Shield of Fire (A Bringer and the Bane Novel) (17 page)

The men separated, and Rhys tugged her forward. “May I introduce Lady Ravyn Mayfield? The newest member of our ragtag group.”

Siban executed a quick bow. His eyes never left her face. “My lady, welcome.”

She would have been warmed by his reception if it hadn’t been overshadowed by the cold calculation in his hazel stare. “Thank you. And please, call me Ravyn.”

He gave a quick nod. “As you wish.”

“Si,” Rhys drawled, “Your social skills have improved since you were last introduced to a lady.”

Ravyn couldn’t be sure, but she thought the man blushed. “Nattie’s made it her mission to make me socially acceptable. Glad her diligence is paying off.” He paused. “It’s sometimes hard to tell.”

Rhys nodded. “You’ll be back to your old self if Nattie has her way. And she will.”

A genuine smile spread across Siban’s face and transformed him from
dangerous
to
nearly approachable
. Ravyn would bet money his smile was a rare event. Siban’s eyes sparkled and straight white teeth gleamed against his dark skin.

“Indeed,” was all he said before he walked back to the metal door.

Rhys followed, and together they leaned against a large wooden lever. The gap inched shut as fat links of chain rattled along a track and pulled the door closed. A bolt the size of her body slid neatly in place, sealing them inside. A sense of safety stole through Ravyn, as if closing the door set some kind of magical ward against the dangers lurking beyond the gate.

“Will we see you at dinner?” Rhys asked Siban.

The man shrugged. Rhys nodded and placed his hand on Ravyn’s waist. As he guided her toward a large stone arch, she glanced over her shoulder. Siban’s stare followed her, his gaze intense.

The need to ease the strange sadness he stirred in her, pushed at Ravyn. “Good night.”

He bowed, but said nothing.

They walked along a chipped stone path with low walls on each side. A robed spirit drifted across their path and through the wall of a building. “Alba Haven reminds me of the abbey,” Ravyn said.

Rhys smiled. “Originally it was the largest monastery in the region.”

He pointed to a carved stone that had been placed at the corner of the building. The relief had been worn by weather but Ravyn could make out the symbol of a flame inside a crown.

“The Order?” she said. “But how did you come to own it?”

“The Order went through a reformation about two hundred years ago, selling off the abbeys and monasteries that were a drain financially. I own seven.”

“Why?” Her question came out more sarcastic than she’d intended.

“Sanctified ground. Safe havens for Bringers.”

She felt foolish for asking. Of course any holy dwelling would be a refuge for Bringers. As they passed through the inner curtain into a cobblestone ward, the uncomfortable feeling from Siban eased. Whether the relief came from distancing herself from the man or from leaving behind the ills beyond the gate, Ravyn didn’t know.

Her gaze scanned the buildings surrounding the open space. “What happened to Siban?”

“What do you mean?” Rhys looked at her.

“To make him so…” She struggled for the right word. “Broken.”

He stopped. “Broken?”

She slowed and looked at him. “Yes. It’s like his soul has been fractured.”

“Most people think him cruel or distrustful. Why do you see him as broken?”

“I can just—” She shook her head.

“Tell?” he finished for her. Rhys’s expression darkened.

She crossed her arms over her chest and hugged herself. Had she said something wrong? “Yes.”

He mirrored her actions and peered at her. “How did Siban know it was safe to open the gate?”

His change of direction confused her. She thought about his question and shrugged. “Peepholes or viewing ports?”

“He opened the door because he’s a Bringer Tell.”

She shook her head, not understanding.

“A Tell knows things without being told. They can, as you said, just
tell
.” He held her gaze. “You seem to possess some of this ability.”

“Siban knew it was us?”

“Not us specifically, but somebody friendly. If a person speaks falsely, Siban knows. He wouldn’t necessarily know what the truth was, but he would know the person lied.”

He gripped her elbow and guided her across the pebble courtyard and through another black stone arch.

“You never answered my question,” she said. “What happened to Siban?”

The grounds opened onto a lush courtyard that held no hint of the squalor seething outside the gate. Small, white bushes bloomed along the wall of the main building, their delicate fragrance filling the open space. Ravyn recognized the blossoms from Rhys’s glowb, Illuminara plants. Two plump spirits drifted among the plants, speaking in hushed tones about the blossoms.

A pained expression crossed Rhys’s face, as if remembering some unpleasant memory. “For two years Vile held Siban prisoner in the Shadow World. He never speaks of it, but I can only imagine the torture he suffered.” His voice dropped to just above a whisper. “It’s a miracle he survived. If not for Nattie and other healers, he wouldn’t have. At times death seemed like a more merciful outcome.”

A shiver raced across Ravyn’s shoulders and up her neck. She shuddered against the thought of being held by the Demon King for even a moment, let alone surviving for two years. “That poor man.”

Questions raced through her mind, but in no way did she feel entitled to such intimate details of a stranger’s life. At least now she understood Siban’s look of suspicion. The scope of her naïveté pressed in on her. So many things had happened outside her solid abbey walls. Every day people struggled for survival and fought against the wrongs in the world, and there she’d sat, believing her difficulties with Powell were something of monumental importance. How arrogant she’d been to think she knew anything of hardship.

The doors stood open in invitation at the end of the courtyard. Brass doorknobs and bands gleamed against the pitch-black, wooden doors. When they stepped inside the entry, Ravyn’s mouth dropped open. Her gaze tracked upward to the ceiling arching forty feet above them. A vibrant mural depicting planets and stars spread across the dome.

Ravyn squinted. “Amazing.”

Pride tinged Rhys’s words. “The Brothers from The Order of Alba painted it more than five hundred years ago. It’s a depiction of the night sky.”

She shook her head. “That doesn’t look like any night sky I’ve seen.”

“Nor will you.” He pointed to the far corner of the painting. “Do you see those two planets, one in front of the other?”

“Yes.”

“Legend says they align only once every thousand years.”

“When was the last time?”

He shrugged. “Nobody knows. There’s no written record.”

“You don’t know the alignment’s significance?”

He shook his head. “It’s one of the great mysteries of the millennia.”

She drummed her fingers on her arm. “Indeed. Very mysterious.”

A voice rang across the grand space. “Rhys.”

He spun and smiled. “Nattie.”

Nattie closed the distance between them and Rhys wrapped the older woman in an affectionate hug. The infamous Nattie. Long gray hair hung in a braid down her back. Her gray skirt was like Ravyn’s, but flowed in heavenly layers. The woman wore a dark gray tunic that laced up the front and a linen blouse with billowing sleeves. Ravyn had never seen anything so serviceable look so beautiful.

Nattie stepped out of Rhys’s embrace and held his arms out to his sides. “Are you hurt?”

He sighed. “No.”

“Anything need healing?” She spun him in a circle. “Turn.”

“I’m fine.” He sounded as if he’d said these same words a hundred times before.

“Nothing broken or torn? Anything impaled that needs removing?”

Ravyn suppressed a laugh as Nattie wrenched, pulled, and tugged, subjecting Rhys to a thorough inspection. After a few minutes of her fussing, he grabbed her hands and held them in an unbreakable grip.

“I’m fine, Nattie. Never felt better.”

Her shoulders relaxed. “Well bless The Sainted Ones, miracles do happen. I can’t remember the last time you returned to me unscathed.” Her gaze slid to Ravyn. “You may be in one piece, but your guest is not.”

She stepped around Rhys before he could make introductions. Ravyn glanced down at Nattie’s feet. Bare toes peeked out from under her skirt, and Ravyn thought she heard the tinkling of bells. The older woman stopped in front of her. Nattie scanned her from head to toe with a look that not only skimmed her physical body, but ghosted across her very soul.

“Nattie, this is Lady Ravyn Mayfield,” Rhys said. He moved to stand beside Ravyn and placed his hand on the small of her back.

Crystal blue eyes captured her gaze. Light swirled within the depths of Nattie’s eyes and suddenly Ravyn felt very insignificant. “Please, call me Ravyn.”

With slow, graceful movements, the woman lifted her hands and placed them over the wounds made by Icarus. “You’ve had some trouble with the Bane.”

Nattie’s gaze bore into Ravyn and the simple act of blinking proved difficult. Was it her imagination, or were her scars getting hot? The healer slid her hands along Ravyn’s shoulders and grasped her upper arms. “Welcome, Ravyn. We’re so happy to have you.”

The woman’s voice dripped with sweetness and honey.

“Nattie.” Rhys’s voice warned. “Leave her alone.”

“Now Rhys, be a good boy and mind your own business.”

The now-familiar ancient words whispered from Nattie’s lips. Ravyn sank into the comforting tone as a wave of euphoria filled her with the kind of happiness she’d never known—seconds before the old woman attacked.

As if plunging a knife into Ravyn’s soul, the old woman drove deep. For the first time, Ravyn understood what it meant to be healed. Nattie wrenched and twisted, searched and vanquished any hint of pain, both physical and emotional.

Ravyn’s knees buckled, but Rhys was there to catch her. Pain, confusion, and anger leeched from her body. Sadness drained away, and the pounding in her head melted down her spine and out the soles of her feet.

Rhys’s healing had been tentative, but Nattie commanded her body to respond. Heat raced through Ravyn’s veins and across her skin. Where she had an injury, the light lingered and sizzled, burning away any trace of the damage. Without mercy, without soothing words of reassurance, the healer locked into Ravyn’s very essence.

After what seemed like hours, Nattie released her and stepped away. “Better?”

Tingles danced across Ravyn’s skin. Each pulse diminished, the heat abating and taking with it the last traces of her fatigue. She hadn’t realized how truly tired she’d been. Her body hummed with renewed vigor. “I think so.”

“I’m sorry, dear. I’m a bit stubborn when it comes to my healing.”

“Not like you gave her a choice,” mumbled a voice from behind Rhys.

They all turned toward a short old man with large boots and very little hair.

Rhys grasped the man’s shoulder. “Jaspar, it’s great to see you.”

“Good to be seen, my lord. Welcome home.” He turned to face Ravyn. “Welcome, my lady.” His glare cut to Nattie. “I apologize for our resident Redeemer.”

“Keep your comments to yourself, old man,” Nattie snapped.

“Or what?”

She propped her fists on her hips. “Or I’ll stop healing those aching relics you call bones.”

“Praise The Sainted Ones, I might actually get a peaceful night’s sleep.”

“The only thing you’re going to get is my kettle upside your head.”

Rhys faced Ravyn. “Nattie is also an excellent cook.”

“What?” Ravyn stared at him, shocked by the escalating argument between the older couple.

“Nattie is an excellent cook,” Rhys repeated. “Not just good—truly excellent.” He ignored the tirade flowing around them. “You’ll see tonight at dinner.” He turned toward the arguing couple. “Nattie, did you make pie?”

The fighting stopped like a snuffed flame. A smiled lit Nattie’s face. “I made five pies this afternoon. They are cooling as we speak.”

He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “You’re an angel.”

Jaspar turned and bowed to Ravyn. “Again, pleasure to have you with us, Lady Ravyn.”

“Uh, thank you, Jaspar was it?”

He bowed slightly at the waist. “Yes, my lady. At your service.”

Nattie snorted. “You won’t be of service to anybody now that I’m not healing you.”

“Hush, harpy.” He gave Ravyn a toothy grin. “I
am
at your service.”

Ravyn forced a smile, unsure whether the fighting had ended. “Thank you, Jaspar.”

She liked him. He might be old but he had plenty of life left in him. He straightened and winked at her. A lot of life.

“My lord,” he said to Rhys.

“Jaspar.”

Jaspar regarded Nattie. “Witch.”