An amused grin claimed his face, but he shook his head. “That’s unfortunately out of the question, but your charm is considerable, Lady Sabeyon, and to your credit.”
Many years ago, there had been some whispering about Evrard Gilles desiring to buy his way into the Houses, but when the king had made his disposition clear, Gilles had thrown away all hope and lain siege to Signy. Yet such pantomime of the noble mien spoke of renewed hope.
Gilles handed her the box.
She hesitated, but what choice was there? If violence could be avoided, she would try. She accepted the box, brushed her begrimed fingertips over the smoothness of the enamel. There were flecks of blue in it that reminded her of James’ eyes—the breathtaking deep blue of the twilit Bay of Amar, luminous in the light of the fading sun. When he’d first turned them upon her, they’d frozen her in place; she’d lost herself looking into their horizon, contemplating where their brilliance ended. She still hadn’t found the answer.
The box was cold in her hands, colder even than the frigid, humid air of the dungeon. Slowly, she opened the box and peered inside.
The deep blue of the twilit Bay of Amar, shrouded by a light-blue haze.
“Soon you may have a complete pair to gaze into,” Gilles said, his voice eerily thoughtful. “How much can be cut away from a man before he can no longer call himself such?” he mused. “I have yet to learn the answer with His Highness.”
With a quivering reverence, she gently shut the box, tears pushing against her restraint. James... She blinked and let them come.
At least he was alive. That was what mattered.
Her daily journey to the Hall of Mirrors came to mind then, and for whose benefit she was tortured in the chair. She couldn’t bear to face Gilles. “It’s him on the other side of the mirror every day, isn’t it?”
The box’s enameled surface was cool and smooth in her hands.
“The Faralles already had the system in place, did you know?” He sighed. “I learned of it on my last ‘visit,’ if it could be called such. Imagine, of all the recondite mirrors there linked to faraway, forgotten places, there are two linked within the palace. Sometimes His Highness needs motivation to talk, and while he seemed stubbornly resistant to torture, the sight and sound of torturing you is rather compelling.”
That’s why they were keeping her alive? A bargaining chip to keep James talking?
“What do you want to know?” she dared ask. Did it have anything to do with that wren James had made her promise to release?
“Don’t worry your pretty head over it, my lady,” Gilles answered. “He wouldn’t have told you.”
What wouldn’t James have told her? They’d gotten very close; he’d even talked about his wife and his children. “Then what do you want with me?”
“Why, to shower you with gifts,” he answered, nodding toward the ring on her hand. The Ring of the Archmage, a ring of office, but he couldn’t know that. “You’re accustomed to it, aren’t you, as a prince’s mistress?”
Blood rushed to her face. Mistress. No one had called her that. Hardly anyone had known. Regardless, James and his wife were separated, estranged.
“I’ll have another box for you next time, with gifts from your dearest friend,” Gilles said, and his companion straightened next to him.
Dearest friend? She stiffened. Rielle. He meant Rielle.
“The Rose of Laurentine, isn’t it?” Gilles continued. “A worthy prize, considering her dowry, but for her many thorns. Everyone knows about her little... rebellion against House Marcel. It won’t matter.” He huffed a laugh. “She won’t be coming for you. You’re not worth the risk.”
Rielle would walk through fire for me. And I for her. She’s coming.
“Do you see the unwavering faith in her face, Shadow?” he asked his companion. “You have nothing to fear. Keep your patience.”
Shadow? Olivia regarded the woman with newfound respect. One of Gilles’ notorious mage captains, the shadowmancer. Her prowess was legend.
“I have, sir, for nine years.” Shadow turned her head to Olivia, her face shadowed where it wasn’t masked. Her voice was a mix of harsh contrasting consonants, the accent of a Kezani islander. “Our ears report Lothaire took a Divinity mission after we took control here. She makes for Bournand with a charge, a paladin.”
They wanted Rielle to come here? Olivia frowned. “What do you want with her?”
“You’re worried?” Gilles asked Shadow. “Come, now. Have some faith in friendship, Shadow.” He sneered, gesturing toward Olivia.
Shadow’s voice rumbled in her throat. “The only faith I have is sheathed at my side, sir.” She swallowed audibly, and Olivia leaned forward but couldn’t see the woman’s face for the shadows of her hood. “When I joined the Crag Company, sir, you promised me—”
Gilles’ playfulness disappeared instantly. “Do not speak to me of promises, Shadow.”
Shadow nodded and stood to attention.
“I dispatched Flame to handle it.”
“But, sir... His madness… He’ll kill her charge, but he might kill her, too, sir, before I can—”
Gilles held up a hand. “Very well.” He sighed heavily and thumbed a long scar above his jaw. “Make for Bournand, remove what troubles you, and return here.”
Remove what troubles... Did Shadow intend to kill Rielle?
Shadow saluted. “Yes, sir.”
“No!” Olivia shouted. “You have me. Why do you need Rielle? What do you want?”
Shadow strode to her and backhanded her across the face. “Justice.”
Olivia covered the sting with her hand, pain simmering outward from the strike. “Justice? For what?”
Shadow moved to the cell door, and Gilles with her.
“For what?” Olivia shouted after them. “What do you want with her?”
“’Til next time, Lady Sabeyon.” Gilles took a bow.
With a click of the lock, they left, taking the torch and its light with them.
Her heart swelled for James, a good man, strong and clever, made to suffer by the Crag like a mouse beneath a cat’s paw until they were done with him. She clutched the box. Tears stung her eyes, but she didn’t fight them. Would she ever count the stars with him again? Ever fall asleep in his arms again? Ever touch him again?
She dragged a dusty sleeve across her face. He still lives. She sobered. Her tears did nothing for him. Attempting to calm her erratic breathing, she turned her mind to other, more constructive thoughts. If she could get free, she could save him.
Why had they come?
She cycled their conversation through her mind. Revealing James’ torture, they’d shaken her, perhaps enough to count on her face revealing the odds of Rielle coming to her rescue. Was this Shadow’s axe to grind? Hurting Rielle?
Gilles had sent Flame and Shadow after Rielle. They had taken countless lives, those heretics well versed in death.
Flame was accustomed to being protected while he decimated large forces, Shadow to short and lethal skirmishes. If Rielle could survive the initial onslaught, her dueling abilities could tip the balance in her favor.
Against the most infamous mages in Emaurria. Olivia’s spirits fell.
Have faith. There had to be a chance. And if Rielle could survive Flame and Shadow, she would come here. She would consult with a spiritualist. Who’d locate me easily enough.
And then Rielle would be walking right into Gilles’ arms, into a trap of some kind.
A rescue mounted with the element of surprise had some chance of success, but this? Heading into the wolf’s den with the wolf lying in wait? The last thing Olivia wanted, after all of this, was another loved one dead.
Stuck in a cell, there was no way to warn Rielle.
Spiritualists could find anyone, anywhere, using an object that person had handled. Their power was regarded as absolute—but for one exception: arcanir containment. If she could get herself into an arcanir cell, no spiritualist would find her. Rielle would think
her dead and would have no reason to mount a rescue. And eventually someone would reclaim the capital, and Olivia could hold out until then.
She nodded grimly to herself. But how to get into one of the arcanir cells? She was already shackled in arcanir—
Shackles. Only shackles.
If she could get out of them, she could use magic. And if she could use magic, she could make a run for it. She’d either escape—she didn’t hold much hope for that unlikely outcome—or they’d have to move her somewhere more secure... like an arcanir cell.
It was her only chance.
She needed to break her hands.
Chapter 16
Jon resisted waking, wrapped in heavy warmth. His thoughts had kept him awake last night, but afterward, he’d never slept so well in his life.
The songs of birds carried on the air, and the sunlight flirted across his eyelids. Resigned to waking, he blinked.
The weight on his chest... was none other than Rielle, uncovered, sprawled across him and still slumbering in a white linen shirt, untucked from her trousers. Her face on his chest and her arm draped over him, she looked so comfortable and so serene he didn’t want to disturb her.
The warmth—it was more than her flesh against his; it permeated him, deep, bearing fire to a hearth inside of him that had long lain cold. Rielle, although asleep, must have sought comfort from him in the night, and perhaps, in this small way, he’d provided it. The notion, for reasons he couldn’t name, pleased him. He wanted to hold her closer, keep her warm, keep her safe.
Every day could start like this. The wayward thought infiltrated his mind, unbidden, but as he surveyed the fine golden lashes of her closed eyes, he allowed himself to entertain it. Were he a free man, never sworn to service, would the rising sun find him abed each day with her?
He’d claim her lips. Worship every inch of her body. Pin her beneath him. Make love to her, watch the pleasure upon her face, feel the grace of true union.
He thrilled at the mere thought.
Her thigh shifted across his hips, and his daydreaming turned painful. He peered down to see her leg draped across his lower body, warm and supple.
He gasped, and—Terra help him—she wriggled closer. His eyes rolled back. He wanted to stop fighting this, to simply pursue it, damn all the consequences.
But the idle fancy of mornings spent with her in his arms was just that—fancy. If he allowed anything to happen, he couldn’t in good faith ask the Paladin Grand Cordon to reverse his discharge. He’d become an outcast from the Order, losing his adoptive father, his brothers, his friends, his mission in life, his profession, his home, and his life’s work.
Without kin, aimless, defeated, homeless, and penniless, he’d not only have no prospects, but he’d be worthless, to himself and most definitely to any woman unfortunate enough to cast her lot in with his. Pursuing Rielle, inviting her into a life so devoid of value, would be irresponsible. Pitiful. Cruel.
Unthinkable. An orphan with nothing to his name couldn’t support a wife and a family. As a paladin in the Order of Terra, he could change the world... but he couldn’t change his own lot in life.
Terra has made me who I am.
But temptation had never figured so prominently. He’d almost lost himself last night in the pool with her. He’d wanted to, and some part of him still did, a foolish indulgence that would cost him everything.
He tried to think of something, anything, but her.
She leaned into him, a weight both heavy and tight, pressing against his hip—
Terra have mercy. He had to leave the tent.
Pulling away carefully, he replaced his chest beneath her cheek with his bunched-up bedroll. When she didn’t even stir, he heaved a quiet sigh of relief.
His blood smoldered in his veins. He pulled off his shirt, strapped on his sword belt, and stepped out of the tent into the cool air. The morning breeze tempered him, and he closed his eyes to pray it would also quench his burning desire.
It didn’t.
He said his morning prayers, then put all his bridled energy to good use—exercise, unarmed training, and sword drills until it left him in trails of sweat.
He washed and shaved, but his mind was only half-focused on the tasks at hand. In the past, he’d always managed to keep his distance from women who tempted him. Sharing a tent with Rielle, sleeping by her side, spending his days and nights with her—it frustrated temperance, and not only because he desired her. It was the combination of desire and something more that made continued proximity a risk. Pushing her away hadn’t worked.
How he’d let that happen—he shook his head.
Although he didn’t suspect her of pressing close to him deliberately, the result was the same. And moments like the resonance and the silent beat between them in the pool threatened to overpower his purpose entirely.
If he wanted to be a paladin again, he would have to eliminate the temptation. He didn’t need a mage to escort him, protect him, watch him—he’d worked alone for years. If Derric wanted him to go to Monas Amar, he would go, but he didn’t need a guardian. And he definitely didn’t need fire in his veins every morning and a heart that threatened to burst from his chest.
And he couldn’t lose his way of life, his family, his home.
He lifted the tent flap with care, but Rielle was gone—perhaps at the stream. She’d never agree to part ways. She’d made that clear enough. And he had to exercise his free will while he could. He grabbed his armor and rushed to the horses.
Thievery was repugnant, but he couldn’t leave her any horses. He untethered them and clapped their backsides. They disappeared into the trees.
And so did he, arming himself as he went. Bournand was less than a day away. Once he arrived, he could stop at one of the Order’s way-stations and continue to Monas Amar—without temptation.
He stayed under the trees’ cover and, heading toward the road, listened for any sign of her. Nothing.
He tore through the dense forest, trying to put as much distance between them as possible.
Running steps.
He chanced a look behind him. Rielle chased him on foot, in her untucked linen shirt, trousers, and boots. Unbelievable. If he weren’t so determined to break away, he might have stopped to laugh.
“Stop!” she shouted, panting.
He didn’t. Even weighed down by his arcanir plate, there was no chance of her catching up to him.
“Turn back,” he yelled, continuing on.
“Just stop!” Several winded breaths followed. “Or will I have to make you?”
With an amused snort, he kept moving, staying alert for any signs of magic. He knew her tricks now. He wouldn’t hurt her, but he wouldn’t fall for her indirect spells, either.
A tree groaned.
As it fell, he dodged.
Two ear-splitting cracks ahead—left and right.
He saw it now: she was creating a bottleneck to cut him off. He darted to the right, farther from the road, and sprinted. The forest floor shook. Birds lofted from the canopy.
Three cracks to the right, ahead, and to the left—
Damn her tactics. He backtracked as the aftershock rippled.
“I could do this all day!” she called out. “How many trees will it take?”
Fists clenched, he tried to navigate around the fallen trunks. If only he could bind her hands—
There was one way out—over the obstacles. But then she could create another pit and trap him again.
That left one other option. Pin her hands to prevent her casting.
When he turned and charged, her eyes went wide. Her hands glowed green with geomancy even as she retreated.
Closing, he reached for her. He tackled her, his arcanir against her skin.
Air puffed from her lungs. She wriggled under him, away from the arcanir. He was about to grab her—
The ground beneath them descended.
With it, they plunged into lengthening darkness from the halo of light at the top
, some twenty feet on a smooth descent. When they finally stopped, the musk of deep earth burdened the air.
A slow smile formed on her lips.
Damn it all. Too late, he pinned her.
Again. She’d caught him again. Just like that night by the Tower.
He clenched his jaw and scowled down at her, but he got lost in the flecks of gold in her wild, sky-blue eyes and the indigo rim of her irises. “Let me go.”
She laughed. “And fail my mission? Keep dreaming. You’re stuck with me.”
With a snarl, he tightened his grasp on her wrists. The mission? Was it only the damned mission? He wrestled with a yearning that threatened to undo him, and she was only concerned with the mission?
She raised her head and met his gaze squarely.
Vexed, he let her go and pulled away. Did she plan to wait him out, then force another bargain?
He could reason with her, threaten her, wait, or give in. “Can’t you just stay in Bournand for a few weeks, and when I arrive in Monas Amar, tell your Proctor the mission is completed?”
It was reasonable enough.
She rose, dusting off her arms and her trousers. “And if you end up dead? I don’t want—” She bit her lip. “I can’t allow that to happen.”
With an angry exhalation, he looked away.
The silence lingered, and she took a deep breath. “Do you hate me that much?”
Quite the opposite.
“If you’re going to Monas Amar anyway, why separate? We’re stronger together, and it satisfies both your High Priest’s wishes and the Proctor’s.” She approached him carefully, ready tension in her fingers.
When she neared, he could see down her loose shirt. He raised his chin and averted his gaze.
“Tell me.”
His back hit the side of the pit. There was nowhere else to go. He couldn’t help but seethe.
She closed the distance between them and raised her hands to his helm. When he grabbed her wrist, her arm tensed. While she resisted his grip, he could either let her go or hurt her.
He let her go.
Her hands settled on his helm and removed it. Her bold eyes fixed on his. “You force my hand, Jon.”
Blade & Rose (Blade and Rose Book 1) Page 13