Destined for a King

by Ashlyn Macnamara

  “Not every Stronghold lord is as generous as Belwin Thorne. Some take so much of the harvest that most don’t make it through the winter without resorting to outlawry.” Bitter experience rang through his words. “And when you can’t stand the sound of your little ones crying because their bellies are empty, it’s all the easier to damn the laws to the Faceless One.”

  He pulled his jerkin aside, revealing the gnarled flesh just below his collarbone. She’d noted it as she tended him, but an old scar had not claimed her attention the same as a fresh wound. She saw it now. White ridges pulled his skin into an intricate knot—too intricate to have occurred by chance. The scar formed a rune, the symbol of a poacher.

  “I got the easier end of the bargain,” Hawk went on. “Lord Tarr felt I ought to repay him for the stag I took. I had nothing, so he declared I could pay him in kind. I still had nothing—beyond my wife. It was her or our children.”

  Calista gasped. A sickening sensation roiled in her gut. Thank the gods she’d had nothing to eat, for surely she’d have spewed the contents of her belly over the ground.

  “Torch, now, he’s known hardship. He’s hard but fair. Not one to take more than a person can give.”

  “Merciful,” Calista murmured. Beyond the initial battle to take the keep, he’d killed no Blackbriar man, not even Rand. Another man might have cut out Rand’s tongue for his insults, but Torch had simply locked him up. And Torch had allowed the remnant of Blackbriar’s guards to escape with his Brothers, rather than leave them to face Hammerfell’s ideas of justice.

  “I don’t reckon Torch will stand for such doings once he’s regained the throne.”

  “If he’s alive, you mean.” There. She’d spoken the worst aloud, forced the words past the ache in her throat. Given them voice, and the sun still shone on the clearing. Birds still twittered among the trees. Her own heart still beat in her chest until she wanted to tear it out with her bare hands.

  “He’s still alive. Have faith.”

  Faith. It was all anyone had asked of her since the day Torch had ridden into her life, and look where it had brought her—exiled from her home and raked with pain over the loss of a love she hadn’t realized existed until it was too late.

  Oh, gods.

  She loved him—her husband, her lord, her king.

  The tenderness cut keen and unbearably bright. Nothing but love was powerful enough to cause her this level of suffering. Her heart fairly burst with the immensity of her emotions.

  And Torch still believed she’d betrayed him. Nothing else could explain his words to her when she’d opened that cell door.

  I suppose you’ve come to finish us off.

  He might as well have said me. The echo through her mind still stung like a slap. That cursed sob rose again, scrabbling and tearing like a wild animal. This time, she was powerless to hold it back. She doubled over, pressing her hands to her mouth, while Hawk’s fingers tightened about her shoulder.

  But she wanted more than just fingers. She longed for a pair of strong arms, a muscled chest, the familiar scent of Torch. She yearned for his shoulder, his presence, his fingers threading through her hair, his low rumble of a voice telling her everything would turn out fine in the end.

  Even at the last, he’d hardly touched her. Only the briefest rough grappling to get her on her palfrey. Perfunctory. No gentleness. Nothing but the desire to see her gone. And that was the last memory she kept of him.

  She buried her face in her hands, hoping the storm would soon pass. Hawk’s reassuring grip turned into a series of awkward pats.

  “It’s all right.” She squeezed the words past the tightness in her throat.

  “You keep telling yourself that, and it will be.” She’d meant that Hawk didn’t have to keep up his attempts at comfort, but clearly he thought she was referring to Torch.

  “Do not despair.” Another voice had her straightening, spine stiff. Brother Tancrid. He stood a couple of arms’ lengths away, barefoot, unkempt. A coating of grayish dust covered his rough, brown robes.

  All during their escape, she’d managed to maintain her distance from the Acolyte, but he’d crept up on her while the storm of her emotions raged.

  She took a step back.

  He extended an arm. Ringed with grime, that one unnaturally long nail pointed straight at her, an uncanny echo in her mind of their last encounter. “There is no need to fear me.”

  Reflexively, her hand rose to cover the swaths of linen about her throat. The scratch on her neck throbbed. She ought to deny his statement—she ought to lie—but she could not summon the energy.

  Brow furrowed, he followed. One step. Too close. “What is it?” Sadness tinged that question. “What has happened to you?”

  Good Mother, it was as if he didn’t remember his attack. Though he’d come back to himself at the end, he’d still been in some sort of trance in that little room. Had his mind blocked out what had transpired? Or had she imagined his shocked reaction? Maybe she had seen what she had wished to see—the beloved tutor from her childhood and not the monster he’d become.

  Shouts from the camp saved her from having to reply. She turned in the direction of the noise. A rider emerged from the woods, tall on his beast of a white warhorse, broad-shouldered, his face blackened with soot, his gear singed.

  Torch. With the morning sun glinting in his hair, setting it afire, he’d never looked better.

  Calista’s knees buckled, but Hawk caught her before she fell. “Thank the gods, thank the gods. Thank all the gods.”

  In the midst of the camp, Torch dismounted and handed the reins to Aimery. Then his gaze settled on her, pinned her to the spot more surely than Hawk’s supporting arm. Long legs ate up the ground as he stalked toward her.

  The impulse to launch herself into his arms and take the comfort she’d yearned for burned hot in her chest. She stumbled toward him, and took a deep lungful of the smoke and fear that overlay his usual masculine scent. But the arms that encircled her and the muscled chest beneath her cheek remained stiff.

  She pulled back. “You got away.”

  A hot blush crept up her cheeks. Yes, and wasn’t that an astute observation?

  “I got away.” He echoed her statement in an unwelcoming tone that sent a shiver through her. “A stable full of heavy warhorses running about the bailey creates an effective diversion.”

  But just as quickly the chill blazed into frustration. Damn him, if not for her, he’d still be shackled in that stinking cesspool of a cell, he and all his men. The least he could do was express some gratitude. “Do you have nothing to say to me?”

  “I have a great deal to say to you, but not here and not now. I’ve too many other things to order first. Including our escape.” His words were curt, abrupt. Just as abruptly, he turned to Hawk. “How many are wounded?”

  Hawk had the grace to clear his throat, his ruddy cheeks reddening. “A handful, no more. And those lightly. One broken leg in the lot. Your lady wife has seen to them.”

  Torch turned to her and nodded once, a simple jerk of his head. Hard but fair, Hawk had called him. Well, right now, it appeared she was seeing all of the hard and none of the fair.

  “Order the men to disperse into the woods. Small groups. Blackbriar men are free to return to Hammerfell’s mercies or to seek shelter at any Stronghold of their choosing.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hawk replied with a nod. “But we have few horses. There’s yours and the lady’s. Everyone else is on foot.”

  “Put the injured on the palfrey. Horses won’t travel much faster, at any rate.”

  “And where are we to head?”

  “Into the wild. To our sanctuary.”

  While Hawk and Torch worked out the company’s next move, Calista felt the uncomfortable weight of an unwanted gaze settle on her shoulders. Brother Tancrid was studying her—or more accurately, the linen about her throat. She covered the bandaging with her hand and turned her back.

  What has happened to make you one of us?
But we are Sons. There has never been a Daughter in a thousand years and more.

  She jumped back with a cry, her heart hammering. Brother Tancrid’s voice had sounded in her mind as clearly as if he’d spoken.

  Torch broke off his orders to Hawk to stare at her. “What is amiss?”

  Before she could reply, Brother Tancrid stepped in. “If it would be easier, the Sons of Earth might hide your fellows for a time.”

  “My thanks.” Torch bowed his head. “My men have taken to the wilds before and can do so again. If you wish to take in the Blackbriar guards, you may. That leaves only the matter of my wife.”

  “No.” Please let him look at her. Let him see. Beyond the fact that she did not wish to be near the Acolytes—the Sons—she could not fathom the idea of their being separated. No matter that he was behaving like an utter clod. “I go where you go. I will not stay at the cloister.”

  With a wave of his hand, Torch dismissed Hawk. Then his eyes raked her with appraisal, assessing, no doubt, her soiled clothes, smudged face, and tangled hair. “The paths I mean to take and the ways I mean to survive are unfit for a gently bred lady.”

  She’d never looked less like a gently bred lady, even when she’d dressed up in boiled leather to defend Blackbriar. “I joined my destiny to yours. I stood before the altar and made a vow.” She cast a wary glance at Brother Tancrid. “I will feel safer with you.”

  Oh, how she hated to admit that after the coldness of his return. But what alternative did she have?

  “What’s this?” Such a simple question, but Torch posed it in a low, lethal voice that gave her hope.

  She faced him straight on, forcing her expression to hardness—just as hard as his. “You have yet to ask how I came by my wounds.”

  Everything about his stance became alert. A palpable tension coiled in him, ready to unleash at any moment. “Do you imply…”

  “She does, I think.”

  Calista would never have thought to ascribe bravery to an Acolyte, but coming from an unarmed and defenseless man, Brother Tancrid’s admission was just that.

  And then he did something braver, or perhaps foolhardy. He reached toward her.

  She flinched away.

  Fingering the hilt of the dagger thrust into his belt, Torch stepped between them. “Tell me.”

  Brother Tancrid lowered his gaze to the bare ground. “I do not rightly recall.” But you do, his voice continued in her mind. Tell him so that I can understand. Even if it damns me. If ever I harmed you, I deserve as much.

  “You attacked me.” The gods help her, she was too fatigued and confused to embroider the tale. “You wanted blood.” She touched the linen banding her neck. “My blood.”

  Sunlight skittered in a deadly dance down the dagger blade as Torch whipped it out.

  “No!” Calista’s cry of protest welled from somewhere deep in her chest. She lunged and grabbed Torch’s wrist. The knife-stroke went wide. Power strained in every corded sinew beneath her fingers. “You must give him a hearing.”

  A glance about proved her intuition correct. Their little scene had drawn an audience. Hawk stood holding his sword at the forefront of an armed group. Every single one of them had drawn blades.

  “Hammerfell gave you a hearing,” Calista reminded him.

  The knotted muscle beneath her palm did not ease. Torch eyed her, his expression unyielding. “For all the good it did me.”

  The full weight of his blame fell onto her like a boulder. “I had no choice.”

  “Not now.” He turned to the Acolyte. “I have another pressing matter before me. Explain yourself.”

  Brother Tancrid remained where he was, head lowered in full acceptance of whatever fate Torch would deal him. “I did not wish for the lady’s blood. You know of the blood I speak.”

  A cold finger of dread down Calista’s spine raised gooseflesh at her nape. Torch was in on this? “You know?”

  “The blood of the earth,” Brother Tancrid explained. “I told your lord of it. My journey requires I take the blood of the earth into myself. If someone arouses me from the trance too soon, my body and mind crave the return. You could not know, but waking me as you did was dangerous.”

  Calista shook her head. “I do not understand.”

  “It is the way I access the earth’s knowledge.” It is the way you do so now. “I must take some of the blood into myself, through my nose, directly to my brain.” As he explained, the paths of her mind opened on an image of the Son of Earth scooping a gray powder into his fingernail and inhaling it. “And from there, I may quest for whatever I desire to know.”

  The grime on his nail. It was this blood of which he spoke. And he’d scratched her with that nail. Some of the earth’s blood had mingled with her own. “Whatever you desire? If…If I asked to know the future, could it tell me?”

  “Not the future, for that is ever changed by our present actions.”

  “But if I wished it to show me a path, a means of escape…”

  Brother Tancrid held up a hand. “Do not set your feet on that road. It will consume you in the end.”

  It is consuming me, do you not see? Once again, he spoke directly to her mind. As I have begun in my quest for knowledge, I long for more and more and more. I shall never have enough.

  And so she attempted the reply—directly. Concentrating on Brother Tancrid, she aimed her thought toward him. Too late. You’ve put the blood in me.

  His eyes widened. “Show me your wound.”

  “Yes, show us,” Torch added in a menacing whisper.

  For some reason she couldn’t fathom, her fingers trembled as she raised them to untie the knot at her nape. She unwound the white fabric. Her heart skittered. What were they expecting?

  The strip of cloth fell away. Brother Tancrid bent to peer closer, but Torch moved to block the other man. He extended two fingers and traced the length of Calista’s neck. Beneath that touch, her skin warmed.

  “That is quite an impressive scar,” he commented.

  “Scab, you mean. How can there be a scar, when I sustained the wound not three days ago?”

  “Have you not seen yourself?”

  “No.” That cold finger at her spine was back. “Should I look?”

  With no mirror in the offing, she raised her fingers. In the place where Tancrid had scratched her, a ridge of skin had risen, smooth beneath her touch. Not like a scab, but very like a scar.

  “Just so you know, it is black.”

  Brother Tancrid leaned over Torch’s shoulder. “I’d call that more a dark gray. Like charcoal.”

  The color of that streak through Torch’s Scrying Stone. The color of the earth’s blood.

  She craned her neck toward the Acolyte. “What does it mean?”

  “I cannot be entirely certain,” Brother Tancrid replied. “No one has ever taken the blood in this manner. No woman has ever connected herself with the Sons. It may be you are now permanently connected to the knowledge that lies in the earth.”

  She blinked. If anything, those words rang true. The path. It is in your mind.

  Tancrid bowed his head. “If you are ready to pass judgment on me, please do so. For my part, I make my apologies to your lady wife. I meant her no harm. It was done in ignorance, and I retain no memory of the deed.”

  “I think it’s best if you leave us,” Torch said.

  “I agree with you. I will return to my cloister, where I can continue my quest for the knowledge you asked of me.”

  Calista looked from one man to the other before her gaze alighted on Torch. Her husband. “You were behind this?”

  “I asked him for the secret to creating Adamant, yes. It seemed expedient at the time, when I possessed a keep whose defenses required improvement.”

  “I was close, I tell you.” Brother Tancrid sounded anxious and excited. For all the world, his demeanor reminded Calista of a puppy. “Another journey, uninterrupted, and I’m there.”

  “You can accomplish this among your brethren,”
Torch said. “There’s only one more thing. I should like to have my Stone back.”

  Brother Tancrid retreated a step, his fingers plucking at his robes—robes coated in a dark gray substance, very like charcoal dust. Calista’s neck throbbed, and a thrill of recognition passed through her.

  “Forgive me, my lord,” Tancrid said. “The Stone no longer exists. I thought you realized. I needed the blood within it. I have now extracted it. But…” He glanced at Calista. “Your lady holds the power of the blood within her now. You no longer need the Stone to access the truth you seek.”

  “Truth?” Calista asked. “What truth do you seek? Beyond the making of Adamant.”

  “I ask very little,” Torch said. “A means to my throne, is all.”

  “Your lady has access. She has become a Daughter of the Earth. The knowledge has become a part of her. It will come to her as she needs it.” You only have to open your mind and accept.

  She had opened her mind, though, or it had been opened for her. The path she’d seen, the one that had led her to the Kingsbane, the one that had led her to freeing Torch and his Brothers. It was still there in her mind, showing her the way forward.

  Yes, her mind was open now. All that was left was for her to accept.

  Chapter 25

  What was he going to do with his wife?

  Torch pondered that very issue as he watched Brother Tancrid disappear into the southern woods, making for the security of his cloister. Some of Blackbriar’s guards accompanied him. Torch had hoped to send Calista along with the Acolyte.

  Now that he’d heard her tale, that course of action was out of the question. Damn it all, and who would have expected a quiet dreamer—a man in search of knowledge—to become a danger? Calista no longer trusted her former tutor, and now Torch couldn’t, either.

  He turned to eye the remainder of his followers. Many had already melted back into the surrounding trees in pairs and small groups, heading for the Bastard Brotherhood’s private lair. A few fathoms off, Calista crouched at the base of a large stone, scrabbling at the dirt. A small pile of greenery lay at her feet.

  Hawk had not yet left the rendezvous, and Torch waved him over. “I must entrust you to bring Calista to safety,” Torch told the man who had become his second since Kestrel’s departure.