The Silent Tempest (Book 2) (31 page)

She rallied at the bedroom door, pulling
back. “What if I don’t want—this?” she said, indicating the doorway.

He released her hand, “Then this is going
to be a very boring marriage. You can sleep in the other room, if that’s what
you prefer.” His voice was calm, as if he had resigned himself already.

“No,” she corrected, “What if I don’t want
to be married to you?”

His hands came up, and he said a faint
word. There was a dangerous look in his eyes as he set them carefully on her
shoulders. “Hold very still.”

She froze as his fingers reached her
throat, and then there was a moment of quiet resistance followed by an odd
popping noise. The collar at her throat fell apart and faded into
non-existence.

“If you want to leave, you can,” he told
her. “None of the She’Har will pursue a nameless slave. You never had to come
here at all. You’re free. A day’s walk will see you home again.”

Her eyes widened.

“I love you, Kate. You were right about
that, fifteen years ago, ten years ago, and even now, but I’m a very bad
person. I’ve done terrible things. I tried to keep you away from this, then
and again when we brought the children from here, but you wouldn’t stay out of
it. You’ve seen what my life is like.”

“What are you trying to say?” she asked.

“This is your last chance.”

She looked away. “Daniel this has to be
the worst proposal in the history of the world.”

“That’s exactly why you should go,” he
told her. “I’m not inviting you to share a life of love, laughter, and
children. I’m inviting you to share my damnation. My morals have become so
degraded that I’m finally willing to drag you down with me.”

She moved closer, “You aren’t lying.”

“Does that surprise you?”

Kate narrowed her eyes, “Frankly, yes.
Every time we came close to this in the past, you lied and pushed me away. For
once you’ve told the unvarnished truth.”

He watched her, trying to figure out what
she was about to decide. Her aura had taken on an ambiguous appearance, but it
resolved rapidly as she made her choice.

She lifted her chin, “Very well, damn me
then.” Her hand rose to the back of his head, and she pulled his face closer,
kissing him at last. It was several breathless minutes before they separated
again. “I have one condition,” she added.

“What is it?” he asked as he lifted her,
preparing to carry her to the bedroom.

“You have to play your cittern every
evening—for all of us.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Too bad,” she replied. “You shouldn’t
have married
me
then.”

Abby returned the next morning. She had a
long, faint scar across her abdomen, and she was noticeably paler, but she was
otherwise unharmed. As Tyrion had discovered in the past, She’Har healers were
unmatched in their ability to restore health to the wounded.

Life went on.

Tyrion had them continue their practices
during the mornings, but he gave them more leeway now. Almost all of them were
blooded, and most had fought twice now, so he let them practice with one
another, usually under Layla’s watchful eye. Occasionally their ideas were
unexpectedly dangerous, and it helped to have someone more experienced on hand
to dissuade them.

Ian kept his distance from Tyrion most of
the time, but when they did cross paths, he was deferential, dipping his head
respectfully. Tyrion hadn’t repeated the details of Ian’s match to the others,
something the boy had noticed and was perhaps grateful for, now that the shame
of his actions had sunk into his thick head.

Even so, Tyrion kept a wary eye on Ian.
Now that his blood had cooled, he no longer felt he had the right to judge him
for his actions, but he worried about the future. The world of the She’Har was
no place for idiots.

Brigid was the most changed. Where before
she had been openly hostile toward Tyrion, she now hovered by his side whenever
the opportunity was present. She became more distant from her siblings,
choosing to focus more of her attention on her father.

He worried that killing Haley had broken
something within her, something that could never be repaired. The madness and
rage that had before seemed to hover just beneath the surface was still
present, but it was more controlled now. The air seemed cooler when Brigid was
nearby. She kept her words to a minimum, and when she did speak, it was never
about trivia.

Her eyes were continually on her father.

She was standing next to him a few days
later when Ryan walked up, his face thoughtful and earnest.

“May I talk to you?” he asked, looking at
Brigid briefly before focusing on Tyrion.

“Certainly,” he told his son.

“Alone?”

Brigid glared at him, but said nothing.

“I don’t mind,” said Tyrion. “Let’s
walk.”

After a minute, Ryan began, “It’s about
the building.”

“You needed to be alone to discuss that?”

Ryan gave him a sheepish look. “Not
really, but she creeps me out.”

Tyrion raised his brow, “Brigid?”

The young man nodded, “Yes. She’s so
intense. Sometimes it feels like her eyes are going to burn a hole through me,
and it isn’t just me either. Most of the others feel the same way.”

“She’s been through a lot,” suggested
Tyrion.

“We all have,” reminded Ryan, “but she’s
different. She reminds me of...,” he stopped suddenly.

“Reminds you of what exactly?” prompted
his father.

“I mean no disrespect, sir,” said Ryan,
“but she reminds me of you. She’s a little scary.”

Tyrion laughed, “I will remember that.
Scary can be useful now and then. So, what was it you wanted to talk about?”

The young man rubbed his hands together,
this was a subject he was more comfortable with. “Well, as you know the
dormitory is essentially finished, other than for minor details, and Violet is
more interested in managing those.”

Violet had turned out to have a penchant
for artistic pursuits. While the others had spent their time and labors
hauling, fitting, and cutting stone with their magic, she had preferred the
finishing work. It had started with smoothing the interior surfaces, adding
rounded curves to wooden features and doors and had progressed to scrollwork,
carving, and delicate reliefs.

The girl had an absolute obsession with beautiful
designs, and the others chose not to complain if it took her away from the
heavier work, for her efforts were turning their living space and rooms into
something lovely to behold.

“Are you worried about having too much
time on your hands?” asked Tyrion.

“Yes and no,” said Ryan. “I have some
ideas, if you will permit.”

“What would you like to do?”

“Well, we could use a storage building.
The pantry in your house is large, but for as many people as we have, it would
be nice to have a place to keep more than just that. It would also be nice to
have a place for the horses, and Abby suggested it would be good to have a
place to work that isn’t constantly exposed to the elements…”

“A workshop?”

“Several,” said Ryan with a nod. “It’s
best not to work with metal in a place where others are doing more delicate
work or dealing with food, or cloth, or pottery.” Using his aythar, he created
a flat plane of green in the air between them. “This is Albamarl.”

Ryan’s fingers sketched the outline of
Tyrion’s house, then added a larger rectangle next to it, “And this is the
dormitory. Now, I was thinking we could put a large storehouse here, and a
barn and stables back here. Workshops would be along this area, and we could
leave the central area open…”

“What are these lines on the outside?”

“If you think it’s a good idea, those would
be exterior walls…”

“Defensive walls?”

Ryan shrugged, “Well, if something happens
with the She’Har, I don’t think they would do much good, but they would keep
wolves away from the chickens.”

“Chickens?”

He pointed at the far corner of his
diagram, “Back here, so we would have eggs.”

“There are no chickens in the Illeniel
Grove,” said Tyrion. “Where will you find them?”

“Can’t you send someone to Colne?”
suggested Ryan. “There are a great many things there we could use here.”

Tyrion rubbed his chin. He had never
given it thought before. In the past, it simply hadn’t been an option, but
with his new status it might be possible to do many things that had been
inconceivable before. “That’s an interesting suggestion,” he said slowly, “but
we don’t have anything to trade.”

Tyrion’s face grew stern as he considered
taking what they needed. He had already forced the Hayes’ family to provide
them with a wagon and some goods, and years ago he had forced them to give his
parents a considerable amount of lumber.
How much can they afford, though?
Or should we force some sort of tribute to be given by the entire town?

Ryan could see the wheels turning in his
father’s head. “Wait,” he said hurriedly, “Tad thinks we do have something to
trade.”

He paused, looking at his son.

“Iron,” said Ryan, answering his unspoken
question, “or granite, or even lumber. We’ve gotten very good at quarrying.
We can produce a lot of materials in a short time span, compared to what
they’re used to.”

Cut stone was a rarity in Colne. Most
people used wood for building. It was far easier to work with and moving it in
quantity was easier. The only stone masons that Tyrion had ever heard of
worked in Lincoln and it was too far to transport much stone there.

“Lumber has to cure, and that takes time,”
said Tyrion. “Stone is too much work to transport that far. I can’t have all
of you traveling to Colne. I’m not even sure I can let
any
of you go
yet. Iron would be easier. I can produce as much as you might wish, and a
single wagonload would be of considerable value.”

Ryan smiled. “I hoped you would say
that.”

“Talk to Tad. Draw up a list and figure
out what you need the most and then sort your needs out. You’ll want to create
a timeline. We can’t do everything at once, so you need a plan—what to do
first and what you need for it.”

“Yes sir!” Ryan was positively beaming.

Tyrion watched him walking back, newfound
purpose in his steps.
He smiled at me.
A lump formed in his throat.

***

The next day he had an unexpected visitor.
Thillmarius appeared at the front door and politely knocked, which surprised
Kate, no one ever knocked. Tyrion’s children came and went, usually wanting to
know what would be served at lunch or dinner. She opened the door without
giving it a thought.

She stared at the ebon hued man standing
on the doorstep. Gold eyes stared back at her with unsettling intensity.
“Err…, can I help you?” She stepped back to let him enter.

Thillmarius reached out, touching her hair
almost fondly. “Where is your collar, child?”

Kate’s mouth opened and then closed
again. She had no answer for him. She knew there were dire consequences for a
human found without one, the least of them, being claimed by the first of the
She’Har to find them. The worst didn’t bear thinking about.
What would he
do if he knew it was Daniel who removed it?

She lifted her chin, “That is not for me
to say.” She had no believable lie, so delay was her best option.

“I found it inconvenient,” said Tyrion,
stepping out from the hall, “so I got rid of it.”

Thillmarius turned his attention to him as
he entered, “How fascinating! How did you do it?” He hadn’t bothered to close
the door.

“Get the door, would you, Kate?” suggested
Tyrion. His mind was racing. Depending upon the lore-warden’s motivations he
might have to do something drastic. Closing the door would make it more
difficult for an invisible opponent to escape, and Thillmarius was a Prathion
after all.

The She’Har turned his head, watching the
red haired woman shut the door with something approaching delight in his
features. Looking back at Tyrion, he exclaimed, “How remarkable. Are you
thinking to kill me?”

Tyrion smiled, fighting to suppress the
fear he always felt when he heard Thillmarius’ voice. Despite the years and
his experiences, his time under the trainer’s ‘care’ had left an indelible scar
on his soul. He hoped he could fight effectively despite it. “Of course not,”
he answered, hoping the She’Har didn’t notice the sweat that had begun to bead
on his forehead. “I just prefer to keep the bugs outside now that spring is
here.”

“Relax,” chuckled Thillmarius. “My
purpose here is not so dire, nor do I plan to claim your female. I have
another reason for coming.”

“I would offer you a seat, but we haven’t
had time to produce many chairs yet,” replied Tyrion, trying to slow his heart.

“We can soon remedy that,” said the
lore-warden, lifting his hands and readying his aythar. He paused for a
second, “Will you permit me?” He didn’t want to startle Tyrion with sudden spellweaving.
The human was quite obviously feeling anxious, and an anxious man might react
badly to unannounced magic.

Tyrion nodded, “Go ahead.”

Thillmarius did, and a half a minute later
there were two comfortable chairs in the front room. He gestured to Tyrion to
take a seat. “Before I say anything else, I would like to apologize to you,
Tyrion.”

Tyrion’s eyes widened, of all the things
the She’Har might have said, that was the most unlikely.

“When you first came to us, I was ignorant
of a great many things, but with patience I have learned from my mistakes,
primarily by watching you,” said the lore-warden.

Tyrion opened his mouth temporarily, but
he couldn’t decide what to say.

“I have studied your kind for most of my
life, but it wasn’t until you arrived that I began to see that much of what I
thought I knew was wrong,” continued the Prathion. “It was your startling
successes in the arena that got my attention initially. At first I attributed
that to your excessive strength, but over time it became apparent that it was
much more than that. You adapted and changed much faster than any of our
baratti. Eventually we placed you in situations that were far beyond your
ability to survive on strength alone, but your cleverness saved you over and
over again, despite our best efforts to push you beyond your limits.”

“To kill me,” corrected Tyrion.

Thillmarius nodded, “Just so, and even
after you fought the krytek, demonstrating abilities that we believed
impossible for a human, I still remained ignorant. It was not until your
children were brought here that I began to see properly.”

“To see what?”

“You must understand, that to my people,
humans appear to be children. We do not even place much value on ourselves.
To us, maturity, adulthood, these are things we attribute to the elders.
Humans, with their inability to spellweave, and with their low intelligence,
did not seem worthy of much respect.”

Tyrion found himself bristling at the
She’Har’s words.

Thillmarius held up a hand, “I do not mean
to offend. Seeing you and seeing your children, has changed my views. Your
intellect is far greater than that of our slaves, and watching your children, I
can see that it is not a rare event. The conclusion that I have arrived at, is
that our methods of raising humans is stunting their mental development.”

“What are you getting at?”

“I would like to make amends. When you
came to us, I treated you just as I would any difficult animal. I fed you, I
watered you, and when it seemed necessary, I punished you. My intention was to
train you, as I had so many others, but I now understand that I was doing you a
great harm. My efforts were not only ineffective, they may have made it more
difficult for you to succeed.