03 - Sworn (15 page)

“And?”

“Let me get close to Griselda and ask her to train me. If I have her alone, we can make plans that don’t involve Laelana, if that’s what you want.”

His jaw muscles flexed. “My plans, or yours?” He moved closer again, and I took three steps back. His magic filled the air around us, ready to crush me, to steal my strength, or to destroy me with a wave of his hand.

I stumbled back, and only a helping hand from a solid branch kept me from falling.
Don’t show him that you’re afraid.

“Why do you hate me now?” I asked. “When we were in prison, you seemed to trust me. You were horrible to me, but when they sentenced me to death, you cared. You comforted me.”

He opened his mouth, then paused. The heaviness of magic abated, if only slightly, as a hint of confusion crossed his features. It was gone a moment later, replaced with the cold glare I was coming to know so well. “Everything was different then,” he said quietly. “You were a tool I needed to use to gain my freedom. And yes, I felt for you. I’m not as evil as Aren might have led you to believe. I feel empathy, and I’d have felt sadness if you’d died in our escape as I expected you to. I pitied you, believing you were exaggerating your relationship with Aren. I didn’t think he’d be so stupid as to… Well.”

I didn’t answer.

He raked a hand through his long hair and backed off a pace. “And then you lived, and I realized exactly what you could be if you had the training. And I saw you with Aren, saw the hold you have on him, saw exactly what you could do to him and to Tyrea.” The muscles around his eyes tightened, and his lips narrowed. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have said he was afraid.

I realized then what a grave mistake I’d made in offering my suggestions. He may have despised me for being weak and afraid, but that was how he wanted me. A powerless enemy with no friends is hardly a threat. But if he thought I was plotting to turn Aren against him, or Griselda and all of Belleisle, I would find myself with a powerful enemy.

His eyes widened, showing the whites all around the iris.

I pressed my back against the tree and fought the urge to close my eyes and brace myself for whatever he threw at me. “Aren won’t be pleased if you kill me,” I said. My voice came out in a rasp, but the words reached him.

He sneered. “And why should it matter to him now?”

I pushed away from the tree and stood straight. Ulric still towered over me, but I felt stronger. “People don’t stop caring about one another just because you rip them apart. Do you want to risk losing him over this?”

For a moment, he said nothing. His shoulders relaxed, but he still glared at me. “I know that all too well,” he said, almost to himself. “And you’re right. Aren’s a fool.” His expression softened slightly. “You remind me of someone I once knew. I can’t say I care for it.”

He turned to leave, and my knees trembled with relief.

And then he turned back.

“Stay away from Aren. I assume he was gentle with you when he explained the situation, so I’ll do you the kindness of being honest. You have no future with him, even if you think he still cares for you, and no matter what he says about it.”

I didn’t let my expression give anything away.

“Even if he weren’t heir to the throne, even if he turned his back on it, or even if you somehow proved yourself to not be a danger, you would not have what you want from him.” The look of sincere pity he gave me came as a shock after the anger he’d displayed moments before. “You will both live long lives, and he would tire of you soon enough. The responsibilities of ruling are great, but so are the pleasures. You’d be asking a king to live on a pauper’s meals for the rest of his long life if you wished to be his only love.” He paused, watching my reactions carefully. “But it doesn’t matter. He will be king, and you will not be queen. Aren will see the error of his past decision.”

I took a long breath. “You consider that kindness?”

“Is sparing you pain unkind?” He glared at me again. Keeping up with his shifts in tone and conversation left me dizzy.

“Ask Griselda for training if you wish,” he said. “You’re not wrong that you might get her alone where Aren and I can’t, and perhaps we will find a way to make you useful. But remember that I will be watching and listening. Always. If I catch you acting against me in any way, including continuing your relationship with Aren, I will consider it an act of treason. You will be punished accordingly. And Rowan?”

I looked at him, but couldn’t answer.

He covered the distance between us in a few quick steps, forcing me back against the tree. “You will not tell anyone I was here. You will not tell anyone about the water. Not the merfolk. Not Laelana. Certainly not Aren. This conversation did not happen.”

He turned and left me, covering the distance back toward camp in long strides until he disappeared among the trees again.

I broke then. Sank to my knees on the forest floor, shaking.
He’s mad,
I thought.
He’s losing his mind.
The Ulric I’d met in Ardare had been cold and hard, but not this terrifying, confusing monster.

I’d have to tell Aren, somehow. If Ulric wasn’t fit to rule, Aren’s problems and mine were about to get far worse than anything we’d imagined.

9

ROWAN

A
rushing river sparkled in the bright sunlight, surrounded by long, green grasses and blooming flowers. It may have been a dry, cold spring in Tyrea, but in my dreams it was summer, and better times.

“Where are we?” Aren asked.

“I don’t know. Somewhere nice.” I reached for his hand, and enjoyed being able to do so without worrying about who might be watching. We had so much we needed to discuss while we had time, but I wanted just a few moments to enjoy him, first. The sensation of his skin on mine wasn’t exactly the same in dreams as in waking life, but it was close enough that I felt the warmth of his touch. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Aren released my hand and stepped toward the river. “Your dreams are more vivid than mine. More detailed.”

“You like it?”

He closed his eyes and turned toward the sun. “It’s nice. Not much happening, though.”

“Hmm. What can we do about that?”

He reached for me.

And then he was gone.

The sky darkened as clouds rolled in. The flowers around me closed and shriveled, and a cold wind blew in from behind me, whipping my hair around my face.

“Aren?” I called. There was no answer.

Voices echoed through the woods, arguing. I hurried toward the sound, drawn to voices that sounded familiar even if they were too distant to be identifiable. I was relieved to find this wasn’t one of those dreams where it felt like I was running through mud. The forest floor beneath my feet felt solid and real as I pushed against it.

The voices grew louder as I realized I was in the forest near Stone Ridge, the house where I grew up under my aunt and uncle’s care. I recognized my aunt Victoria’s voice, loud and strong in my ear, but speaking nonsense sounds. My mother’s chimed in, crying in pain. I gasped.

And then the voices faded away.

My heart raced, drowning out the muffled sound of my footsteps on what had become a hard dirt road beneath my feet. I made it over the rise in the land and came to a stop.

The iron gates were closed. Never in all my years at Stone Ridge had I seen them like that. They’d always been open, welcoming, a reminder that I wasn’t a prisoner there after my parents sent me away. Given the sad state of the walls, closing them for security would have been an absurd token gesture. I hurried toward them and pushed, but though no chain or lock held them closed, the gates wouldn’t move.

Something crashed through the underbrush to my left.

“Aren?” I called again. My voice came out in a squeak.

Another cry of pain, this one deep and masculine. Matthew, who worked for my aunt and uncle and had been as good as another father to me in my years there.

I ran for the wall and vaulted over a low spot in the crumbling granite.

There was nothing on the other side. The fall into darkness ripped a feeble scream from my throat as I reached out to feel for something to grab onto.

The fall slowed until I found myself floating. A light appeared, revealing a room holding my family. My parents, Aunt Victoria and Uncle Ches, Matthew and Della, my brother Ashe and my sisters. I could no longer hear them, but the pain and terror on their faces tore me apart.

Dorset Langley stood over them. The man who hunted magic, who had hunted me. A man of no scruples, willing to do anything to complete his mission of destroying magic.

And he’s dead,
I reminded myself.
You killed him. This is a dream.

With that thought, Langley’s face tightened and distorted. Every moment of his horrible death played out slowly until he was a husk of a body, shriveled and hideous.

And yet he kept moving as though nothing had happened. He raised his sword, ready to bring it down on my aunt.

“No!” I screamed. He turned to me, and I suspected he would have grinned had his mouth not already been twisted open, teeth bared.

The floor appeared under my feet as dream logic dropped me into the scene. “Rowan,” my mother gasped.

My magic roared to life as Langley brought the sword down, just as it had the night it broke the binding that had held it inside me for so long.
Wait,
I thought, but the magic wouldn’t hold back. It flooded from me in a blinding flash of light.

When my vision cleared, I realized what I’d done. My family’s bodies lay in a pile, broken and lifeless.

It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream.

But so real.
I let out a long, low wail.

Dorset Langley still stood, and a laugh as dry as the wind through the rebel camp echoed from his throat. He stepped toward me, covering the distance with inhuman speed.

His bony hands clamped on my arms, and I screamed into the darkness that descended over us.

T
HE GRIP
on my arms didn’t release even as I opened my eyes in darkness. I struggled, and the hands let go.

“Rowan, it’s me.” Aren’s voice, concerned but calm. “You’re dreaming. It’s all right.”

I sucked in a deep, rasping breath and rolled onto my side in a ball. Aren sat and ran a hand over my back until the shaking stopped.

I forced my body to straighten, my eyes to open against the darkness of the tent. I sat up and shifted to lie with my head on Aren’s lap, then reached up to touch his face and trail my hand down over his chest. His loose shirt was unlaced at the collar, probably thrown on quickly when he rushed to my tent. I pressed my cheek to the rough cloth covering his thigh, savoring the solid realness of him.

“I’m fine,” I said. “It was just a nightmare.”

“That wasn’t just anything,” he said, and dragged his fingers through my hair. “I woke up when you disappeared from our dream. I didn’t want to risk coming to check on you, but you sounded like someone was killing you.”

“Thank you. I guess I needed help to get out of that one.” I sat up and reached for my sweater. I forced a smile, though he wouldn’t see it.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

I didn’t answer until I’d played the dream back in my mind. It felt less real now that I was safe, but the horror of what I’d seen—of what I’d done—held my heart tight in its icy grip.

I relayed the events of the dream to Aren, and tried to convey the strange foreboding I’d felt at the sight of the closed gates, even before I’d been pulled into the other part of the dream. Words failed me. “It was just... horrible.” I took a few deep breaths and wished the lamps outside were still burning. The utter blackness that surrounded us made it harder to shake the feeling of the dream. “I’m used to dreaming about him,” I added, unwilling to say Langley’s name. “But what about the rest of it? Why would I be pulled from a dream with you to see
that
?”

His fingers drew slow circles on my back as he thought. “Are you still concerned about your magic hurting your family? Or anyone?”

“No,” I said, surprised to find it was true. “I have better control. I’m not scared of that happening again.”

“Then perhaps it’s simply that you’re worried about your family.” He put an arm over my shoulders, pulling me close. “Are you worried about the magic hunters going after them? About your magic harming them indirectly in that way? You haven’t said much about them since we left Darmid.”

“No. I thought...” What? That he wouldn’t want to talk about them? He’d told me about his meeting with my mother, said he’d told them to get out of town. He’d cared enough to do that, and would have listened if I wanted to talk. “I am worried,” I admitted, “but I feel as though I’m supposed to forget about them. Now that I’m free, after going back was such a disaster, and if in theory they’re safe after your warning, I should be able to move on. My life is here now.”

“But you’re still concerned about them.”

Tears pricked at my eyes. “What if Ashe didn’t get better? What if they didn’t get out before the king sent magic hunters to interrogate them?” The dream images flashed back into my mind, and I shivered. “And the people at Stone Ridge. They’re not safe, are they?”

“No. You’re not the only one in your family with talent, are you?”

I drew in a long breath and leaned into him. “Victoria has the same gift as Laelana’s grandfather, doesn’t she? Or she did, before the boys died. Everything changed after that.”

“Your aunt and uncle’s children were killed for their magic. It stands to reason that it came from somewhere.”

I nodded, a motion that he had to feel rather than see in the blackness of the tent.

Matthew had convinced me when I was a child that the trees’ constant flowering and fruiting, the longevity of the garden blossoms, and the vegetable garden’s incredible bounty were the product of a skilled gardener’s care and nothing more. But of course, that couldn’t be true.

“I want to tell you that they’re probably safe,” Aren said.

“But that would be a lie.”