Exile (37 page)

“Lady Kynna,” he greeted, pulling her name from a vague memory of the rather hasty introductions the night before in time to save himself the embarrassment of asking for it again.

“Lady.” She tittered and gave a dismissive wave of her hand, her cheeks picking up a hint of flush. “Aren’t you the flatterer? Didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Not at all.”
I woke myself with that pathetic moaning.
“I must be on my way.”

A disapproving frown detracted from that hint of lost beauty. “You took a nasty fall. I don’t know that you’re well enough to travel.”

“I’m well enough given the urgency of my journey,” he countered.

“Well, you’ll be pleased to know we found your horse. He’s in our pen. Your saddle and things are next to the door. You must have a bite to eat first. Get some strength back,” she insisted.

He surprised himself by chuckling at her motherly treatment. Perhaps he could forget all this madness and travel around letting other people’s mothers care for him. How long could such a ploy last? It would be far less apt to get him killed, whereas confronting Yiloch and Indigo was a dangerous venture at best. There was a simplistic appeal to the thought, simplistic and entirely impractical. He knew himself too well to believe such a life would satisfy him for long.

For me there is only vengeance or death
.

The thought dampened his mood, but he faked a smile for Kynna when she ushered him to the gouged and stained dining table. Not for the first time, he wondered over his choice of direction. Behind him waited a spineless father who would probably betray him in an instant if things went any further awry. Before him he might find Emperor Yiloch, who wanted him dead, and Indigo, who would be all too happy to help the emperor realize that goal.

Indigo, the beautiful and very lethal adept who was probably more dangerous than any other threat he had ever faced. That way waited confusion as well. Did he want her dead? Her mere existence made him feel so alive that it was hard to want her gone. It wasn’t going to matter in the end. Regardless of what he wanted, she was convinced of the need to destroy him. As an enemy, she was far too powerful to ignore.

“You seem a might troubled, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

He glanced up as Kynna returned to the table with bread and some spiced cheese warmed over the fire. The aromas made his stomach growl. She chuckled and sat down on a stool, perhaps meaning to ensure that he ate enough before heading on his way. He noticed her knees sat apart beneath the skirt, more in the manner of women soldiers he’d known than any lady. Odd as it was, it put him more at ease in her presence. Resting her elbow on the table and her chin on her hand, she settled to watch him.

Amused by her manner, he took a bite of the bread. It was fresher and softer than he would have expected. It put him back in his childhood when his mother baked such fine foods for him.

“Is it a woman?”

The bread and cheese lost some of its appeal. He met her penetrating gaze. He shouldn’t be lingering here. The world was changing without him outside the door of this dark little hut.

“Isn’t it always?” He answered, intending it to be more flippant than it sounded. When had it ever been a woman for him? It wasn’t about a woman now, was it? It was about power and vengeance. It was about making Yiloch pay for his crimes and for the fact that
she
loved him. His free hand started to ball into a fist, but he caught it and forced himself to relax.

“Unless it’s about a man,” she responded with the flippancy he’d shot for and missed. “Is she beautiful? I bet she is.”

His hand paused, holding another bite inches from his lips. Indigo strode to the forefront of his mind as vivid as if he’d seen her only seconds ago, all soft curves and fierce determination, the remembered smell of her skin altering the taste of the food. A wistful smile touched his lips as he continued to eat without answering.

“That’s a yes then. A handsome gentleman like you should have no trouble with women.”

He swallowed the bite in his mouth. “There are all kinds of trouble, my lady.”

“A noble lady then?”

He eyed her curiously.

“You don’t talk with your mouth full and I’d bet, from your looks, that your blood’s near as pure as the emperor’s.”

A weary exhale slipped from him. The comment would have been far more pleasing without the mention of Yiloch. It was gratifying to have her recognize the purity of his blood, though. For so long he’d let his pale features be contrasted by the pitch black of his hair and eyes, reminders of the insult and injury he’d suffered, that he had forgotten what it was like to be admired. It was a pleasant caress to his somewhat trampled ego.

“Yes. A noble lady,” he conceded, hoping to appease her.

“Going home to her are you?”

He finished the last few bites and rose, grabbing his equipment from inside the door. There was a deep, unfamiliar ache is his chest. Not from the poorly healed injury this time, but something else. This was something new, something not physical in nature. It made him uncomfortable.

“My life will never be so simple, Lady Kynna,” he replied, hearing the bitterness in his own voice.

The woman sat back, a new sorrow in her expression erasing all traces of former beauty from her face. She looked worn down and near to broken.

“I’m very sorry, my lord,” she offered in earnest.

The sympathy touched him. He wasn’t used to such treatment. He reached out with ascard to reverse some of the age in her face in thanks for her kindness, but he encountered something within her. There was a blackness there. A dark sickness slowly eating her alive that was well beyond his skill to heal. He drew his ability back, the ache within deepening.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his shoulders sagging as he turned away.

She said something else as he walked out, but her words were lost to him, as lost as she would be soon. What did it mean to live a simple, good life? Death came for you in the end all the same. He saddled the borrowed horse under a heavy cloud of melancholy and mounted, still stiff with the ache from the fall. It was an ache he could heal, but it seemed like too much trouble somehow.

Sitting in the saddle, the horse awaiting his direction, he glanced back the way he had come. It might be easier to go back and wait for Indigo or Yiloch to return. It might be safer as well. Then again, to risk dying at Indigo’s hands was somehow better than to live without bringing some kind of closure to his odd relationship with her.

What’s wrong with me?

He closed his eyes to the cool morning air, the rich, musty smell of the recent rain filling his nose.
I will be prince and, in time, emperor. I will have my revenge on Yiloch. This is what I want. It’s what I have always wanted.

A sharp pain shot through the scar on his chest. He doubled over, gasping. The horse shifted. He ground his teeth and numbed some of the pain with ascard.

How many more times would he manage to dodge death? Was it worth the suffering?

Catching his breath, he sat up in the saddle and looked back once more then he kicked the horse, following the trail that would take him to Indigo and, he hoped, Yiloch.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Yiloch was already awake and adjusting saddlebags on Tantrum when Ian woke. He felt the brush of the creator’s power sweeping the camp and then reaching out beyond. Less than a minute later, Ian ran over to him, face twisted with worry.

“Where’s Indigo? I can’t sense her. Not even through the link.”

Yiloch shrugged, doing his best to ignore the irritating nagging of his own silent anxiety. He had considered killing her for what she had done, but, when the moment came, he couldn’t. Driving her away was the next best option. Now he had to deal with the truth. It had worked and he hadn’t really expected it to. Some part of him had even hoped it wouldn’t. The whole situation only made his blood boil hotter.

“Her whereabouts are her concern. If she’d wanted any of us to know where she was going, she would have said something.”

“What did you do to her?” Ian demanded.

Yiloch turned on him, sword suddenly in hand, the point coming to rest at the hollow of Ian’s throat. The weight of the familiar weapon felt good in his hands and his rage was now great enough that he hungered to draw blood with it, anyone’s blood. The color ran out of Ian’s face, but he stood his ground.

“Given what she’s done, I imagine her own guilt got the better of her,” Yiloch snarled.

Cadmar stepped in then, pushing Ian back from the point of the weapon. Some distant, calmer part of Yiloch was impressed at the young creator’s show of courage. Mostly, however, it only aggravated him that the courage manifested now, in defense of Indigo. Lowering the blade, he turned away from them and started to sheath the sword when Ian spoke again.

“She was used.”

Yiloch clenched his jaw, trying to hold his temper at bay even as his hand tightened on the hilt.

“Now isn’t the time,” Cadmar said, attempting to intervene.

“What better time,” Ian shouted.

Yiloch turned to see the lanky creator trying to push the wall of muscle that was Cadmar out of the way. In different circumstances, it might have been funny. When Cadmar didn’t budge, Ian settled for stepping around the other man to continue his defense of Indigo.

“Where would she have gone? She has no place left to go,” he growled. “She risked her life, not for the first time I might add, to try to save you. She faced down Myac to protect you and made herself an enemy to her own country.”

Yiloch hesitated, wishing he could ignore the doubt that nagged at him, strengthened by Ian’s words. “Myac?”

“Yes,” Cadmar answered, placing a hand on Ian’s shoulder and moving the creator back again. Realizing he still had a death grip on the sword, Yiloch sheathed it and moved his hand away. The big warrior gave a nod of approval and continued. “Myac has been hiding out in Demin under an assumed identity. He followed her into the prison when she went there to free you. That is why she destroyed the stone the way she did and stranded you here. She was afraid Myac would kill you if she brought you out with her.”

Yiloch wanted to disregard his words. So many terrible things had happened because of her actions. It was far easier to hold onto his anger than to admit he might be wrong. If he was wrong, then he had to admit that he still cared about her, that he cared about where she had gone, and he could no longer use that anger to help him cope with the many things he had lost and still stood to lose. Then again, if he were to be honest with himself, he had never stopped loving her. That was what made it hurt so much. He could still see the anguish in her eyes when she had apologized to him and he turned her away.

“She should have trusted me.” The words sounded weak and false when he spoke them, their hollow ring echoing in the emptiness that filled him.

“She does,” Ian snapped, his temper still high. He started to step forward again and Cadmar stopped him with a hand on his chest. Seeing the rage flare in the youth’s eyes, Yiloch realized how lucky they both were that he hadn’t lashed out with his ascard ability. With a little creative application, Ian’s skills could be extremely deadly, and neither of them had the ability to counter him. “She also knows you well enough to know that you have your own goals and will let nothing stand in your way. Why wouldn’t you want Jerrin dead? You even talked of eliminating him after you had the empire settled if it was necessary to end the slave trade.”

“She should have at least known that I wouldn’t have made such a mess of it,” Yiloch snapped. Ian’s face twisted in a silent snarl and Yiloch felt him drawing on ascard now. He narrowed his eyes at the creator. “Think before you act.”

Ian closed his eyes, his hands balling into fists. Yiloch could feel him draw on more ascard, his breath coming fast and shallow. If he gave Ian a chance to lash out at him with his power, it wasn’t going to end well for him. For an instant, he considered plunging his sword through the young creator’s chest, even if it meant injuring Cadmar. He didn’t actually want to hurt the creator though, so he made himself wait. After almost a minute of silence, he felt the power fade as Ian slowly released it.

Yiloch turned and mounted Tantrum. “Come, we have a long way to go. We’ve got an army to catch.”

Ian stormed over to his mount, making the animal flinch when he snatched the reins. Cadmar shook his head, long black braids swaying with the movement. Yiloch urged Tantrum forward, pleased at least by the fact that he no longer had to trudge through the dreadful sand on foot. It wasn’t much, but it was a small consolation. The other two joined him after a few seconds, Cadmar riding at his side with a deep scowl etched in his face and Ian lagging behind, still at war with his anger. Yiloch shook his head, struggling with his own confused emotions.

Where have you gone, Indigo? Where did my anger send you?

Ian was right, she had nowhere left to go.

•

Indigo found her way back to the northernmost Murak village without trouble by following the path of the sun and, when she was close enough, the ascard signature within Suac Chozai. The ache within was replaced by cold resolve. There was no way to reconcile her situation now. She had made an exile of herself from her home and from the man she loved. Now that Yiloch was in good hands and it was clear he didn’t want her around, it was as good a time as any to take another chance.

With considerable expenditure of energy, she was able to keep her mount at a fast trot along the return trip by temporarily hardening the ground as they went. The power it took on top of all the continuous barriers and masks she maintained was draining, but she wanted to get well ahead of the other three. She knew she was trying to outrun her sorrow, but there was also a chance they would try to interfere with her plan.

After hearing what happened to Ferin, she suspected begging for Kudan’s assistance against the Gray Army would be nothing short of repulsive to Yiloch and the way he had disregarded the suac’s warning might make them reluctant to give aid even if he did beg. Having seen the army in the flesh, however, she had little doubt that Yiroth would fall to them if left on its own. At least Lyra wasn’t at war with Caithin, though that could have changed since her departure.