The Beauty of Darkness (5 page)

He looked at me, confused. “It is a sword, Lia.”

“It's loud,” Jeb offered. “In battle, at least. And deadly.”

Sven reached out and gently pressed the tip downward out of his face range. “A quiet warning too, when hanging at your side.”

“It's well-honed metal,” Tavish added pragmatically.

“Which one is it?” I demanded. “Metal? Loud? Quiet? Deadly? A warning? Even you can't decide.”

“A sword can be many things, but—”

“You define a sword by terms and a world that is familiar to you in all the ways you can see, feel, and touch, but what if there was a world that spoke in other ways? What if there was another way of seeing, hearing, and feeling? Haven't you ever sensed something deep inside? Saw a glimpse of it play out behind your eyes? Heard a voice somewhere in your head? Even if you weren't sure, this knowing made your heart beat a little faster? Now increase that tenfold. Maybe some of us know more deeply than others.”

“See without eyes? Hear without ears? You're talking magic.” Tavish made no effort to keep the cynicism from his tone.

Strangely, it reminded me of myself the first time I spoke with Dihara. I thought about what she had said to me:
What is magic but what we don't yet understand?
I shook my head. “No. Not magic,” I answered. “It's something deep inside, as much a part of us as our blood and skin. It was how the Ancients survived. When they'd lost everything else, they had to return to this language of knowing buried deep within them in order to survive. Some were stronger in this knowing than others, and they helped others survive.”

The skepticism remained etched in Tavish's eyes. “It was only a few words you heard, and you were half asleep,” he said. “Are you certain it wasn't just the wind?”

“Are you any more certain of your own skills and gifts? Do you know with certainty how your carefully laid plans will play out? Does Orrin always know exactly how straight or far his arrow will fly? When any of you swing a sword, do you know with complete confidence that you'll bring down your enemy? No, I'm not always certain about the gift, but I am certain about everything I heard this morning. It wasn't
just the wind
, as you call it.”

Rafe stepped closer, a scowl darkening his face. “Just what did you hear this morning, Lia? Everything.”

His gaze chilled me. He knew I'd held back.

“Don't tarry,” I answered, which they had already heard me say. I cleared my throat and added, “Or they will all die.”

There was a tight moment of silence. Glances were exchanged between Tavish, Sven, and Orrin. They still believed in their long lead. I knew it was a reasonable conclusion. The bridge was heavily damaged. Kaden himself had told me the only other way across the river was far to the south. But I trusted what I'd heard too.

“I don't expect you to believe everything I've said right this minute. Even though Rafe told me you were the best soldiers of Dalbreck, I didn't believe you'd make it alive to the Sanctum, much less be able to help us get away. But you proved me wrong. Sometimes all it takes is a single ounce of trust for more to grow. Maybe that can be a starting point for us.”

Tavish chewed on his lip and finally nodded. A shaky truce.

Rafe dusted off bits of leaves and dirt on his sleeves as if trying to dispel the tension in the air. “We're out of harm's way now. That's what matters,” he said. “And headed for home—if we don't starve first. Let's get dinner going.” They all gladly followed Rafe's lead, occupying themselves with the business of making camp—something solid that they could all understand.

*   *   *

Over the next few days, I came to know my rescuers better. I often had the opportunity to ride beside one of them when Rafe veered off to a higher lookout or scouted a blind trail ahead—which happened with great frequency. He claimed he was only checking for ragtag Vendan patrols that might still be out here. I suspected he was simply itchy in his saddle. After all the weeks he'd had to hold back and forcibly restrain himself in the Sanctum, he was finally free, and it seemed his long-pent-up energy needed release. If I'd thought his smile was disarming before, now it undid me. When he came back from a vigorous ride, his face flushed with heat, his hair tossed with the wind, and an easy smile lighting his face, I longed for us to be off the trail and somewhere private.

I often found Sven watching Rafe with what I thought was a father's pride. One day I had asked how long he had been Rafe's assigned steward. He said Rafe had come from a wet nurse to his care—give or take a few years.

“That's a long time. You raised up a fine soldier.”

“More than a soldier. A future king.”

Yes, the pride had been unmistakable. “And yet you let him traipse across the Cam Lanteux after me?”

Sven had snorted. “I didn't
let
him. In fact, I tried to talk him out of it, but there was no stopping him. He had lost a treasure that he was determined to get back.”

In spite of the crisp air, rivers of warmth had spread through my chest. “Yet at considerable risk to all of you. I'm sorry about your face.”

“This little thing?” he said motioning to his cheek. “Pfft. Nothing. And as these young rogues have pointed out numerous times, it's probably an improvement, not to mention it adds to my credentials. Wait until the new cadets see it. Maybe it will even spark some clemency in the king.”

“He'll be angry that you didn't stop Rafe?”

“It's my job to keep the heir apparent out of danger. Instead I practically escorted him right to it.”

“Why would you do that?”

“As I told you, his decision was made.” He paused as if contemplating the why himself and sighed. “And it was time.”

Talking with Sven, one thing quickly became apparent—he was not at all like the arrogant blowhard Governor Obraun, whom he had pretended to be. Instead of constantly wagging his tongue, he chose his words carefully. Those days in the Sanctum, he'd been as good at deception as Rafe had been, but then, he had been Rafe's mentor for many years. His long, silent pauses made me wonder what he was thinking.

Orrin, on the other hand, reminded me of Aster. Once he began talking, he was hard to stop.

Jeb was the most solicitous of the group. It was as if he had adopted me as one of his sisters. I learned why the others teased him about the extra trousers he had stashed away. They revealed that he was quite the dandy back at the palace, always dressed in the latest fashions. His mother was head seamstress of the queen's court.

“When your trunks arrived in Dalbreck, it caused quite a stir,” he told me. “Everyone was feverish with curiosity about what was inside.”

I had almost forgotten that my clothing and other personal belongings had been sent ahead in anticipation of my arrival in Dalbreck. “What did they do with them? Use them for a bonfire? I wouldn't blame them if they did.”

He laughed. “No, they wanted a good look before they did that,” he teased. “But opening the trunks did become a coveted secret event everyone wished to attend. It was left to the seamstresses, but my sisters and even the queen gathered round as my mother opened a trunk on the pretense of hanging up your gowns in case circumstances should change.”

I couldn't hold back a snort. “What circumstance? That my running away had only been a mere misunderstanding? That I had accidentally shown up at the wrong abbey?”

Jeb grinned. “My mother said they were expecting something quite different from what they saw. She said your gowns were beautiful and elegant, but so…” He searched for the right word. “Simple.”

I stifled a laugh. By Morrighese standards, they were lavish. My mother had gone to great lengths to have a new fancier wardrobe made for me because the Dalbretch were known for their sartorial delights, but I had refused most of the embellishments and had insisted on taking along my everyday dresses too.

“My mother was actually pleased,” Jeb said. “She felt it showed respect, that you weren't aiming to outshine all the other ladies in court. Of course, she immediately said she could make a few alterations that would greatly improve them, but the queen ordered them packed up and returned to Morrighan.”

And
there
they had promptly burned them, I thought. Along with an effigy of me too.

“Is something wrong?” Jeb asked.

I realized I was scowling. “Just thinking about—” I stopped my horse and turned to him. “Jeb, when you first came to my room back in the Sanctum, you said you were there to take me home. Which home did you mean?”

He looked at me, puzzled. “Why, Dalbreck, of course.”

Of course.

I spoke to Rafe about it later, reminding him that we had to get to Morrighan first.

“Our first priority is to get to safety,” he countered, “and that means Dalbreck's outpost. Morrighan can come after that.”

*   *   *

Things remained distant between Tavish and me. He was polite, but when Rafe had to attend something else, he never offered to fall back to ride at my side. It had been clear he didn't want to be alone with me.

Rafe continued to be restless and was always riding off to check on something. We'd only been on the trail a short time today when he said he was going to a lookout to see if he could spot game. He called for Sven to ride beside me, but this time Tavish offered to come. Even Rafe took note, raising a curious brow at me before he left.

At first Tavish made small talk, asking me how my back was feeling, saying he could remove the stitches in another week or so, but I sensed something else was on his mind.

“I never answered your question,” he finally mumbled.

“What question?” I asked.

He looked back at the trail and then embarked on a different subject entirely. “Rafe had balked at the barrels and raft, but I promised him it would work.” He paused, clearing his throat. “The moment we lost sight of you in the river, I was certain neither of you would survive. Those hours we spent searching for you were the longest—” His brows pulled together in a scowl. “They were the longest hours I've ever endured.”

“It's not your fault that we fell in—”

“It is my fault,” he said. “It's my job. To think of every worst scenario and have a plan to avert it. If I had—”

“If I hadn't been wearing that dress,” I said, cutting him off. “If the Council meeting hadn't ended early. If the Komizar hadn't killed Aster. If only I had married Rafe in the first place like I was supposed to. I play the if game too, Tavish. It's practically a hobby of mine, but I've found it's a game of endless possibilities with no winner. No matter how great a gift or skill, it's impossible to foresee every outcome.”

He didn't look convinced. “Even after we found you, I still wasn't sure you'd live. The expression on Rafe's face—” He shook his head as if he was trying to erase the memory. “You asked me if I am always certain of my skills and gifts. Prior to that day, my answer would always have been yes.”

“Your plan may not have gone exactly as you wanted, but it did save us, Tavish. I say that not to spare your feelings but because it's true. With it, we had a chance. Without it, our deaths were certain, that much I know, and you must believe it too.” I cleared my throat as if perturbed. “In fact, I command it,” I added with a haughty air.

A hint of a smile broke his solemn expression. We rode on, this time in a more comfortable silence, my thoughts drifting to the guilt he had carried these past days, the guilt that still edged my thoughts.

“One other thing,” he finally said. “I don't understand this knowing of yours, but I want to try. Is the gift ever wrong?”

Wrong? I immediately thought of Kaden's claim of a vision of us together in Venda with him carrying a baby on his hip and then remembered my recurring dream of Rafe leaving me behind.

“Yes. Sometimes,” I answered.

Sometimes it had to be wrong.

 

CHAPTE
R
N
I
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KADEN

Trying to help Griz off his horse was like trying to wrestle a bear to the ground.

“Getcher hands off me!” he bellowed.

“
Shhh!
” I ordered for the hundredth time. His pain had made him careless. His growl echoed through the canyon. “They could still be here.”

I let go of his belt and he fell, bringing me down with him. We both lay in the snow.

“Go on without me,” he groaned.

I was tempted. But I needed him. He could be useful. And there was no doubt that he needed me.

“Quit your complaining and get up.” I stood and put my hand out to help him. He had all the dead weight of a butchered bull.

Griz was not used to relying on anyone, much less admitting to weakness. The gash in his side began oozing blood again. It needed more attention than my hasty bandaging job. He mumbled a curse and pressed the wound with his arm. “Let's go.”

We studied the tracks outside of the cave.

Griz used his boot to crush a ridge of snow made by a horse hoof. “I was right. The old coot brought her here.”

He had confessed to me that he and the so-called Governor Obraun had a history, and part of it included this cave, a place they had hidden out together when they escaped the grips of a forced labor camp.

Obraun's real name was Sven, and he was a soldier in Dalbreck's Royal Guard. Sven's deception didn't surprise me as much as Griz's. I had suspected a lot of people of being something they were not, but I had never suspected Griz of being anything but a fiercely loyal Rahtan. Not someone who sold information between kingdoms, though he hotly claimed none of it had ever betrayed Venda. Working with the enemy was betrayal enough.

I bent down and looked more closely at the muddle of footsteps and horse tracks. Some were Dalbretch horses, but others unmistakably Vendan.