Salena's gaze fell on her own hands. "I suppose I didn't want things to change. I didn't want to give you another reason to hate Arundel." Salena exhaled through parted lips. "And I didn't want you searching for a man whom I wasn't even sure was alive. But of course, me not telling you didn't stop you from leaving."
Ember shook her head. "I left because of Fletch. But I did try looking for my real father."
Salena raised a brow. "Among the other shifters you found?"
Ember opened her mouth to reply, but Salena waived a dismissive hand.
"I know you didn't kill shifters. You can save your story for the Council."
"And what about the shifters in the dungeon? My father?"
"The spells have already been undone. The Council will most likely rule to free them. None returned to human form."
Ember's chest ached. All of those shifters, gone. And her own father. She had found him, but would never get to know him. He had left before she had even begun looking for him. She would never see him, never hear his voice calling her name, and would never feel comforted by his embrace.
Would he still be human if she had freed him before fleeing to Orion?
Salena rested a cool hand on Ember's fist.
"Your father was a wonderful man. Warm, kind, and intelligent. He always saw the brightest side of things, always believed in the best of others. And he was very skilled at what he did. His name was Neal, Neal Pitkin, perhaps the best healer in northern Lach."
The chamber froze, crackling, and thawed in a blink.
Ember stared at her mother, her heart drumming. "But that would mean... He was Kitt's father, too! My friend, Kitt!"
Salena's face crumpled into a look of pity. "Oh, darling, I'm so sorry—"
Ember shook her head, grinning. "No, not Kitt's real father. He was adopted. But Kitt and Riggs were looking for him, after he disappeared a few years ago..."
Her excitement curdled. For them, Neal was gone now, too. Permanently. Any hope they had left of finding him would be erased.
But he would live on in their memories. She would make sure of it.
Salena patted her hands, reminding Ember that she still sat there. A blush crept up Ember's neck.
"What did you mean," Ember asked, though she knew the answer, "when you said sorry about Kitt and I sharing fathers?"
Salena stood and gave a cat-like smile that made her look more like Dev's age. "What did you tell that young man, Eawart?"
Ember cringed. "I told him I would see his estate before making a final decision."
Salena lifted her eyebrows and nodded, a touch of amusement on her lips. "Just so. I hope you think long and hard about that proposal."
Ember gave it a half-moment's thought before pushing it aside. She had much more important things to do just now.
chapter fourty-one
A wizard decked in armor stood inside the chamber next door. Ember moved around him and eased into the room. Kitt lay still and pale on the bed. Ember's gaze latched on to his chest as it rose and fell. The only sign that he lived.
Dim light crept from the wide glass balcony doors and scattered into the room, leaving too many shadows. Ember slipped around to the side of his bed, bare feet padding the stone floor, and lit three candles. She could feel the familiar pulse of a spell, and saw that he wore a similar bracelet to hers, only silver and slender. A small thing for such a powerful spell. A Binding, Freezing, and Blinding spell that kept him in human form, now. Safe, if restricting. Did the Council know what he did to all those wizards?
Ember knelt by him as the candlelight warmed his stubbly face and the scent of beeswax curled around them. Bandages wrapped his arms, bulged beneath the bedsheets around his legs, and encased his torso. Dark blood spotted the white wrappings, and the sweet smell of poultice reminded her of Riggs.
She reached for his hand and stopped.
A part of her longed to wake him, to reassure herself that he was Kitt, even if he hated her for her lies and where she came from. But he needed to sleep, if he was still inside that human body.
She drank in the details of his face. A pair of steady and assured brows, thick and dark. A pleasantly bold nose above a rather nice mouth. His lips were the kind that looked on the verge of smiling, though from experience she was much more likely to get a sneer than anything else. Stubble softened a sturdy chin and darkened the subtle contours shaping cheeks, jawline, and temple.
Quiet as a mouse and soft as an owl's feather, Ember touched the silvery streak of hair above his right ear. Warmth spread over her hand, into her chest, and fanned up her throat.
She whispered his name, as light as a breeze skittering over an oak leaf. "Kitt."
He didn't stir, and his breath came and went in the same rhythm as before.
"I hope you are in there somewhere," she went on, her voice like butterfly wings beating the air. "I wish you had stayed with the others, protected them. I didn't need protecting."
Silly babble. Who had said he was trying to protect her? She had been certain, upon his arrival as a hawk, that he had been out to kill her.
But he would have, if that's what he had wanted.
She studied his eyelids, wondering if they would ever open so that she could ask him.
"I found Neal," she said. "Did you know that he's my real father? I spent all that time looking for him when he was here all the while, in Arundel's grasp. He is gone now, Kitt. He has been lost to the bear. And the Council will be coming tomorrow," she rushed on, her stream of words picking up like water over rocks. "They will make a decision about Arundel's death. They will make a decision about what to do with me. Since I was the one who..." She sucked in a fortifying breath. "Since I was the one who killed him."
Kitt didn't react. His breathing carried on, a cycle of soft waves washing over a sandy shore.
Her eyelids stung. "He was going to kill me," she explained in a strained whisper. "And he would've hunted down the others in Orion. He wouldn't have stopped. I was the only one who could've stopped him, and I did. I followed my instincts like you told me to—"
She stopped.
No amount of reasoning would ever make the darkness go away. Had Kitt felt it before? How had he learned to live and laugh with it there, twisting around his heart? How had he forgotten the memories—the metallic feel of death on the tongue, the acrid stench of fear, the raging pulse of his own blood as he waited for the kicking and shouting to cease?
Sometimes we must make painful choices for the good of others. Seabird's words rang through her mind. Sometimes it is a matter of killing rather than being killed. Which had it been, for her?
Power through killing. She had felt the power, the control and strength from taking those actions. But they had been propelled by fear and anger. That had been different from Arundel’s killing, hadn’t it? Ember wasn’t so sure. She had known how much he feared shifters.
Ember rocked back on her heals and stood. It did her no good to sit there and brood. She had forgotten about Seabird, and about Norman.
She crept out of the room, followed by her own guard, and hurried toward the infirmary, which was on the way to the great hall where she guessed Norman might still be. She should give Eawart a visit.
She had put her deer-hide dress back on, and the supple leather felt incredibly free against her skin. When would she be able to shift again?
A black-clad servant scuttled by, eyes averted and hands clasping a pile of towels to her chest.
Never here, Ember realized with dismay. And if the Council imprisoned her?
She shuddered, pressing the thought away as she opened the door to the infirmary.
"Ember!"
Dev, wearing a low-cut black dress smothered in gauzy lace, rose from her cushioned seat by Eawart’s bed and floated toward Ember like a queen of death. Copper hair tucked nearly out of sight beneath a black headdress sparkling with black gems, and a short veil hung just above fulsome lips painted the shade of fresh blood.
Two will
owy arms embraced her as those lips pecked kisses on each cheek. The scent of roses permeated the air, but Ember didn't miss the undertone of Ekesian spice that lingered beneath it. Dev's handmaid waited like a shadow behind her, wearing a similar gown that looked a bit too small, and entirely missing the air of confidence Dev radiated.
"We were just finished seeing to Eawart," Dev said breezily, motioning to the bed where Eawart appeared to be sleeping. "But oh my, you haven't changed at all, Ember," she said, assessing Ember at arm's length. "Those dark circles under your eyes are the worst I've ever seen them—"
Ember waived a dismissive hand with growing irritation. "Did Mother tell you what happened?"
A small smile crept over Dev's painted mouth. "I know Father is dead," she stated. "And his awful pet, that smelly man who followed him like a dog. I don't mind much. Neither of them were any fun to be around, and Mother always moped about him."
Ember could never remember Salena moping before today, but she knew Dev had a very wide definition of what constituted moping.
"Eawart should be back on his feet in no time, dear sister," Dev said with certainty, "and then you can finally be married."
"Perhaps he would suit you better," Ember suggested.
"Oh, no. I'm to marry Lord Wincel, now that Father is gone." Green eyes danced beneath the veil. "I'm not happy about it, of course, but since Father's death, Mother is allowing me to travel to Edlen with Finn before the marriage! Can you imagine? Finn and I in that place? And I'll be free to..." She thought better of whatever she was about to say, and gave Ember a smile. "There will be plenty to do in Edlen, and I'll worry about Wincel when I get back. He's an old, tarnished penny, but he does have a rather large fortune."
Ember repressed a sigh. "Where is Finn?"
Dev stepped out the door. "He's still in with Father. I tried to get him to sleep, but he's being too stubborn for his own good. Anyways, maybe later I can do something about those dark circles. Just now I feel a sudden urge to mourn."
She winked at Ember and floated like a black snowflake down the corridor toward her rooms, her handmaid following close behind her. Mourning, indeed.
Ember couldn't bring herself to see Finn just yet. She headed up to the third floor to find Arundel's study unlocked. The guard followed with a rustle of fabric.
The room stood as she remembered. One shadowy side devoted to weapons and traps, the other side softened by sofas and the evening light that fell from a small window onto his desk. She made her way inside, for once not closing and locking the door behind her.
She glanced at the weapons on display, remembering how they felt in her hands, how handling them had given her strength. Strange how she had never realized her own inner strengths. Claws instead of knives, teeth instead of daggers. Prowess, stealth, speed, even venom. Compared to those, some of Arundel's weapons seemed like toys to her now.
Dangerous toys, still. Made more lethal by spells.
Shuddering, Ember turned to the desk. She reached for blank parchment and cleared a space in the clutter. A quill sat in a container of ink. She pulled it out and blotted it, thinking. Then, she began to write:
Seabird,
She crossed it out.
Ryscford Seago, she wrote instead. I am sorry for lying. She stared at the statement, then crossed it out, too. Lord Arundel and Fletch are dead, she wrote instead. Council judges tomorrow. Are you well? Did you move camp? Council does not know about you all. Did patrolmen attack camp? Kitt is here. He sleeps.
She wasn't sure what else to say. She set aside the parchment and pulled out another.
Riggs Pitkin: Kitt and I are at Silverglen. I don't expect your forgiveness for my lies, but I thought you should know that...
Ember chewed her lip, thinking.
...that your father is gone. Arundel had him. I'm so sorry.
Ember hesitated again before continuing.
I have discovered that Neal was my real father. I am your sister.
Would he be glad? Angry? She longed to tell him in person, but she might never see him again.
Take care.
Ember.
With a quick nod, she dried the ink and rolled the parchments together. She emptied a small leather case and pushed the tube of messages inside, tying it closed with a leather thong. The messages would have to be enough. If she didn't receive a reply...
She swallowed, unwilling to imagine that scenario. Seabird might be able to encourage Norman to return with a message, or a shifter could, though it might be a dangerous journey if patrols still scouted the mountains.
"What are you doing?"
Ember jumped. Gregory stood in the doorway, his clothes crumpled and his hair matted in one spot.
"Writing messages."
He seemed to mull this over for a moment before a look of surprise dawned over his tired face. "There are others out there still? Is that why you asked me...?"
"I wanted to know if Fletch left behind any men to find them," Ember explained, clutching the leather case and heading for the door.
Gregory looked sick. "He left behind a few men. And three dogs."
Ember halted and stood very still, her heart hammering up her throat. She swallowed. "I must send these."
Gregory nodded, pale-faced, and backed out of the doorway.
Ember headed blindly down the corridor, down two flights of steps, and into the maze of corridors surrounding the great hall. The warm smell of fresh bread curled into her senses as a servant swept by. A platter of steaming beef came next. She had slept a night and most of a day, she realized, and she hadn't eaten since yesterday's quick breakfast. But her clenched stomach wasn't hungry.
She broke into the great hall, where a few of the castle's workers already sat to eat. Ember didn't bother looking for her family, who would likely all be eating alone in their chambers.
She spotted Norman on the dais, the leather jesses hanging half-torn and bedraggled from his feet. His great crest, once a brilliant scarlet, lay flat and dull on his head, and his drooping tail had transformed to a grayish-white.
"Norman!" Ember ran to him. The bird recognized her, but couldn't manage more than a one-eyed stare and bob of his tired head. "I'll get you out of here, don't you worry." Would tying a message to his foot be too much? Would it be a form of restriction? Ember didn't think so, but she asked Norman anyways.
"You think he will find them?" Gregory asked, coming up behind her.
Ember hadn't realized he had followed her. "Of course he will. He always does."
Norman allowed her to tie the small leather case snug against his leg, and Gregory helped her undo the jesses.
Norman shuddered, every feather puffing and shivering as he shook himself head to tail. A golden gleam returned to his eyes.
Ember held up an arm, unsure of whether he would understand, but a moment later he jumped onto it with a deft twitch of his wings. Impatient, he bobbed his head, and his crest raised an inch.
Ember stepped down the dais and to the glass doors, ignoring the gasps of onlookers in the hall. She glared toward them to warn them back, but no one tried to stop her from leaving the hall. Gregory held open the glass doors, and Ember entered the muggy evening.
Bulky shadows stretched out from the castle and flowed over Mirror Lake like a watery painting. To the north, scattered clouds played hide-and-seek with rounded mountain tops as the emerging night swallowed their wide bottoms.
Please be out there, she prayed to Seabird and Riggs and all the others. "Safe journey," she murmured to Norman.
She lifted her arm overhead, willing him speed and quick recovery, and his great wings unfolded. A few beats of those grayish wings and he sprang from Ember's arm. He rose high, nearly disappearing against the gray-blue sky, and turned northward.
Ember blinked, and Norman's washed-out tail seemed to brighten to a creamy-gold hue. Another blink, and it appeared lemon. His wings turned a shade of apricot, and in the span of a few heartbeats they became flames, and his tail blossome
d into ocher tipped with scarlet.
Ember's heart swelled. He will be strong again. Maybe he would even find Riggs and the others. She kept her eyes locked on him until he shrank to the size of a pinhead and disappeared into the darkening green of the forested mountains.
"He saved my life," Ember said.
Gregory had stepped up beside her, silent as Norman headed for the mountains. "The firebird?"
"His name is Norman. He, and Riggs, and Kitt all saved my life."
"The cougar...?"
"Kitt."
Gregory sighed, lifted his hands, then dropped them, as though he wished to offer her something but knew it would never be good enough. "I didn't know he was a friend. I was afraid that—"
"You had every right to be." Ember couldn't forget the way that wizard jerked with his neck crushed between Kitt's jaws. "I'm almost glad you did it, in a way. I don't think he would've stopped."
She abandoned the glint that Norman had become and studied Gregory's stooped shoulders, the violet-tinted circles beneath his eyes, and the way his arms hung limp at his sides as if they were too heavy to hold up anymore. Ember's throat cinched tight and she looked away.
"Don't blame yourself, Gregory," she said. "What happened was mostly my fault. I had the chance to kill Fletch and I didn't. I was afraid that killing him would turn me into Arundel. That a small part of me would enjoy it."
Saying her fears aloud made them feel more solid. Like a wall, but one she had already scaled; a wall that seemed smaller now than it had before.
"And do you feel like Arundel now?"
The darkness within her twisted and curled tight in her chest. Power through killing. Perhaps it wasn’t Arundel’s law, but a law of life. Inevitable. Twisted. Obscure.
"I don't think so." Arundel had had a darkness like her own now, but she thought perhaps it came in a different form. Bloodlust, a thirst for control, a desperate, terrible dream that had arisen from a desperate, broken man. Not her father, and not her. Her pity toward him surprised her. It softened his hard edges, clarified her memories of him, strengthened the boundary between them. "No," she said with more confidence. "We are nothing alike."
Silverglen: A Young Adult Epic Fantasy Novel Page 25