Authors: Gabrielle Bisset
As
she thought of Amon, the beginning notes of a song filtered out of the car’s
stereo. Thea smiled at how it reminded her of Amon, not because he’d been what
the song called a “devil” to her but because of what she knew her sister would
say if she told her how she felt about him. A much younger Aeveren in just her
tenth lifetime, Kat had no idea of the people Thea had met in her many lifetimes.
Not everyone was as wonderful as Kat. In fact, not everyone was even as
wonderful as the three men who’d held her captive for the past two days, Thea
thought as she remembered another time in her history when she’d been forced to
heal someone.
“
He
must live! Heal him!” the Tsar’s guard bellowed next to her head, so loud her
ears began to ring.
“I
cannot help him if you continue to berate me,” she said looking up at him.
“I’ll do what I can, but yelling at me won’t help him.”
“What
is your name, healer?” the guard asked as he adjusted his hold on his gun.
“Yevtsye
Karevshenko, sir.”
“And
you are the local healer here?” he asked as his eyes scanned her small house in
disgust.
“I
am. There isn’t another healer until you reach the border.”
The
guard seemed even more disgusted by this news and snorted before going outside
to speak to the other guards.
Turning
to the man who lay across her table, she gently ran her hands over his head.
He’d been rendered unconscious after a mysterious attack had thrown him from
his horse and her Aeveren neighbors, seeing the Russian Tsar Nicholas I was a
fellow Aeveren, directed his guards to bring him to her.
For
more than a half hour, he’d laid there unconscious while Yevtsye tried to
revive him and dealt with his guard’s intimidation and impatience. She’d
examined him but found nothing physically wrong, except for his inability to
wake.
Over
and over, she touched his head hoping to sense some feeling of pain but felt
nothing. She moved her hands to his torso, opening the top of his heavy
military uniform coat. Carefully, she unbuttoned each shiny gold button until
she was able to see his white uniform shirt underneath. As she moved to lift
it, the guard returned and placed the end of the gun’s barrel in her back.
“What
are you doing?” he barked.
Terrified,
she slowly lifted her hands and began to explain. “I cannot find anything wrong
with his head. I want to check his chest and stomach.” As she spoke, her voice
wavered as the feel of the gun in her back began to hurt.
The
guard retreated to the other side of the table and watched her movements
carefully. Slowly, she lifted her patient’s shirt to examine his skin for any
evidence of illness or injury. Her hands moved over his rough skin sprinkled
with thick black hair, and she noted each section of his body until she turned
to the guard.
“There
is no reason for him to not wake. I’ve checked him thoroughly, and I can find
nothing.”
Enraged,
the guard lunged at her over the patient’s legs, pushing her back against the
wall. As she pleaded for mercy, he slapped her face repeatedly, causing her to
cry out in pain. Finally, he pulled her by the hair back toward the Tsar and
held her there.
“Heal
him or die. It’s that simple.”
Tears
rolled down over her cheeks and fell onto the man’s chin and neck as she prayed
for a miracle to save both the Tsar’s life and hers. Nothing in her abilities
as a healer seemed to help her revive him.
Beneath
her, she saw the slight flutter of his eyelashes as he began to wake. Hoping to
God he wasn’t about to die, she gently stroked his face as she whispered to
him.
“Tsar,
please wake. Are you well?”
The
patient’s dark brown eyes opened slowly, and Yevtsye thanked God for hearing
her prayers. Gruffly, he asked the guard, “Ivan, where am I?”
“My
lord, right outside the village where you were thrown from your horse.”
Slowly,
the Tsar raised himself to sit upright and looked at Yevtsye as if to study her.
He turned to face his man and ordered, “Get the guard ready. I’m ready to
travel.”
Ivan
bowed and left to alert his men of the plans, and the Tsar said, “Did he hurt
you?”
Silently, she
nodded and touched her hand to her still stinging cheek.
“I’m
sorry, healer. Ivan isn’t Aeveren. He has no respect for what you do.”
“He
threatened to kill me if I couldn’t heal you, but I found no injuries or
illness to heal.”
Standing,
he held his hand out to her and explained, “I have the shaking sickness my
mother had. Nobody but my personal healer knows this, but I foolishly left him
at home.”
Bowing
his head slightly, the Tsar apologized for inconveniencing her and left with
his men without another word.
What
she’d gone through at Amon’s was nothing compared to having her life threatened
by a Russian soldier. Thea thought about the time she’d spent at Amon’s house,
wishing she could tell Kat the wonderful news that finally she’d been given a
destined one. Unfortunately, even he didn’t believe that was true.
Chapter Nine
Outside
in the hallway, Amon heard Gethen return.
“Miss?”
Gethen called through the closed bedroom door across the hall.
Greeted
by silence, Gethen repeated his question only louder. Behind him a door opened,
and he turned to face Amon standing in the doorway.
“Gethen,
what are you doing?” he snapped.
Stunned
by Amon’s tone, he quickly answered, “I was trying to give Thea her new
clothes.”
Amon
knew he shouldn’t be uncomfortable with his former servant’s actions. No matter
what Gethen was, he’d always been loyal and more a friend than an employee.
“I’m
sorry. It must be the pain I’m in,” Amon lied.
The
two men stood awkwardly looking first at one another and then the hallway
floor. After a few moments of tense silence, Amon was thankful Gethen began to
speak again.
“Where
is Markku?”
“I
sent him on an errand for me. Here, let me take those clothes.”
As
Amon took the pile of clothes out of his arms, he was sure the other man saw
the apprehension in his face. Eager to escape the situation his jealously had
created, he moved toward Thea’s door.
A
feeling of guilt came over him and he turned to Gethen. “Thank you for doing
this for me, Gethen. I can always count on you.”
The
man smiled, but Amon sensed his outburst had offended his friend and another
rush of guilt passed through him. He knew full well there had been no one as
true to him in his many lifetimes and treating him like a second class citizen
who hadn’t earned his trust time and again was insulting.
But
Amon found himself jealous, nonetheless, something he hadn’t felt in lifetimes.
As
he gently tapped on the door to Thea’s room, he anxiously waited to see her
after what he’d seen in her mind earlier. He hoped against hope that Markku
would return with the answer he wanted that would vindicate the feelings he’d
begun to have for her.
“Thea?”
Behind
him, Gethen whispered, “Maybe she’s worn out from healing you. You did say it
took a toll on her.”
Amon
didn’t respond to the comment and knocked again, this time harder.
“Thea?”
Turning
the antique doorknob, he opened the door just a crack and peered in. It only
took a quick sweep of the room to see no one was there. He thrust open the door
and let it bang off the wall. In a few strides he crossed the room, but it was
no use.
She
was gone.
Fearfully,
Gethen stood in the doorway, while Amon fought to control his emotions. Not
fully healed, he immediately felt exhausted from the anger and betrayal that
raced through him. When he finally turned to face Gethen, he knew his eyes had
changed to near black he was so angry.
“I
want her found. Now!” he barked.
“I’ll
need Markku’s help. I don’t know where he found her, Amon,” Gethen said
plaintively.
“Then
get him back here,” Amon growled.
Gethen
disappeared to contact Markku, and Amon sat down on Thea’s bed. That’s how he
thought of it. Thea’s. He looked down at the clothing in his lap. Thea’s clothes.
How
did I get so attached in such a short time?
Ten
minutes later, Gethen roused him from daydreaming about Thea to announce
Markku’s arrival. His strength returned, Amon bounded past him into the hall,
stopping dead as he collided with Markku.
“Come
with me,” he ordered and yanked the man by the arm into his room, slamming the
door behind them.
Markku
stood nervously with his back pinned to the door as Amon paced back and forth
in front of the bed.
“What
did you find out?” Amon seethed.
Markku
breathed a sigh of relief. “Yeah, yeah. I had my man check into your lady.
She’s gone.”
Amon
stopped next to the bedpost and steadied himself against it. “Gone?” His voice
was barely more than a whisper.
“Yeah,
something she did for a child—you know, a selfless act, and poof! She’s moved
on.”
Amon
stared at a point on the far wall and exhaled heavily. “When?”
“While
you were in....the summer,” Markku answered awkwardly.
Amon
waved Markku out of the room and sat down on the bed. Now that he’d gotten the
answer he’d wanted, he felt a sadness he hadn’t expected. Sevine was gone. The
destined one he’d spent lifetimes with, the woman who’d been his wife for
almost half of his time on Earth was gone.
His
shoulders sagged as he dropped his head and sighed his grief. Much of what he’d
been to her had been negative, and after the initial anger at her dismissal of
him as her destined one in their seventeenth lifetime together, Amon had missed
her and mourned the end of them. Now he mourned his behavior once again.
A
soft knock on the door fifteen minutes later brought him back to the present. “Amon,
may I come in?”
Gethen’s
tone sounded worried, so Amon quickly opened the door. “Come in.”
Seated
on the bed again, Amon stared off in the distance. In a voice that sounded
faraway, he quietly said, “Sevine’s gone.”
“I’m
sorry, Amon.”
In
what seemed to be a new habit for them, the two men remained in silence for a
long moment before Gethen spoke.
“Markku
is going to take me to where he found Thea, and I’ll bring her back.”
Amon
took a moment to process what he’d just heard and then thought he heard an edge
in Gethen’s voice—an edge that concerned him.
“I’m
going. We’ll leave immediately.”
Gethen’s
expected protest came before Amon finished his statement, but Amon’s hand in
front of him stopped his speech.
“Get
ready.”
As
Gethen turned to leave the room, Amon added, “And I’ll handle bringing Thea
back.”
Turning
to face him, Gethen fixed his gaze on Amon. “As you wish.” The silent word
master hung in the air as he turned back toward the door and walked out of the
room.
As
he sat alone, Amon had to admit to himself that jealousy wasn’t the only
emotion he was experiencing with Gethen regarding Thea. He also felt fear.
Lifetimes
with Gethen had dulled his memory of the circumstances surrounding the man’s
entrance into his world, but Thea’s arrival and the hope that she could be his
destined one brought the events of his meeting Gethen into sharp focus for
Amon. What had for a very long time meant almost nothing to him now seemed far
more important because of his feelings for Thea. As the long forgotten memory
of a much younger Gethen’s actions came back to him, Amon’s need to protect her
pressed onto his heart.
The
Irish countryside glowed under the silver touch of moonlight and the warm July
air hung heavily on Riordan as he slowly led his horse along the path. To his
left, in the shadows, he heard the soft rustling of branches. On his guard in
the darkness, he warily watched the wooded area for highwaymen lying in wait to
descend upon a traveler like himself. Ready to snap the reins and escape at a
moment’s notice, his heart pounded in anticipation of the next sound. The horse
sensed his apprehension and tensed under him as if to assure him that it
understood his thoughts and knew how to react, if necessary.
The
final leg of his journey home, this section of countryside was by far the most
remote. Despite being armed, he preferred not to kill anyone that night. As he
ambled closer to a bend in the path where wooded areas banked both sides of the
road, he quietly took his gun in hand.
As
he rode between the woods, to his right he heard the faint sound of a moan and
then another. His hand tighter now on his weapon, he looked into the darkness
of the trees and spied the small, yellow light of a fire. A sense of relief washed
over him momentarily as he considered the unlikelihood of highwaymen announcing
their presence with something as obvious as a fire.
While
he reasoned the owners of the fire to instead be vagabonds, he heard moaning
again growing louder as he continued. If someone were hurt, he should stop to
aid them, but while he debated the safety of stopping for an injured stranger,
a woman’s scream pierced the night, sending a shock through his body. In a
flash, he had his horse at full gallop toward the sound of the woman in danger.
Moments
later, he found the source of not only the screams but the moans. A woman lay
on the forest floor in a clearing just off the path. Her long, black hair
trailed over her shoulders and nearly hid the knife that stood buried in her
chest, surrounded by a red stain that had begun to spread over her pale skin.
Naked, her body showed signs of the activity she’d been engaged in at the time
of her death.