The Staff and the Blade: Irin Chronicles Book Four (21 page)

He would see her soon. He knew that. It didn’t make the parting easier.

“Watcher?”

Damien turned to see Auguste, one of the new scribes recently returned from the Near East, holding a report sealed in gold wax.

“A missive from Vienna?”

The young scribe nodded. “It arrived early this morning, but I did not want to disturb you or your mate before she took her leave.”

“Thank you, brother.”

He took it and retreated to his study. He’d only written to the council requesting leave that morning. The letter had left with the same courier that must have brought this one, so he knew it couldn’t be a response to his or Tala’s petitions. He broke the seal, recognizing the figure of a rearing horse that was the symbol of Attila, an elder scribe and distant relative of his mother’s, who had always treated Damien as a nephew. He scanned the letter quickly before he began to read between the carefully composed lines.

…series of attacks…

…troubling trends in the east…

…shifts in power among the Fallen…

Damien felt his heart race. The beginning of the letter was a summary of recent findings from the council that warned European scribe houses about a power shift. The intelligence was based on rumors among the Fallen regarding happenings in the East. It matched many of the same patterns Gabriel had seen in their part of the world.

The end of the letter was a personal note from Attila to Damien.

“I cannot tell you what steps to take, Damjan. I can only tell you that the seers in Esztergom have seen visions of death and emptiness that match the reports you sent me from your own seer. The shift of Grigori into the cities of Western Europe has been matched to a lesser degree in Eastern Europe, and indeed in the East and Northern Africa as well. Inquiries to Southern Africa and the Far East have not yet been answered. The New World remains a mystery.

Take care. Be watchful and ready. I do feel the change in Fallen power indicates a growing threat of some kind. Though your father and I have argued in the Library, we are seen as tired old warhorses starting at threats where there are none. Too many of the elders are convinced that our future is secure in the retreats and we have no need to worry. I do not agree.”

Damien closed the letter after reading it no less than five times. He felt Sari and Tala’s absence keenly. He would have to wait five days for Gabriel to return. He was tempted to leave for the retreat himself but could not justify it when his mapmaker and weapons-master were away.

Brooding accomplished nothing. He locked the letter away and went to join his men. Grigori attacks might have become rare, but he had no intention of letting his scribes become soft. If long life had taught him anything, it was that change was inevitable and that while luck was fleeting, fortune favored those who were vigilant.

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

S
ARI
closed her eyes and pretended to sleep. Damien was stretched out next to her, his long, graceful fingers trailing over the swollen skin of her belly. It was only a small bump, but he had not been able to keep his hands off it since he’d arrived on Sunday. Now it was Wednesday, and she knew he only had a few hours before he needed to return to the city.

She smiled when she felt the tickle of his beard on her skin.

“I know you’re awake,” he whispered.

“I’m not.”

“No?”

“When I wake, you will need to say good-bye. So I am very sure I am still asleep.”

He sighed and laid his head on her belly. “
Milá
. I wish I could stay forever.”

“I hate being apart from you, Damien. Hate it.”

“It will not be forever.”

“Have you heard back from the council?”

“No.”

Of course he hadn’t. Sari knew they would not want to let him go and would use any excuse in the world to retain him. Whatever this growing darkness was that Tala and Gabriel predicted, she knew the council would use it.

“Write them again,” she said.

“I will.”

Sari reached down and slid lazy fingers through the thick hair at his neck. “They cannot keep us apart. Our child needs you. I need you.”

“And I need you.” He stretched under her petting. “I don’t sleep well without you. If I didn’t want to see you in my dreams, I wouldn’t sleep at all.”

“And I sleep all the time.” She laughed. “You would not believe how I laze in bed most days.”

He kissed her belly. “Your body is working hard.”

“I’ve been feeling better lately. More energy.”

“And Tala?”

“Better. The visit from Gabriel last week was important. She has been sicker than me. Abra helps.”

Indeed, the healer had become not just a trusted sister but a dear friend. Abra and Farrin had taken over guarding the village since Tala and Sari were in residence.

While there were many scribes living in the retreat, the majority were boys in training at the library and older men who had not chosen a warrior’s life. Farmers and traders. Blacksmiths and millers. All scribes knew how to fight, but not all chose to keep their skills honed to a sharp edge. There were only two trained warriors in the retreat, who were there because their children were young.

“Have you felt the quickening?” Damien asked, his fingers still tracing her belly.

“Not yet. Abra says in a month or a little longer I should expect to feel it.”

He kissed the small bump again; his breath was warm on her skin.

“When will you be back?” Sari asked.

“Two weeks.”

Her hand gripped his hair a little harder and he grunted. “So long?”

“But I’ll be back for a full week. Gabriel is coming on Sunday, and he’ll be staying until Saturday. Then he’ll ride back and we’ll have a week in town together to coordinate before I’m down for the week. If we’re lucky, the scribes’ council will have responded to me by then with an answer.”

“The baby will be born before they agree to release you from your post.”

He slid up and kissed her very awake lips. “Such a cynic, my Sari.”

“I’m a realist. They don’t want to let you go.”

And Damien wouldn’t abandon them. The very thought of betraying the mighty Irin Council and the men under his command was anathema to her mate, a man raised on honor, duty, and sacrifice. His loyalty was inviolate.

“They will have to let me go.” He shrugged. “After my daughter is born, they cannot keep me away. And they know I am needed for the birth.”

She smiled. “It could be a son.”

He shook his head. “Impossible. Heaven would not deny me. I have prayed for a stronghearted singer with eyes like her mother’s. I have petitioned Uriel and Ariel both. It must be a daughter.”

“Or a son. With his father’s courage and great heart,” she said, brushing his long hair back over his shoulders. His talesm shone where she touched. “A son to fight at his father’s side and win this war. Perhaps I will petition Mikael for this.”

“You will start a war in the heavens, my love.”

She sighed. “It only seems fair, as we’ve had war on earth for so many years.”

“Hush.” He put a finger over her lips. “Kiss me. And do not tempt fate.”

“Come back to me, my Damien.”

“As soon as I can.”

※

Tala was unusually pale that afternoon when Sari met her in the meeting house for the midday meal. Most of the singers and scribes of the village chose to eat together. It was a motley settlement, with as many wanderers as native French. While Irin families often moved, the tumult from revolution and war had made everything worse and driven many of their people far from home or kept them from returning as planned.

There were North Africans like Abra and her sister’s family, and two brothers and their families from Damascus who’d been waylaid on their way back from sojourn in Ireland. The rest were a mix of paler faces from all over Europe. French and Belgian. Dutch and Spanish. Sari had never lived with such a diverse group. Her natural curiosity loved it. As did her palate. That afternoon, Abra’s sister was cooking a lemon-scented lamb stew spiced with cumin and nutmeg. The scent made Sari’s mouth water, but Tala only looked ill.

Pregnancy exhausted her sister. Sari was beginning to recover her energy, but Tala, a month further along, was not as fortunate. She had only grown thinner, more wan. Her blue eyes were red and swollen many mornings, and her hair was limp. Abra told Sari that some mothers simply took to pregnancy worse than others but Tala was healthy enough. Both the healer and Sari suspected separation from her mate was more to blame than actual sickness. Sari would be glad when Gabriel arrived. Perhaps Abra would order him to stay. In her capacity as healer, she had the authority to override the watcher and even the council.

A large dish of the spicy stew was set in the middle of the table along with long loaves of bread.

“Shall I ask if there is something milder?” Sari reached over and grasped Tala’s hand.

Tala shook her head. “I want mother’s bread and fresh butter. That’s all I crave. And no one can make that but mother.”

“There is bread here. I can get you some butter if you wish.”

“
Mother’s
bread, Sari.” Tala shook her head. “I am fine. I am well.”

“You were sick last night. Why didn’t you wake me?”

“It was your last night with Damien. Of course I would not wake you.”

“He loves you too. You know we would have helped you.”

A faint smile crossed Tala’s face. “I’m not strong like you, but I can survive a little vision sickness. I’ve been doing it for years. I sent someone for Abra, and she brought back those ginger sweets her sister makes. They helped.”

Sari hesitated. Normally if a dream was for sharing, Tala would offer. Sari knew that not all visions were meant for everyone, even for family. But with Damien gone…

“The vision,” she asked. “Should I write to Damien about it?”

Tala shook her head. “It’s one I’ve had before.” A dark look crossed her face. “I don’t think it is pressing, but I promise I’ll consult Gabriel about it when he comes.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, sister. Now eat. Enjoy the meal.” Tala smiled. “It really does smell lovely.”

※

Sari insisted on sleeping next to Tala that night. She’d abandon her twin’s bed when Tala’s mate came, but not before. Sari was worried about her. Tala was muttering in her sleep. Sari didn’t know if it was a vision or simply a dream. It was often impossible to tell. Then Tala sat bolt upright in bed; her eyes flew open.

“I know where it is.”

Sari blinked and rubbed her eyes. “Where what is?”

“The house. The house, of course. I know where it is. The clothes are mine. I can see them there, but this time everything is silent.”

A chill stole up Sari’s spine. “What are you talking about, Tala?”

“The clothes…” A moment later she bent over the side of the bed and retched into the ever-present basin.

Sari jumped into action. She threw one of Damien’s linen wraps around herself and got out of bed, pouring fresh water into a mug for Tala to drink after she emptied her stomach. She wet a clean cloth and wiped her sister’s forehead as Tala spat out the remnants of sickness into the basin. Then Sari covered it and took it to the hallway to dump in the morning. She went to the kitchen and brought some soft white bread along with a few of the wrapped ginger sweets.

When she got back, she roused Tala and made her drink more water and eat the bread, but her sister waved off the sweets and fell back into a deeper sleep before Sari could ask more about the vision.

I know where it is. The clothes are mine.

In the years since she and Damien had moved to Paris, Sari had often felt like there was something her mate and her sister had held back from her. She knew some secrets related to Tala’s visions were not for her ears. Some related to nothing Tala or Damien could share, even with their mates. They both reported directly to the elders in Vienna.

But this vision…

The clothes are mine.

This related to Tala. Sari knew Damien must know what the vision was—Sari suspected it was the same one that had plagued her sister for years—but he had not told her. Was he unable or unwilling? Had Tala forbidden it? Or had the council?

Thoughts of her sister and her mate circled Sari’s mind until the sun rose. She drifted into a fitful sleep just as the rooster crowed.

※

She was mending sheets when she heard the hoofbeats. Shouts and panicked cries filled the air. Sari put down her needlework and picked up her staff. She might be slower, but she could still defend her—

“Sari!”

She turned toward Damien’s voice. “What are you doing here? What has happened?”

“The Grigori.” He kissed her swiftly. “They are finally moving. Gabriel sent a messenger to us on the road. There are cries of plague amongst the court. Men and women dying in their sleep. Prominent generals. Wealthy men of trade. Well-known men and women in society. Inexplicable deaths, Sari. They are even going after the children. The city is in uproar. It must be the Grigori.”