And that he certainly did. He moved quickly through the labyrinth, deftly dodging from shadow to shadow, his boots making no sound on the stone floors. Viviane tried to follow suit, though she was sure anyone would be able to hear the frightened pounding of her heart.
But after that third guard, they encountered no others.
In fact, the keep was almost too quiet.
They reached the hall and traversed its brooding breadth, the act of stepping out of the shadows making Viviane understand how wild things felt when they left the underbrush. She was certain that a thousand eyes followed their course from the half-hidden doorways circling the room and knew she saw the gleam of eyes more than once.
But Niall cut a brisk pace to the stairs, then shoved her up them. The sentry at the first floor made a soft cry when he fell, Niall and Viviane freezing for a breathless moment until ’twas clear none would come to his aid.
A pair of servants slept along the corridor here, the very sight troubling Viviane. Niall strode on, his step silent, and just as they passed the second sleeping servant, Viviane tripped. She caught herself and snatched at Niall’s back to keep from falling, her inadvertent move prompting him to glance back.
His eyes flashed emerald fire and his arm flew out. Viviane jumped at the close proximity of the clang of steel on steel.
That last servant had leapt to his feet and had meant to strike them down. Viviane gasped and got out of the way, her eyes widening in horror as the men battled.
The fight was swift, that servant equipped with only a small blade. Niall dispatched him with a trio of blows, each harder than the last, and the man slumped to the floor. Viviane eyed his fallen body in shock as she understood fully the danger of their course, but Niall seized her arm, his expression grim.
He jerked a thumb in the direction of the next staircase and urged her onward once more. This time, he kept his blade unsheathed and Viviane knew he expected a challenge.
She remembered that these stairs led to the archbishop’s chamber. Niall must be assuming that the moonstone was still where he had thrown it, though how he imagined they would snatch it from under the archbishop’s nose, Viviane couldn’t guess.
Maybe that man slept heavily.
Maybe he slept elsewhere.
Niall must know something she didn’t know.
The stairs were more narrow here, the shadows deeper. In fact, it seemed as though a cold draught flowed down the stairs like a silvery fog. Viviane could almost see it, despite the darkness, and thought it was seeping from under the door at the summit. It glowed faintly, the light increasing as they progressed up the stairs, and reminded her unexpectedly of her moonstone.
But fog didn’t spread within a keep.
She and Niall exchanged a puzzled glance, their steps slowing of one accord. Niall shrugged and they continued on, their gazes flicking from one side to the other. Nothing but bare stone greeted their eyes, not a sound echoed ahead or behind. A single torch was mounted above the landing at the top of the stairs, its light dancing over the stone.
Viviane’s palms were damp, her breathing was short, her heart was pounding. They halted on the tiny landing before the door and Viviane had a very bad feeling about what was behind it.
Not just because this was the chamber where she had most recently been condemned to die.
The fog around their feet now obscured their legs below the knee. It was luminescent and so cold that Viviane shivered involuntarily.
Niall pushed the tip of his sword gently against the door.
It was unlocked.
The door opened inward without a sound, yawning wide open just from that single slight touch. The cloud of silvery fog rolled forth to engulf their legs completely, but that wasn’t why Viviane gasped in astonishment.
The archbishop stood there, his gaze fixed upon them. “Do come in,” he invited amiably, a thread of steel in his tone.
*
Chapter Nineteen
Around the perimeter of the room stood all the guards they had not encountered on the way here. Their faces were frozen, their stares distant, their bodies did not move. They stood as men enchanted and unaware of all that passed before them.
Viviane shivered anew. She might have hung back, but Niall squared his shoulders and stepped forward, and her hand was still clasped within his.
The door closed with a bang behind them, apparently of its own accord. Viviane jumped and glanced back, but Niall didn’t look away from the archbishop.
“I have been expecting you.” The archbishop stepped back with a sweep of his black robes to reveal a large mirror. But the image reflected was not that of the room - it was the dungeon far below, where Majella and Monty cradled that woman’s new child.
The scene moved. Viviane started when Monty tickled the baby’s chin and Majella laughed at his antics.
“Witchery!” Niall muttered and the archbishop smiled.
“I prefer sorcery as a term, myself, but indeed ’tis much the same thing.” He picked up Viviane’s moonstone pendant and wiggled it, much as a fisherman wiggles a baited hook before his prey. “You will have come for this, I assume.”
“It is mine,” Viviane asserted.
“Nay, ’twas never yours in truth,” the archbishop argued smoothly. “’Twas granted to you for a time, ’tis true, but such a token only ever belongs to its maker.”
Niall’s hand tightened around Viviane’s own. “And you know who that maker was.” There was no question in his voice.
The archbishop’s smile was as cold as the mist obscuring the floor of his chamber. It rolled from a bowl before the mirror, Viviane noted, a bowl of such peculiar hue that she could not look at it for very long.
“No less than the finest sorceror in all the land,” the archbishop declared. He turned the stone so that it caught the light and straightened with pride. “I wrought it, of mist and moonlight and adder’s breath.” He arched a brow before Viviane could ask how it had come to her. “I wrought it in honor of the birth of mine own spawn.”
Viviane was shocked that he could lie about such a thing, just to lay claim to her pendant. “But that’s impossible! My father gave this to my moth…”
Oh! Viviane gasped and took a step backward, her horror complete when the archbishop’s smile never wavered.
“Indeed,” he said with the satisfaction of a well-fed cat. “I see my intellect has passed to you.” He inclined his head slightly. “How very flattering.”
Viviane’s bile rose. This man was her father? It couldn’t be!
But suddenly she recalled the moment when her mother had told her the tale of the stone. It had been here, in Cantlecroft, after a procession of the archbishop passed by. That man had been waving at the crowd without truly looking at any of them. Viviane’s mother had turned pale, then later instructed Viviane to take the pendant to the archbishop if ever her fortune wavered.
She had died a fortnight later, before Viviane could ask the reason why.
Now, she knew. Her mother had recognized the father of her child. He could not have been the archbishop in the days of Viviane’s conception. Perhaps her mother had not known where he had gone.
Viviane wished that they had never found out.
“Viviane is your daughter?” Niall demanded, his outrage clear. “And you condemned your own blood to die? What manner of man is so faithless as that?”
The archbishop folded his arms across his chest and looked impatient. “Truly, ’tis hard to believe that I once thought you keen of wit, Niall of Malloy. Do you know what ’twould do to my reputation to be found responsible for the birth of a bastard?”
“’Twould seem most clever then to refrain from indulging earthly pleasures,” Niall retorted, his eyes flashing. Viviane assumed he was thinking of Majella.
“Deny myself?” The archbishop laughed. “I think not.” He gestured broadly to the room. “Indeed, I pursued this path to ensure my own comfort, and see no reason to abandon the pleasures of the flesh.” He
arched a brow. “As indeed, I see no reason to make all aware of my indiscretions. Nay, the moonstone served the purpose ’twas wrought to serve.”
“But what of the stone’s powers?” Viviane demanded. “Why grant such a gift to a child?”
The archbishop frowned and glanced to the table that the bowl rested upon. Viviane caught a glimpse of the winking stone and knew it still lay there. “I did not know,” he confessed in a low voice. “I never guessed it had such power, though indeed the revelation is most useful.”
“Grant the stone to Viviane again,” Niall urged, stepping forward to make his appeal. “Let her flee Cantlecroft forever. ’Twould be the same to you as if she died.”
“Nay, Niall, I could not go alone…” Viviane protested, but the archbishop ignored her.
“But she could return at any moment. ’Twould be folly to give another such power over me!”
“She would pledge to not do so! She would swear it, I know it well!”
The archbishop laughed. “And I am to accept a sworn pledge as ample guarantee. ’Tis mockable! And you would have me sacrifice this marvel?” The archbishop scoffed. “I think not. ’Tis far, far preferable that you die and this marvel of mine own creation remains safely here. Indeed, I have a temptation to visit these other centuries and learn their secrets.”
“’Tis abominable!” Niall muttered. “How could a man send his own child to die?”
But the archbishop glanced at Viviane. “Nay, ’twas convenient. I knew as soon as word came of your arrival, and that you showed such a stone, that you were the fruit of my loins. And that, dear daughter, was why you had to die.”
He stepped back and lifted his hands. “’Tis why you still will die.”
The archbishop clapped his hands and the guards came to life as one. “Guards!” he cried as they bristled to attention. There were so many of them, even more than Viviane had first glimpsed, a good two dozen ringing the room. “The witch has freed herself and must be killed!”
And he pointed one finger directly at Viviane. The guards brandished their swords, gave a cry and closed in on Viviane as one.
“Nay!” Niall roared and lunged forward. Viviane’s hand was still grasped in his and he hauled her across the room. He cut down the first attacker with a single blow, his course unswerving and Viviane knew exactly what he was trying to do.
He was going to get that stone.
And she was going to do all she could to help him!
Viviane pulled out her dagger and jabbed at the face of the man who snatched at her cloak. His visor was up and she caught the end of his nose, the sharpness of her blade surprising her. It nicked off the end of his nose and he bled profusely, crying out and grabbing at the wound.
Niall roared and slashed down another, releasing Viviane’s hand to grip his hilt and wield it like a scythe. He cut a path through their attackers, while Viviane jabbed at all of those who might have fallen on his back.
They were closer, almost within reach of the table. But they were losing the battle, even Viviane could see.
“Kill her, kill him, kill them!” shrieked the archbishop.
The guards closed in, Viviane’s small blade no match for their heavy swords. She fought as well as she could, trying to be unpredictable and nick whoever came within range.
“Niall,” she whispered desperately when four closed ranks against her. They would never make it to that little table in time.
“Duck,” he muttered and Viviane had only a heartbeat to follow his bidding before he straightened with a bellow. He pivoted, swinging the sword low and scattered their opponents. One fell, the others danced back.
And Viviane could see the moonstone. She tried to reach it, but Niall roared. Viviane glanced up in time to see a blade glance off his shoulder. She stabbed upright into the neck of the man who dealt Niall the blow, her dagger slipping between his hauberk and helm. He screamed and fell away, Niall straightened and cast her a grateful glance.
The stone winked. Two more guards were closing fast and Viviane had to take the only chance she had. She darted under Niall’s arm when he raised his sword again and barely managed to reach the pendant.
Her fingers brushed against it and she scrabbled for a grip. Her heart leapt as she snatched it up. Viviane pulled her hand back just as a wicked blade sliced down like a guillotine. She backed into Niall, clutching the moonstone over her heart and more than ready to wish.
But Niall wasn’t there.
Viviane spun in dismay, only to find that they had been separated. Half a dozen men surrounding Niall, drawing his strikes to one side then another. Viviane saw that they were deliberately easing him away from her and that there was nothing he could do about it.
The beleaguered Niall glanced up and she knew immediately that he had reached same conclusion.
“Go!” he cried.
Viviane was appalled. “I cannot!”
“You must,” Niall insisted through gritted teeth. He fended off another blow, the near miss making Viviane gasp in fear for his survival.
“But I love you!” she cried, fearing she might never have another chance to tell him so.
“I know,” Niall muttered, his low voice audible despite the din. He fired a burning glance her way. “I beg of you, Viviane, do not let me die for naught.”
Steel clashed on steel and Niall swore as his hand was nicked. They set upon him with purpose and Viviane could only watch in horror.
“How touching,” the archbishop mused at startling proximity.
Viviane jumped, she turned, she found him closing upon her with malice gleaming in his eyes. Two guards were right behind him, another three cutting off Viviane’s escape.
And even her tiny blade was gone. Niall still valiantly battled for his freedom off to her right. As much as Viviane wanted to see the outcome of that, she forced herself to watch this most dangerous opponent as he drew near. A lump rose in her throat.
The archbishop halted and stretched out his hand. “Give me the moonstone,” he urged, his eyes narrowed. “Give it to me now and I might let you live.”
“Liar!” Viviane cried in outrage. His eyes flashed, telling her she had guessed the truth and he stepped forward with no good intent for her.
“Viviane!” Niall roared. “Flee!”
With no other choice remaining, Viviane tightened her hand around the moonstone and wished. Her last sight of Cantlecroft was of the archbishop, his features contorted with fury as he leapt to grab her.
He missed.
Barely.
His anguished cry echoed in Viviane’s ears long after the blinding light had surrounded her. She was chilled right to the bone this time, quaking to the depths of her soul. She cried as she had never cried before, knowing that Niall was too heavily beset to survive that battle.
And there was nothing she could do about it now.
She opened her eyes to the blinding glint of sunlight on azure seas, turned and saw the familiar pines and wept anew. It was the beach beside Ganges harbor, Viviane would have known it anywhere.
She was back and she was alone.
But surely she could fix that. Surely she could go back right now and do something, distract the guards or call for reinforcements or somehow save Niall. Surely!
Viviane took a deep breath and fumbled with the pendant as she tried to figure out what exactly to wish. But her fingers were so cold that the pendant slipped from her grip.
And before her horrified gaze, it fell.
She snatched after it, but to no avail. The moonstone hurtled to the earth, struck a stone and shattered to a thousand shards of cold blue light.
No! Viviane fell on her knees, desperate to sweep up the bits. She was close enough to see that eerie light wink out of each and every shard. Even knowing it was useless, she tried to catch the pieces before the next wave swept in from the sea.
But the shards were almost immediately swallowed by the water. They danced before Viviane’s eyes and she wept, knowing she couldn’
t catch them all but still having to try.
In the end, the sea took all of the broken moonstone and Viviane was left shaking on Salt Spring’s beach, a heavy piece of silver in her hand and nothing but an ache in her heart.
She sat down on the beach, oblivious to the chill and the incoming waves and cried like a child. For there could be no turning back time again.
Niall of Malloy was lost to Viviane forever.
*
Chapter Twenty
What Viviane did not linger long enough to see in Cantlecroft was the procession of torches heading toward the palace. They flickered in the darkness beyond the windows of the archbishop’s chamber, drawing that man’s attention away from Viviane’s abrupt disappearance.
He stared at the wavering line of fire, the orange flames licking at the blackness of the night and knew a shadow of dread. Indeed, he had not honed his abilities all these years for naught - though this portent was impossible to miss.
His reign was to be challenged.
The archbishop’s lip curled at these peasants having the audacity to defy him. He would see their insurrection brought low! He would see them all executed, slowly and painfully.
“Guards!” he cried and spun to face the room, pleased with the way his robes flared out behind him. The men halted as one, more than one blade held at Niall of Malloy’s throat. That man glared back at the archbishop with a rare insolence that irked beyond all.
Later. He would save this one for later and make him writhe. It was Niall of Malloy, after all, who had retrieved the witch who was at the root of it all. And it was Niall of Malloy who had compelled the archbishop to condemn a very sweet bit of temptation, taking Majella from his bed just when she was at her most luscious.
Truth be told, the archbishop had a fondness for women ripe with child.
No matter how he viewed it, Niall of Malloy had cheated him.
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