."

  "What?"

  His eyes glistened. "Be so understanding."

  "Rathen," she smiled more easily, "as you say, it's been eleven years. I've had time to understand."

  They stared at each other for a long while, switching between their own thoughts and trying to read the other's. Rathen's were plain: he felt unbearably guilty, he wished she would yell at him, release all she must have bottled up over the years. But hers, he was sure couldn't have been as they seemed. How could she look at him with such unfailing love and relief?

  He flinched as she raised her hand and stroked his cheek, but soon pressed himself into it.

  "You look old."

  He breathed a laugh. "So do you."

  "No," she replied matter of factly, "I don't."

  He smiled, at last. "No," he agreed honestly, "you don't. You look no different at all..." He couldn't help himself. But there was no need to try. He leaned in and kissed her, firmly, desperately, and she responded in an instant. Out of nowhere, heat swelled between them, and every doubt, every question, every wonder and every regret fell away from them in their tight and familiar embrace, as if they had never existed, as if they had never been apart. They could feel each other's heart beat, and the heat of each other's quickening pulse only encouraged their passion.

  Elle abruptly broke away and snatched him by the wrist, dragging him deeper into the forest, her copper-ringed eyes burning feverishly as he followed, and there, where their presence fell out of existence with no one around to notice them, they eagerly attempted to make a mark against a decade of lost love.

  Chapter 52

  "Don't leave."

  She turned her head. Her tangled, rippling hair brushed her bare shoulder and offered him a fine view of her profile. But whether she sought to keep the delicate situation from growing worse or simply couldn't bear to see what lay in his eyes, her gaze didn't reach him. "I'll be back," she promised softly instead, reaching gracefully for her bustier which hung high upon a branch.

  "With information."

  Her expression twisted further at the cold resignation in his tone, and her eyes finally dragged themselves back to where he sat hunched upon a rock. Even in the darkness, it was impossible to miss the hard eyes that stared back at her, set beneath a frown so unyielding it could outlast a statue's smile, nor the sheer downward turn at the corners of his lips. He sat naked, physically and emotionally exposed, and yet the force behind his thoughts laid just as bare in his eyes made her shrink back an inch instead. She turned her eyes away. "Rathen, you must--"

  "I do understand."

  Neither spoke for a long while as she slipped back into her undergarments, and only then did she turn directly towards him, as if they offered some kind of armour. She smiled sadly, mirroring his stoicism. "I will come back."

  "Would you still give up everything?"

  "In a heartbeat," she replied with sudden ferocity. "But--"

  "But you can't right now." He shook his head and sat forwards heavily. His tone hadn't changed, but at least he'd moved. "It's all right. I'm not going to ask you to. Not with things as they are. I just...wanted to hear you say it."

  "I'm sorry--"

  "You have a duty. I understand that. And whether I want it or not, so do I."

  He didn't react as she approached him, nor when she rested his head gently against her breast, though he didn't fight the gesture, either. "When this is over--"

  "Don't. We both know things aren't that simple."

  She smiled in spite of herself. "Aren't they? You're overcomplicating things. As usual. But all right, I won't say it." She released him and stepped away, moving towards the rest of her clothes that had been strewn across the ground. He watched her go, dejected, but stubbornly made no attempt to stop her. But she didn't continue to dress, as he'd expected. Rather, she began fishing through one of her pockets. "I'll leave you with this, instead." She returned to his side and pressed something into his hand, closing his fingers tightly around it, and looked steadily into his eyes, trapping his gaze before he could discover what it was. "Have trust in yourself. You're smarter and more powerful than you give yourself credit for."

  The corner of his mouth twitched. "You've said that before."

  "And it irks me that I've had to say it so many times since." She turned away and only now began collecting her clothes. "Don't second-guess yourself. Trust your instincts. You've always had such good instincts - don't let them get clouded by other people's expectations."

  "I don't understand."

  She shot back a smile as she pulled her shirt over her head. "Because you're over-thinking it." She returned fully clothed and kissed him, both soft and deep, and he finally took her by the waist. He gripped her almost desperately, digging his fingers through her blouse, but when she made the first motion to move away, he released her without resistance. He knew that he wouldn't have let go at all if he'd hesitated for even a second, and he didn't want to feel her push herself away from him. At least this way, he could trick himself into thinking he had let her go on his terms.

  She took slow but certain steps backwards, not once turning away from him, as though she was making the most of seeing him while she could, even though it had been her decision alone to leave. He watched her eyes all the while, and though they were just as reluctant as his, there was a promise in them, and he focused on that as she faded into the darkness and her voice drifted out through the night: "I will see you again."

  For a long while, he stared at the spot where she had vanished, thinking of nothing at all. He moved only when a cold, night breeze prickled his skin, and remembered his hand clasped tightly around her token for nothing more than the ache in his palm. He loosened his grip, uncurled his fingers, and peered with certain hesitance between them.

  As the morning sun glinted back from the simple golden band, he resented that that conversation was all he could clearly remember from last night's encounter. The rest had passed in an intoxicated blur, and though he'd tried desperately since she'd left him to recall all that had come before, his mind was still slow with the shock and exhaustion, both physical and emotional, and those last words were all that would return to him. His single solace was that the ring was proof he hadn't dreamt it.

  He ran his thumb over its edge. He felt its weight. It was familiar, and yet tenfold heavier than he remembered. But that leaded density pressed not on his palm, but his conscience. She had kept his wedding ring for all this time, the one he'd left on the bedside table the night he'd left his life behind. The night he'd 'fled'.

  No, not 'fled'.

  'Yes,' he thought grimly, 'fled.'

  That was how she saw it, at any rate. And that, he found, was all that mattered.

  He became slowly aware of eyes boring into him,
and surreptitiously dropped the ring he'd shielded from nosy eyes back into his pocket. Relaxing his scowl as best he could, he looked to his side and smiled at Aria while she stared at him with unveiled suspicion.

  "Petra said you were speaking to a friend last night," she informed him bluntly with no small degree of cynicism. "Who was it?"

  "No one you know," he assured her softly.

  Her frighteningly perceptive blue-grey eyes slighted further. "Someone from the Order, was it?" She barely gave him the chance to reply. She must have known he would evade the question with cleverly chosen words, neither lying nor telling the truth, nor really answering at all. "You've been keeping secrets. Don't look surprised, Daddy, I can tell. I know you better than anyone else. There's something you've wanted to say to me for ages now, I'm sure of it, but any time you almost do, you change your mind."

  "Nonsense," he replied too quickly, smiling too brightly.

  "Nonsense 'nonsense'," she retorted, then rose to her feet, her wood and whittling knife in hand. "But fine. I've not asked because I know you'll tell me when the time comes."

  He frowned sadly. 'When the time comes.' That would be today. How he loathed himself at that moment for his procrastination. He quickly forced it aside and did his best to offer her another smile as he reached out towards her. She frowned but accepted the hug, returning it tightly, then stared at him sadly when he held her by the shoulders. "I love you. You know that, don't you?"

  Her frown deepened, but she didn't voice her thoughts. She nodded instead. "I love you too, Daddy..."

  He rose to his feet and smiled reassuringly. "I'm going to the stream. Stay in Garon's sight, all right?" She looked back at him doubtfully, but nodded again, settling herself back on the soft, sandy ground in the inquisitor's clear line of sight from the bags he busied himself organising, as well as Anthis who sat on the far side with his books in his lap, suitably engrossed.

  Rathen could feel her eyes tracking him as he left, but he didn't look back around. He was so conscious of it, though, that he jumped when he found Petra emerging from the trees on her way back to camp. And he knew very well why, because that guilt lingered, too.

  "Thank you for looking after Aria last night," he said quietly when they drew level, trying unsuccessfully to hide from his own shame.

  "It's all right." But there was a definite tone of disapproval in her voice, and it was one she seemed keen to express. "I'm surprised at you, Rathen. Leaving her to the rest of us like that. It was extremely irresponsible. What if something had happened to you?"

  "Nothing would have happened to me."

  "Oh," she cocked her head, feigned belief in her eyes, "well that's all right, then. Glad you can be so certain. I hope I gain that same foresight when I'm your age." She folded her arms across her chest, her eyes darkening in censure once more. "Rathen, she might be your...wife..." she said that with particularly colourful disbelief, "but you trusted her too easily. She's from the Arana."

  "Yes," he replied lightly, belying his bristling. "She is. A phidipan."

  She looked surprised, if even a little frightened. "Phidipan? She can...suppress her--"

  "When she needs to. Yes, sometimes it was difficult to tell when she was hiding something when we were together - then I realised she was always hiding something. But I learned to tell when it was something I should be concerned about and I've always trusted her since. She's never given me reason not to."

  He strode past her dismissively, pretending, poorly, to be unaffected by her suggestion, and she didn't attempt to stop him.

  Once he'd returned an unreasonable half hour later, the group set off with Garon and his map at the lead. Petra remained near Eyila, keeping a careful but subtle eye on the silent tribal as she followed along, neither willing nor unwilling, walking in a daze as she did every day, and Rathen kept Aria close at his side, far away from Anthis. He held her hand more tightly than usual, prompting her to send occasional fretful looks his way. She distracted herself by staring beyond the visible horizon in search of the sea, a sight she was absolutely desperate to experience, and sniffed the air quite audibly as if she was afraid she might miss it if she wasn't so vigilant. In due time, the breeze grew stronger and carried with it the unmistakable scent of salt.

  "You've not told her," Garon said quietly as Aria all but dragged her father to the head of the group in her haste.

  "No," he replied resentfully.

  "Rathen--"

  "I know, dammit, I know."

  "If you'd done it sooner, it wouldn't have to be so abrupt."

  Rathen growled beneath his breath and relinquished his restraint against his daughter's enthusiasm, allowing her to pull him away. 'Assuming Kienza comes at all...'

  They reached the top of the extensive bank of sand ahead of the others, where Aria gasped in sudden awe and brought them both to a stop. Rathen expressed a similar sentiment.

  The golden sands that had seemed so endless for so long were finally and abruptly cut short, halted by the encroaching blue ocean, a rippling, impassible body which truly stretched on forever where no giant swells rose to advance the horizon. Even beyond the natural crescent bay edged by pillars of limestone, the azure water was calm and lazy, and the few modest boats that rested at the jetty were as still as rock. The scene was so motionless and so tranquil that they could have been standing within the strokes of a grand painting.

  Countless squeaks of excitement bubbled up beside him, and Rathen couldn't help a sad smile at Aria's uncontainable beaming grin as she stared, awestruck, at her first sight of the sea.

  "I wonder how big it is," she breathed. "And what's in it--maybe there are selkies! Or sea monsters!"

  "There are no sea monsters," Petra assured her grimly as she and the others stopped beside them. "There's nothing out there..."

  Garon would have chastised her for this most recent pessimistic statement, but it seemed she was right. Though they looked and listened, stretching the reach of their eyes and ears across the vast expanse, there was not one single, obvious trace of life. There was no sight of even a lone sea bird soaring on distant winds, nor were there any calls from nests camouflaged in rocky nooks. The gentle rhythms of the waves weren't interrupted by fin or spray of whale or porpoise. Not even the scent of fish was present to wrinkle the nose. There was nothing at all but water and salt.

  Suddenly, the thought of passing through a war zone felt all the more beguiling...

  But their eyes fell heavily upon the boats ahead rather than the monotonous desert behind them, and among the four moored, one in particular caught their attention. But it was for more than its perfect fourfold size, its distinctly forest-brown if barnacle-crusted hull, the presence of masts rather than oars alone, or the fact that it was clearly not of simple but efficient tribal craft.

  There was someone aboard it.

  "Kienza!" Aria cried, sparing the strain of Rathen's eyes, and wriggled expertly out of his grip to rush down the sand towards the jetty, leaving him to follow at a hurry and swallow his sudden wash of dread.

  The sylvan woman, adorned in her usual forested hues, rushed off of the deck and down the gangplank with an equally childish grin to envelop her in a hug, and Rathen couldn't help but smile at the enthusiasm they always shared. And her joy didn't change in the slightest when she turned her eyes onto him a moment later, snatching him immediately into an embrace as soon as he was close enough to reach.

  But though he didn't protest, though he desired the contact, though he knew he was just as happy to see her, he hesitated. It was fleeting, not even a second; the briefest partial beat off of the expected time to wrap his arms around her in turn. But she noticed. She made no obvious reaction, but he knew she'd noticed.

  And yet she still smiled with the greatest of affection when she released him, just as she always did, and he found himself returning it just as easily. There was nothing amiss in her emerald eyes; they were as entrancing and mysterious as they had always been, and he felt the guilt sitting
at the top of his throat fractionally subside.

  Aria unceremoniously tugged the bag off of her father's back while the others arrived behind them, but they were far beyond an awkward, partial beat to offer their greetings. And yet she didn't seem to notice this, either, and smiled fondly at each. Her gaze lingered on Eyila, however, whom he realised she had yet to meet, but she didn't stop and stare closely at the girl as she had the others. Instead, her smooth, perfect brow creased almost immediately in sympathy, and she made no attempt to speak to her. Rathen found that the girl's pale blue eyes were still glazed and peering far into another world.

  And then Aria was suddenly between them again, pushing Rathen back towards the others, her sketchbook in hand and a deadly serious look in her eye. He wasn't going to protest.

  She turned her back squarely towards them, opened the book in front of her face and presented the contents to Kienza alone. "Which one?"

  The sorceress's expectant expression suddenly mirrored the child's severity, and she seemed to compare two pages with the greatest of dedication. She didn't pose the question anyone else would have. Instead she weighed her two options until her eyes began to linger longer on the left page, then pointed, declared 'that one' with the utmost certainty, and inclined her head at Aria's thanks as she snapped the book closed with finality. "That was my favourite, too."

  With that matter dealt with, Kienza looked back to Rathen, ignored the puzzled looks of the others, and ushered him rather concisely towards an upturned fishing crate ten or so paces away. "Sit. Shirt off."