Shawna Thomas

by Journey of Dominion

  Her gaze locked with Bredych. His dark eyes drew her in. She swallowed. “Of course.” Using every ounce of self-will, she turned her attention to Erhard. “It’s quite all right. If I understand the rules, you were going to win in a moment anyway.”

  “True, but I enjoyed teaching you. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “It was a pleasure.” Bredych followed the king out of the room.

  Ilythra stared into the empty space Bredych had occupied, unease shooting currents up and down her spine. By the fireplace, she stretched out her hands toward the warmth and gazed at her shaking fingers. “Be careful what you ask for?”

  She gripped the edge of the table until her knuckles whitened. She’d finally come face-to-face with the red man, and she’d frozen. Now she knew why he’d waited. She’d let her guard down and he’d marched in, throwing her off balance. He’d been toying with her.

  A log popped, sending up a spray of sparks and she jumped. She hadn’t seen the stone, but she knew Crioch was the color of flames.

  “I’ll give you this engagement,” she muttered under her breath. Anger melted away the fear. “But we’re not done yet.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Dust from the arena billowed up toward the gallery where Bredych leaned against a padded chair. He observed the action through slits in a wooden lattice, listened to the banter and silences as the swords clashed and dust motes danced along beams of light from high windows. If the combatants had peered into the shadows, they would see a darker outline, but neither did.

  He wondered if Rothit knew that Ilythra held back. She’d been well trained, at least physically. Perhaps she was baiting the captain, getting him to let down his guard. He smiled. No, that was what he would do. The keeper was much too naive to think such a thing was necessary. A half smile touched his mouth. Defeating the girl would be like playing Crist with a child unschooled in strategy. He watched a moment more. She was a defensive fighter. She reacted more often then she initiated an action. He smiled fully. It had been a good decision to let her keep her weapons. Had she been asked to surrender them, she would have been that much more alert, more on guard, less at ease. Another example of how young and inexperienced she was. He doubted she even knew what to be on guard from. He was not worried about her weapons.

  Light from the sun caught something on Ilythra’s hand and flashed silver. Bredych sat straighter. Could it be? He peered through the slats. Zeynel’s ring! A slow smile crept across his mouth. It did make sense. Two for the price of one, perfect. He wondered if the Shamyrddin-enki had better instructed her regarding the purpose of the ring than he had the Waymaker. He doubted it, but he would find out.

  From his vantage point, Bredych could also see the prince watching the fight from the safety of an alcove along the arena wall. The boy’s eyes gleamed. Who are you rooting for? Your mentor or the strange woman who fascinates you? She’s beyond your reach, boy.

  Bredych was tired, but nothing that a few days of rest wouldn’t amend. He’d been careful and had gone slowly, calling the rain a little closer everyday not to overtax himself. It was a skill he’d perfected a lifetime ago, when he was called by another name.

  It would have rained eventually, so he’d only had to encourage, speed the winds, gather the moisture then stabilize the system over Greton. He stroked Crioch through the fabric of his tunic. It was tedious really, more fun to create a storm out of the blue sky, but he’d learned prudence over the years.

  An image filtered through his memory. An old and wrinkled woman with piercing black eyes sat before a fire. He could almost see the firelight flickering over the rocks in the cave, highlighting her pale skin, dancing in her dark gaze. He could smell the mineral tang, hear the windstorm pound against the shelter as she prophesized over him, informing him that although his power was great, he would be brought low by the people of the horse. It hadn’t meant anything at the time. Those in the south used horses for everything, but they wouldn’t describe them in that way. Then he’d discovered the Heleini of the Faisach. He was sure the prophetess hadn’t meant the nomadic people. The Heleini had been slaves in the south and even free, they were a small, unimportant nation, but he hadn’t wanted to leave it to chance.

  Irritation tinted his mood. Yes, he had a score to settle. She owed him. Seasons and seasons of planning in the Faisach destroyed by one unforeseen circumstance. He’d meticulously planned the scenario. But how could he have known Ilydearta would surface after so long? And Zeynel? Well, the teacher was no longer a problem.

  The benefits of the storm had far exceeded the efforts. She’d been locked in the castle with Erhard long enough for an attachment to kindle. He’d seen evidence of it. But not enough. His hand paused over the stone. No, not enough. The scent he’d created didn’t seem to be working as fast as it should. She showed notable resistance. He wondered if the stone had anything to do with it.

  It didn’t matter; he’d rectify the situation. But not now. Now he wanted to savor his small victory.

  Closing his eyes, he relived the moment he entered the game room and heard, for the first time in ages, the full melody of Ilydearta. It had been like lightning, stimulating, brilliant. The girl had felt it too. Though she showed remarkable self-control, he’d seen it in the widening of her irises, in the way her body stiffened then relaxed. The difference? He was prepared; she was not.

  For a moment, he reached out and tasted the melody, marveling how the nuance changed with its keeper. Bredych opened his eyes to see Ilythra stumble and recover in time to block Rothit’s blade. She sensed the touch. I wonder if she knows what she felt.

  Bredych rose and stepped further into the shadows. He’d let the storm dwindle as soon as he left for the castle, but he was tired. It was time to rest. He needed to prepare for the next stage of his plan.

  * * *

  Ilythra opened the framed window and gazed at the mountains. The cool air soothed her body and mind. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes. She loved the way the air smelled after a rainstorm. The sun had burned away the clouds just after the game of Crist. The sun and Bredych reappearing on the same day? An omen? She turned from the window, opening her eyes. She wasn’t superstitious, but she wasn’t stupid either. Could he control the weather? What was the extent of Crioch’s power?

  Even though the sun was only beginning to slip beyond the western horizon, she was ready for bed. She hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything after meeting Bredych.

  “What am I doing?” she muttered.

  The king’s advisor had intruded on her thoughts for the rest of the day, like an ache she couldn’t ease. She’d even faltered during her fight with Rothit, an inexcusable mistake.

  Something had happened when the stones had come into close proximity. Her sensitivity to Teann had doubled. She’d been aware in ways she wasn’t with only her stone. It reminded her of when she’d first encountered Ilydearta. She was so used to it now that if she were to take it off, she’d feel blind and deaf. What would it be like if all the stones were together? Triple the awareness? She clenched her jaw. By the Mother, she would find out.

  The moment the two stones met, she understood something she hadn’t when she’d left Jartas to follow Bredych. Walking into Greton was akin to stepping into his den. He was firmly entrenched here, of that there was no doubt. This was his territory. She was the usurper and at a disadvantage.

  After only one meeting, she felt she knew him better, or at least his essence. He was controlled, calculating. He didn’t make mistakes because he thought out every contingency. She would get no information out of him that he didn’t want her to have. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t make an effort. Can I get the stone from him? She shuddered, thinking of getting that close to the stone keeper. It would be like petting a hungry wolf.

  She tried and failed to match Zeynel’s description and her experience with
Crioch’s keeper with the man she’d seen. Bredych hadn’t seemed like a murderer or one who had world domination on his mind. He seemed almost serene and slightly amused. Not a man who grasped for things, one who expected them to be given and wasn’t used to disappointment. She steeled her thoughts. Despite appearances, he was dangerous. He had Zeynel killed. A village murdered. He’d manipulated the People of the Faisach, leading to many deaths, and why?

  The why she didn’t know. Did it matter? She waited for the familiar, slow-burning anger that always accompanied any thought of the red man, but it didn’t come.

  Uneasy, she glanced over the trees to where the land blurred with the sky. Silver clouds edged in gray drifted across the horizon, but she saw the dark eyes lit by intelligence and amusement. And now he knows you.

  Dismissing the thrill of fear that left an acrid taste in her mouth, she pulled Ilydearta from under her tunic and held it up to the cold light. The stone shone blue in her hand. Yes, he knows me and I know him. One down, one to go? And then what? Orchestrate a reunion? One thing at a time, girl.

  Where was he now? Now that she’d experienced what it felt like to be near another stone, she wanted to feel it again.

  She stared at the panorama of dark evergreens and white-capped mountains as their colors slowly blended into shades of gray with the setting of the sun then closed her eyes again, remembering how it felt when Bredych had entered the room with Crioch. She imagined it was an experience similar to being struck by lightning. Had he felt it too?

  Ilythra seemed to carry him around like a second skin and was beginning to wonder if that isn’t just what he had in mind. He’d caught her off guard once. He wouldn’t do it again. She’d asked Erhard where he lived in the hopes of paying him a visit, but the king would only say not far.

  She gazed into Ilydearta’s blue depths. A way when there is no way. She knew she couldn’t use the stone on him, but could she use it to find out where the Siobani were hiding?

  Or what if the third stone was lost? Shouldn’t she have sensed it by now? Alarm sped her heart. No, she hadn’t sensed Crioch until she’d learned its particular song. All the legends indicated that the Siobani held the third stone. But tribes, even nations died out all the time from war or disease.

  She struggled against an overwhelming feeling of defeat. Zeynel had thought it was possible to find them. That was enough for her, for now.

  The sky rivaled the color of Ilydearta—deep blue fading to black. It was beautiful now, but the rains had reminded her that winter was on its way.

  How long would she stay here, trying to pry information from Bredych before she gave up and left in search of the third stone? Ilythra sighed at the prospect. It would mean admitting defeat. She didn’t want to leave yet. Something was keeping her here. She couldn’t tell if it was Teann or Crioch’s call. Or her own stubbornness.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Taliba sat across from Mohan, her dark eyes searching his. He’d just finished telling her everything that had happened since he left the Benai—what seemed to him like seasons and seasons ago.

  She nodded. “Where is the healer now?”

  Mohan shook his head. “Greton. To follow the stone keeper. She wouldn’t come with me.”

  “No. She wouldn’t have. The force that pulls her is strong. There is darkness in Greton. I fear for her.”

  “I didn’t tell her.” Mohan’s voice broke.

  Taliba reached out and placed a wrinkled hand over Mohan’s. “It doesn’t accomplish anything to blame yourself now except delay what must be done. She needs to know, now more than ever.”

  “I—”

  “No, Mohan. You were consumed with grief. You were not thinking. Do not take blame that is not yours. I, too, could have told the Wanderer what we know. I felt it was better for her to learn to hear Teann, to hear Wisdom’s call for herself. I was also wrong. If we spend our time blaming ourselves, we will waste energy better spent rectifying the wrong.”

  “What can I do?”

  Taliba peered out the small window. “Go to her. I know your time for grief is not over. But there is no helping it. We will use the horse you brought with you to pull the wagons. He is not built for speed. Take Avi.”

  A sad smile touched Mohan’s face. Avi was the fastest, strongest horse they owned. “I will leave in the morning.”

  * * *

  Ilythra walked down the corridor toward the main hall. She could sense a change in the castle, as though the cold stone had warmed by the presence of people. She paused to look down a corridor that had remained dark since she’d arrived, now lit with torches. The guests must have arrived. She’d learned the castle’s layout enough to know how to get to the places she needed to go, but there were still sections of it she’d never seen. “Always know a second way out.” Mohan’s unexpected voice intruded on her thoughts. That wouldn’t be such a bad idea if she planned to stay, but she didn’t.

  She hadn’t got much from Aclan about the location of the second library, but one thing she had was time. She turned another corridor. The hallway stretched out, ending in a small sitting room. She walked slowly. The doors here were spaced farther apart. She peeked in one. And the rooms were unused. She had a good feeling about it.

  A thin layer of dust covered the furniture. Light streamed in from three small windows, throwing golden rectangles onto the cold floor. To one side of the couch, next to a wardrobe and tucked between stone columns, was a small door. There you are.

  * * *

  The noise from the hall drifted into the corridor. Bredych is here.

  Her heart sped and her hands suddenly felt clammy. She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. This time I’m prepared for you.

  Ilythra entered a room filled to capacity. From a second table laid near the first, bursts of laughter drowned out the roar of the fire as servants struggled with platters weighed down by carefully prepared food.

  Candles burned at lengths along the table, spilling wax onto the soft linen tablecloth. Light reflected from the glass goblets until it seemed like the room was peppered with stars.

  Where is he? A group of men sat at one end of the table. Rugians. She’d heard from the traders about the fierce inhabitants of the island of the eastern coast of Anatar but she’d never seen one until now. They were a race of warriors, their fierceness in battle legendary; though she’d heard they’d not strayed from their island or crossed the mountain for many years. The Rugians spoke broken Anatarian, their speech punctuated by loud laughter. Crude tattoos of mythical creatures and archaic lettering peeked from beneath brightly dyed leather. Braided beards fell in long, greasy tentacles down their chests.

  From the coarse jesting, Ilythra assumed their goblets had already been filled more than once by the solicitous servants.

  Her attention turned to the other end of the table. Erhard moved toward her, extending his hand to her. His grip was slightly proprietary, but she brushed off a slight irritation. The advisor again wore black and stood as she approached. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and smiled. Ilythra nodded to Aclan and a few of the men she’d met before.

  “Ilythra, it is good to see you again.” Bredych’s voice was smooth and rich.

  She picked up her fork, gratified her hands weren’t shaking. The melodies of Crioch and Ilydearta blended in a surge of power. “And you. I was beginning to wonder if you were avoiding me.”

  He smiled. “I hope you’re finding your stay here pleasant?”

  She met his dark gaze. Images of Shandor, Zeynel and Tarak wavered in her mind but far away as though almost lost from memory. “Quite. Getting better all the time.”

  He smiled and said something to Rothit. How could he seem so unaffected when her heart was pounding? She was aware of his every movement. There was something vital, energizing about being in h
is presence. But she knew of what he was capable. This was the red man. The draw she felt toward him when he first entered her dreams before she learned who he was hadn’t abated; if anything, it had increased in strength. It was the stones, not the man, she told herself.

  The Greton nobles didn’t sit near or engage the Rugians in conversation. She wondered how long the truce had been in effect. Erhard hadn’t talked about them much either. Why were they here? And what was the truce about?

  Ilythra glanced away from the Rugians to find Bredych’s gaze trained on her. He raised his goblet and then sipped. She met his gaze with the feeling that he was weighing her, taking her measure and finding her lacking. Irritation flared. Bredych inclined his head with a smile. Damn it, I can’t let him get to me. I am a trained warrior, a stone keeper. Yet even as she repeated the mantra, she acknowledged that Bredych made her feel like an unschooled child.

  The main course was a large grouse stuffed with smaller birds and presented on a large platter with enough vegetables and fruits to feed the village. The guests’ eyes lit with anticipation. Servants quickly served the meal, starting with Erhard.

  Ilythra pushed a piece of grouse across her plate, her appetite nonexistent. She dropped the morsel to a puppy that was rooting through the rushes for scraps. This time, she’d find a way to speak to the stone keeper alone. Conversation drifted around the table, sounds without meaning; her attention captivated by the man sitting across from her. It was the pendant, it had to be. There was no other explanation for the man’s magnetism. A wry smile touched her face. If that were the case, then why didn’t she have the same charisma?

  Her grandfather had once told her that a true warrior knew when she’d met her match and there was no dishonor in retreating. What had sounded like solid advice under the safety of her grandfather’s tutelage now grated on her nerves. Was she outmatched? Every part of her rebelled at the idea. She couldn’t deny the feeling of being in unfamiliar waters with the sand slipping from beneath her feet. Yet not even Zeynel wanted to face this man, and here she was challenging him in his home. She pushed the food around her plate. She’d leave in the morning—find the Siobani and tell them where the other stone was—let them decide how to proceed.