Iko needed no urging to rumble forward and leap into the air, flapping powerfully once, twice, and again, then spreading his wings to soar, as if the wrenching cries of his unwilling passengers were forcing him to go more slowly, fly more steadily despite the need for haste.
Minutes passed, interminable, in the wind with the blood and screaming.
Aron’s muscles throbbed like they might tear apart, so tightly did he hold Nic, who at his command was working just as hard to steady Snakekiller. His mind seemed to unfurl behind him, scattering itself into the merciless, cloudless sky. Whatever he had been when he woke in Endurance House, that version of himself was gone forever.
What remained, he couldn’t say.
By the time Iko set them down in Triune, directly in front of the infirmary in the farming and retirement quarters, the better part of Aron hoped Lord Baldric would kill him on sight. He was only marginally aware of Stormbreaker, Windblown, Zed, Raaf, Blath, Dari, and seemingly the entire Stone Guild rushing to help as he released Nic and Snakekiller from his mental commands.
Only the wild flurry of hands reaching to bear them to the ground kept both of them from tumbling to their deaths off Iko’s tall gryphon back. Stormbreaker scooped up his sister, while Zed collected Nic, and the two of them led Raaf and the sea of gray away from Iko and Aron, leaving only Blath, Dari, and Lord Baldric in its wake.
Aron slid to the ground on his knees.
He threw up until there was nothing left inside him but emotion, nameless and endless and as terrible as Snakekiller’s screams. If he could have thrown up his very heart, he would have done it, just to be free of sensation, of memory, of responsibility, of his own dangerous, unforgivable essence.
Iko shifted quickly back to his Sabor form and walked away without a single glance in Aron’s direction. Blath followed him, silent, concern etched across her normally stern and blank blue face.
Aron couldn’t make himself get up. He couldn’t do anything but hug himself and stare at the ground in front of him.
“Aron.” Dari’s whisper was so painfully gentle it made him want to break down the center. The softness of her touch was even more unbearable. Seemingly since the day he met her, he had been waiting to hear that kind of feeling in her voice, that level of regard when she spoke his name. He had dreamed of the day she would touch him out of love—the love of woman to man, not teacher to student, or caregiver to orphaned boy.
Now here it was, and he wanted nothing more than to push her away and assure her he had nothing to offer, nothing to give, not now, and likely not ever.
When he lifted his head, he forced himself to look past her to Lord Baldric.
The Lord Provost’s large face was sad beyond measure, and he clutched his chest as if to hold back some indefinable darkness of his own. The man’s eyes had been stripped of all merriment and mischief, and even the anger and authority Aron had, if he admitted it, found comforting.
Aron rose from his knees, trembling, fists clenched. His breath came in short, rib-aching bursts, but he found his voice nonetheless.
“I used my graal, and I will use it again, any time that I might save innocent lives, or avoid needless slaughter.” He offered the Lord Provost a bow, but couldn’t make himself even look at Dari. “From you, I ask only this: trial or Judgment. I will await your decision.”
Then, before either of them could say anything to break his mind further, Aron limped away, headed for the House of the Judged, for that was the only place in Eyrie he truly thought he should be.
PART V
Eldruidh
FATE STRIKES
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
NIC
Hands on shoulders …
Shoving, pushing...
Air. Falling. I’m falling!
Nic sat up in his bed so fast that pain blinded him. He groaned as his twisted spine burned as if it might blister just below his shoulders. Sometimes it seemed his bones were trying to shove through his skin, and he thought he might die from the agony. Instead, he usually suffered through a round of fits, the kind that left him flattened for a day, or even many days, afterward.
Gentle hands steadied him, gripping his shoulders, then rubbing the tops of his arms. His vision was too blurred to see who comforted him, but Nic assumed it was Snakekiller. The thick, sweet taste of nightshade wine lingered in his mouth, mingled with the bitter elixir she used to manage his fits.
He reached through his mind to remember what he had been doing before the latest fit struck him, but came up with nothing. All he could recall was traveling toward Triune, then … a man … a man wrapped like a desert traveler… and Snakekiller, and—
“Snakekiller!” He tried to push himself out of the bed, but the hands on his shoulders held him in place.
“Be easy, Nic,” said a female voice Nic didn’t recognize. He still couldn’t see the speaker, other than as a blur of bright colors. “Snakekiller is well. She’s already back at the High Master’s Den, and she’ll be here soon to see you.”
Nic blinked, trying to clear the water and crust from his eyes. The woman who was comforting him turned him loose, and he shifted his aching body until his legs hung from the side of his bed. He faced his nurse and mumbled, “Where am I now? What is this place?”
“You’ve reached Triune. You’re in the infirmary, in the men’s ward—our only occupant right now, which is unusual.”
Triune. The Stone Guild stronghold. Relief washed through Nic like a slow, healing wave, easing the pain in his muscles and helping to focus his thoughts. The rest of his recent memory realigned itself, and he remembered waking after the Guard attack, Canus the Bandit, Snakekiller’s terrible wounds, the approach of the strange caravan with more Guard and the unmarked carriage, and—
And Aron.
Finally meeting the boy in his visions—and how Aron saved them.
Nic’s stomach rolled over, and he shivered from the memory of having his mind, his essence, touched against his will. Just the thought of it made him want to vomit, and yet he knew he was alive because of what Aron chose to do. Even better, Snakekiller was alive. As far as Nic was concerned, the outcome justified the methods. He wanted to meet Aron again and thank him properly.
“Is it more clear to you now, everything that happened?” asked the woman beside Nic’s bed.
He nodded and rubbed the sleeve of his sleeping robe across his eyes. As he moved the cloth from his face, the world came into sharper view. The stone chamber where he lay was huge and full of beds, with several big, roaring fires to keep the rock walls warm. Pots and cauldrons bubbled on hearths beside folded cloths. Flasks, wineskins, and bowls were abundant on many small tables beside the beds, and herbs hung drying down the walls like green and brown tapestries.
When his gaze shifted to the woman, he squinted because he still saw nothing but a brilliant array of colors. A strange dizziness overtook him, and the colors arranged themselves into the image of a lovely woman holding a baby. Then a standing corpse. Then a giant dragon too large to be contained in the room.
Nic’s heart flooded with surprise. He caught his breath, closed his eyes, and opened them again. This time he tried to come to awareness more slowly, letting the light from the chamber’s many windows blend with the orange flames of the fires until he could see the woman who was sitting next to him. Tall. Dark-skinned. Sleek, glistening hair pulled into thin braids and gathered at both sides of her head. She seemed about his age, close to eighteen, certainly no more than twenty. She wore a green robe, long-sleeved, with gold braiding at the neck and wrists. Her thin, graceful hands were folded in her lap, and her expression conveyed concern along with a sadness he sensed more than saw.
Such a powerful, deep unhappiness.
Her pain hurt Nic as if it were his own, and he wanted nothing more than to relieve her of it. “It’s all right,” he murmured, unable to stop himself from staring into her wide, dark eyes. “I’ll—I’ll help you.”
The woman started at his words, t
ried to smile, then shook her head. “Excuse me?”
“You’re unhappy. I can feel it.” Nic remained overwhelmed by the force of the woman’s emotions, now stronger than ever after his offer of assistance. He lifted his stiff arms and forced his misshapen hands forward until he covered her fingers with his own. She felt warm and soft, and also infinitely strong, and he knew immediately that the colors he had seen were part of some unusual graal he had never encountered before.
It wasn’t proper, touching her like he was. He didn’t even know her, but he couldn’t do anything else. He had to try to soothe her, as she had no doubt soothed him during his most recent illness.
“This place has so many medicines,” he said. “Have they nothing to ease your pain?”
The woman didn’t move her hands. She seemed both surprised by and grateful for the contact, and when she spoke, she didn’t disguise the sadness anymore. “There’s no elixir or poultice for the likes of me, I’m afraid. I’m very worried about someone.” She glanced toward the door of the chamber, as if wishing that someone would come striding in to meet her. “And I’m confused about so many things.”
Her lips trembled, and moments later, tears rolled down her cheeks.
Nic said nothing. He kept his hands on hers, wishing he knew anything about healing hearts, about offering real comfort aside from just sitting next to someone.
“I’m sorry.” The woman gathered herself enough to stop the flow of her tears. “I don’t know why I told you any of that, Nic.”
Nic did his best to give her hands a squeeze. “Would you tell me your name, since you know mine?”
“Darielle Ross,” she said, moving her hands away from his to dry her tears. “Dari, to those I know.”
Nic felt the loss of contact with her like a physical pain, but he rested his palms on his legs. “Dari,” he said, enjoying the sound of it.
He couldn’t tell from Dari’s reaction to him if she knew the truth of his identity, but he didn’t think she did. He hoped she didn’t. In truth, despite Snakekiller’s ceaseless tutoring and encouraging, Nic thought less and less about who he used to be, and more about who he had become, and what he wanted for his own future. “What can you tell me, Dari, about this place, about Stone—and about Aron? I would very much like to speak with him.”
Dari’s reaction was immediate and unmistakable. Her flinch made Nic grip his knees in frustration and curse himself for not guessing the source of some of her misery. “I see. Aron is part of what’s worrying you. Was he injured in our rescue?”
“No.” Dari glanced at the door again, then sighed and met Nic’s gaze. “When Aron returned from your rescue three weeks ago, he demanded that the Lord Provost send him to his guild trial, or send him to Judgment. Lord Baldric will do neither, until he comes of age just after the first of the year.” Now she stared down, seemingly at her fingernails, and Nic struggled with an urge to tip her chin back up so he could look into her face again. “Aron’s been choosing to stay in the House of the Judged because of what happened with you and with Snakekiller.”
Nic pulled his arms to his belly and folded them in a position that eased the ache in his bones. “That’s foolish. Aron did nothing wrong. He saved our lives.”
Dari returned her attention to Nic, her expression more troubled than ever. “It’s more complicated than that.”
“Why?” Nic asked. When Dari didn’t respond, he added, “Perhaps I’ve traveled with Snakekiller too long, but I’ve started to believe as she does, that the world is often simpler than we allow it to be. Aron has a powerful and dangerous legacy, but he put it to good use.”
Dari’s mouth came open, as if she was pondering his opinion. Then she seemed to accept it, and for the briefest moment, she showed a hint of relief. It lasted only seconds before her worry seemed to double. “Would that the Lord Provost saw it your way.” She frowned. “I wish Aron could see it your way, as well.”
Nic studied Dari’s face, her posture, and the truth showed itself clearly enough. “You care very much for Aron.”
“Yes,” Dari said, then lifted her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. She quickly lowered her fingers, coughed, almost raised them again, then gripped a fistful of her robe. “I mean, as a friend. A student. I mean—oh, I don’t know.”
Nic knew.
Snakekiller was right, about how people convey so much of their truths and feelings with their actions. Dari might as well have been shouting that she had deep feelings for Aron, which bothered him, though he had no idea why.
“Aron was very brave when he rescued us,” Nic said, hoping that would give Dari a moment of pride for Aron, and some ease. “I will always owe him a debt for that, and his Sabor companion, too.”
She nodded, and did seem slightly more relaxed. “I have no status at Stone, but I do have permission to share information with you, Nic.” She rubbed the sides of her temples, as if she might be fending off a headache. “Much of it you may already know because of your connection with Aron, but some facts may need to be clarified. Events seen through the Veil can be confusing at best.”
Nic readily agreed to that point, and over the next half hour or so, Dari recounted how she came to be at Stone, as well as Aron’s tragic history. Nic sensed there was much she was omitting about herself and about her missing twin, but he didn’t press. From his time with Snakekiller, he understood how secretive Stone could be, and he appreciated learning whatever Dari was willing to share. In return, he told her about his own journey to Triune, leaving out only the truth of how he came to be injured, and thus, where he lived and who he was before he traveled with Snakekiller’s party. For all he knew, Snakekiller had shared this information, but if she had, Dari didn’t seem to be showing him any deference because of it. He was very glad.
“Iko is staying with Aron at the House of the Judged,” Dari told Nic after they had shared their accounts. “He’s trying to be certain Aron eats, but mostly, Aron reads and trains in solitude. He won’t see me, even for graal lessons, and he won’t see Stormbreaker.” Dari glanced again at the chamber door, and her body took on a new tension, even worse than before.
Nic couldn’t imagine Dari being put off so easily, by anyone, and he told her so—but when she reacted with a shy embarrassment, he quickly shifted the subject.
“Snakekiller spoke much about her brother when she related the tale of her life.” Nic watched the door she kept looking at, wondering if it was time for Stormbreaker to relieve Dari, as she had explained how they had been taking turns with Snakekiller, sitting with him. He hoped not. When he shifted his attention back to her, he found her staring at him.
“Snakekiller told you about herself?” She sounded impressed and also wistful. “About her whole life?”
Nic shifted under Dari’s scrutiny, feeling her gaze like a tangible force on his mind. “We spent many hours in inns and shelters, and even more on the road. She shared her history, and worked to teach me skills she thought I might need.”
“I see.” Dari once more lowered her eyes. “Her brother has been less … forthcoming. At least with me.”
Nic remained quiet as he watched her nervous movements, then said, “You care for Stormbreaker, too.”
Dari’s mouth came open again, this time faster. She closed it so forcefully Nic heard her teeth click together. “You’re beginning to distress me with your insights.”
“Forgive me.” Nic gripped his knees harder, feeling a rush of heat in both cheeks. “As I said, I’ve traveled with Snakekiller for many cycles now. Her bluntness and habits of observation have become my own.”
“I suspect you have your own talents in that respect.” Dari leaned toward him, close enough to make his face flush even more. Nic found himself too aware of every detail of her appearance, right down to her scent of spice mixed with vanilla and lavender. “Have you always made people so comfortable around you so quickly, Nic?”
Nic laughed. “No. Rather the opposite.”
Dari’s smile warmed Ni
c deep within his essence, and he realized he didn’t want to tell this woman the truth of his past, that he had been invisible to the people who knew him. That he had been a joke and object of ridicule to those who didn’t know him. That he was so inconsequential he could be pitched off a tower, and some other body passed off as his without his own mother even noticing the difference.
Looking into the eyes of this intriguing woman, Nic wanted more than ever to leave that other life, that other Nic, however healthy and able-bodied, far in his past.
Sounds in the doorway made Dari draw back, and when Nic looked up to see who had entered, surprise jolted through him.
It was Snakekiller, but as a man, with lighter skin and more benedets. The forehead, the set of the jaw and eyes—Nic saw now, for certain, all that Snakekiller had sought to teach him about recognizing blood relations by the markers of the body. This would be her brother, then. This was Stormbreaker.
As if to confirm Nic’s observations, a curtain seemed to descend around Dari’s energy, muting her essence. Her expression and posture became more neutral, and by the time Stormbreaker reached her side, Dari had become unreadable, almost aloof.
When Stormbreaker saw Nic looking at him, he smiled, then offered a quick bow. “I’m pleased to see you’re awake. My sister has been most concerned, as have we all. I’ll send a runner to the Den to summon her.”
“I’ll go to her,” Nic said, pushing himself to his feet only to collapse back to the bed. If Stormbreaker and Dari hadn’t leaped forward to steady him, he would have toppled sideways to the stone floor in a twisted heap.
Dari’s nearness made Nic’s heart beat faster, despite the bitter sting of embarrassment over his weakness.
“We’ve kept your muscles loose by moving your limbs.” Stormbreaker turned Nic loose. “But you’ll need to regain your strength.”
“I see,” Nic said as Dari withdrew and sat in her chair once more, and Stormbreaker stood beside her. Nic couldn’t look at Dari as he admitted the full truth of his situation. “The way my body works, or I should say fails to work, I’m not certain how much progress I’ll make.”
A Prince Among Killers Page 19