Emergence (Book 2) (23 page)

"I didn't do this."

"No?"

He glanced down, and Ciara looked at her hands. She started to shake. They were covered in blood.

"There will be others."

Donovan gestured to the ground. A figure sprawled face down, wearing the deep blue and silver of the
Imperial Guard, blood pooling around him.

"Whether directly, or because of the choices you make, their deaths are on your hands. And all of them will die,
Daughter. All of them." He stood behind her now, his voice hissing across her shoulder like the frozen breath of winter.

"No."

"I have so much to offer you."

Ciara shook her head. "You have nothing to offer me."

"Do you think you will be better off in the hands of the Imperial Mages?" He laughed as he circled around to stand in front of her. "They will try to control you, to bend you to their will, use you as a farmer uses a plow horse. If you do not comply, they will kill you."

"And how is that any different than what you intend?"

"I offer you a place at my side. I will allow you to embrace all that you possess, not keep you harnessed." He stepped back, spreading his arms wide. "Or has your taste for blood become insatiable? You reek of it, Daughter: Blood, death, the hunger to kill." His nostrils flared as he raised his chin and sucked in a deep breath. "And you do it so well. So brutally. A mere thought to turn a dagger back on its thrower. A gesture to drive a sword through a man's chest without hesitation. Oh, yes, Daughter, you will soon rival even the General in your ability to dole out death."

"I take no pleasure in it."

"Not yet. But each time it becomes easier. Each time just a bit sweeter. Soon, it will not matter if it is friend or foe you face. Whoever stands in your way will perish."

He flicked a hand, and a scene played out before her. A nightmare within a dream. She stood on a high wall, dark clouds swirling around her. A harsh wind clawed at her skin, and dragged her hair across her face. She yearned to be free, to spread her wings and take flight, but they fought her. They called her back to them, tried to bind her, to take her power. Hunger rose in her. Thirst as she had never known. They would all die. All of them. She roared and men fell, their lives ripped from them by her word alone. She laughed and spread her wings, watching from on high as buildings crumbled. The land beneath her ran crimson with blood, and the scent of it filled her nostrils.

***

Ciara screamed and lurched from the bed, colliding with someone. Panic welled in her, and she pounded her fists against his chest. "Leave me alone!"

She twisted against the hands that caught her wrists, fighting to free herself.

"Ciara, stop it."

Hysterical laughter burst from her. There would be no stopping her. There would be nothing but destruction. She couldn't be stopped. Wouldn't be stopped.

"No!" She jerked back. The hands tightened their grip.

"Look at me," the voice demanded in a rich, lilting accent. Hands cupped her face and forced her to focus on clear, moss-colored eyes that pulled her back to the reality of where she stood, and anchored her there.

Ciara sucked in a breath, the stench of death replaced by the comforting smell of soap and water, mingled with the faint odor of leather and sun-warmed horse. Another gasping breath wracked her body. She balled Bolin's tunic in her fingers and dropped her forehead against his chest, trembling.

"Donvan," she whispered.

Bolin wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close, and resting his cheek against her head. "I figured as much."

Even safely cocooned in his embrace she couldn't stop shaking, or rid herself of the bloody images. The sensations of fury and exhilaration still coursed through her, making her pulse race.

"Is she all right?" Nialyne's voice.

Goddess's blood, had she woken the whole city?

"I'm fine," she said, her voice muffled in Bolin's chest. "Just a bad dream."

He snorted. "You're shaking like a leaf in a tempest."

"I'll see if I can find some tea," Nialyne said.

Ciara felt him nod, and heard the soft click as Nialyne closed the door behind her. They stood for a long time without moving. Each time a tremor shook her, Bolin's arms would tighten until it subsided. They grew less strong, and the images they brought with them faded until she could believe it really had been nothing more than a dream. Except that she'd killed someone again, and no matter what she did, she couldn't dismiss that.

"He told me I reek of death," she said.

Bolin's breath caught, and he stiffened. "He will say what he needs to torment you."

"It was easier this time, and
...and I wanted to do it."

"You had the right."

"How is that right?" She canted her head back to look at him. "How is wanting to hurt someone ever right?"

"They would have killed Berk," he said. His jaw tightened. "They would have raped you, and after they had their fill they would have likely sold you. Marauders have no regard for life, Ciara. Do you think you could have persuaded them to just let the two of you go?"

"I tried."

"And how far did it get you?"

Ciara glanced away. "How do you ever get used to it."

"You don't."

"It doesn't seem to bother you."

Bolin jerked as though she'd slapped him across the face. "Is that truly what you think? Or has Donovan also convinced you the taking of life means nothing to me?"

"You want to kill him."

"Aye. Because the alternative means you will never be safe," he said, his voice getting hard and cold. "And because he threatens the empire which I am sworn to protect. But if you think doing so will give me pleasure, or is something I take lightly, then you hold me in very little regard."

He started to pull away from her, and Ciara slipped her arms around his waist. "Don't. Please. I'm sorry."

His hands rested on her upper arms. He kept his gaze averted and nodded toward the bed. "You need rest."

She braced against him. "Please, Bolin." She sounded pathetic, but she had no desire to leave his embrace. In the circle of his arms, the visit from Donovan became a distant memory. Her surging emotions stilled, taking the blood-lust with it, and Andrakaos curled back into his chamber. She dropped her forehead against his chest again. "I don't think that of you. I don't. I just don't know how to do this. I'm horrified by what I did. How easy it was."

"It wasn't easy, or it wouldn't be ripping you apart." His arms wrapped around her again, and Ciara nestled her cheek against the hollow of his shoulder and closed her eyes. Bolin exhaled, the tension leaving his body with it. "I would take this pain from you if I could."

Her hands moved of their own accord, traveling up his back. The muscles across his shoulders tightened. When Ciara turned her head, and her breath trailed across his neck, she felt his pulse quicken beneath her cheek.

She tilted her face up and glanced at him from under her lashes. "You make me feel safe."

"I didn't do such a good job of keeping you safe from the marauders," he said. "I thought I'd lost you."

Ciara gave him a wan smile. "You know I'm not that easy to lose, even when I try to lose myself."

He shifted. "You need sleep."

"I can't," she said. "Every time I close my eyes I see nothing but blood and destruction. All of it my fault."

"Donovan's put those thoughts there, Ciara. They're not your own. He wants to break you so he can come in and scoop up the pieces. But you're stronger than that. Do you honestly think you could ever do harm to someone you love?"

"I tried to kill you twice," she said before she caught herself. And then it just hung there between them with no way to take it back even if she wanted to.

Bolin's brow creased, but he didn't push her away, or take his arms from around her, only stared at her, his eyes shadowed. "How have I ever given you cause?"

"To kill you?"

He gave a short laugh, and shook his head. "No, I'm sure I've given you plenty of reason for that."

"Oh, you mean--" Ciara shrugged and averted her eyes. "Does there need to be a reason other than my heart's voice?"

Only the crackle of coals in the brazier, and her pulse hammering in her ears answered her. Ciara tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth, finally risking a glance up at him. She wondered if she'd somehow offended him again. Or, worse, if she had sounded like a lovesick girl. But when her eyes found his, she saw nothing but tenderness and a small gasp escaped her.

Bolin's hand moved
up her spine, beneath the still-damp tangle of her hair. He wrapped his fingers around the nape of her neck sending shivers of delight rippling through her as his thumb caressed a spot behind her ear.

"You are going to undo me," he said so softly she didn't know if she'd heard right.

And then it didn't matter what he'd said because he dipped his head down and brushed his lips against hers, feather light, his whiskers tickling her skin, his breath warm, his mouth tasting of heather wine. Ciara wanted to devour him. To return the kiss with the hungry passion that welled up inside of her. She certainly didn't want the moment to end. But it did; only this time Bolin didn't pull away and proclaim his thousands of reasons why it had been such a bad idea. He just stood there, staring down at her, his brow still furrowed as though he were trying to work through some problem in his head.

"Both of us need rest," he said suddenly. Not the words she wanted to hear. "Nisair isn't so close that trouble can't find us before we reach her gates."

Ciara didn't even try to hide her disappointment. "Stay with me." And by the expression that crossed his face, she realized what he thought and felt her cheeks warm. "No, I mean, just sit with me until I fall asleep."

He said nothing for a long moment. "All right. Though if circumstances were otherwise, I would be sorely tempted to take the other option."

Her mouth opened in shock at the declaration, and Bolin took advantage of the fact to kiss her again, this time teasing his tongue along her bottom lip. Then he did pull abruptly away, and Ciara started to object when a quiet knock sounded on the door. A moment later Nialyne entered with a tray and three steaming mugs.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Berk readjusted the sling cradling his left arm and leaned against the parapet on the west wall. He didn’t actually need it. Ciara's healing spell had done wonders for his wounds. But Sergeant Evan didn't seem to put much faith in Ciara's magical healing
, and insisted on treating Berk despite his objections.

The first rays of the sun sliced across the waking town behind him. Sounds drifted
on the wind; the barking of a dog, a baby crying, the snap of the Imperial banner on the tower above him as the breeze caught it--the city of Broadhead slowly waking up. He only hoped they had slept better than he had.

His gaze drifted down the Southrun, and he shuddered. Not for the first time he thought of
his brother Cadyl. It had been nearly three years since they'd seen each other. Cadyl would be fourteen. The same age Berk had been when he entered the Emperor's service. Not much younger than the boy the marauders had caught and tortured. His hand shook as he wiped his face. It didn't matter how he tried, he couldn't get that image from his head. Couldn't erase the imagined screams. The echoes of them had lingered around the marauder camp like a ghost, and the chieftain had taken far too much delight in giving Berk every gory detail.

And then there were the other memories. First and foremost, his behavior towards Ciara. Goddess's blood, how could he have done such a thing?

"Shouldn't you be resting?"

Berk jumped, his hand dropp
ing to his sword as he whipped around. "Dammit, Sul, you shouldn't sneak up on a person like that."

Sully grinned and passed Berk a steaming mug. "There's a little something extra in there, courtesy of the Commander."

Berk lifted it to his nose and sniffed. The sharp tang of heather wine met his nostrils. "Goddess love him."

"Somebody besides us has to." Sully raised his own cup
in toast and took a drink.

Berk could feel him studying the side of his face and did his damndest not to return the look.

"You need to let it go," Sully said. "Whatever happened there, it's done and buried in the past and you're the stronger for it."

"I know." He shifted the sling, and his gaze ran down the Southrun before he snapped it back.

Sully leaned his elbows on the wall, cradling the mug between his hands and looking at nothing in particular. "We see too much of death when we take up the sword. More than most folks. There's no way we can avoid it. We watch it claim our brothers, we dole it out, and sometimes it walks right up and touches us." He took a long swallow. "It's a scary thing, looking that beast straight in the eyes. It'll put the strongest man on his knees, crying like he just left his mum's teat. No shame in it."

"It's not that," Berk said. Sully gave him another long look but didn't press him, and for a while they drank in silence.

"They had this metal cage," Berk said at last, his voice soft. "Not very big. Maybe as long as I am tall and half that high. Had it raised up on stones with a fire beneath it. They'd caught themselves a messenger, and they put him in there." Berk squeezed his eyes shut, the image so vivid he could make out the charred finger bones wrapped around the steel bars. He looked at Sully unable to keep the quiver from his voice. "He was just a boy, Sul. He couldn't have been much older than Cadyl. They kept him alive for seven days. Seven days. They kept throwing wood on the fire, just enough--when he begged for water they poured it over his skin. They would have kept at it longer, but one of them had enough of his crying, and stoked the fire."

He sucked in a ragged breath and scrubbed a hand over his face. His cheeks were wet. "I can't--I see Cadyl in there. I can even hear him screaming. Every time I close my eyes
--"

Sully laid a hand on his arm. "Cadyl is safe with your father in the Reaches. Whoever the lad was, the Goddess has him now, and all his suffering is forgotten. He'll have a place in the Halls sure enough. We'll see he gets his proper honors when we get back to Nisair."

"He was a boy, Sul. He should've been playing at swords with his friends, or helping his pa with chores. He should never have had to face that. What did he ever do to them? What did he ever do to anyone?" Berk wiped his face again and downed the rest of the contents of his mug, his hand shaking. "How can they hate us that much?"

"They don't see beyond the uniform. It's how they're raised. They're weaned hating the empire no matter what form it takes. A child, an old woman, a soldier--one's the same as the other to them. You've got a real cause to return their hate now. More than most others that'll ever face them, but you can't let it fester. Hate's an ugly thing to carry. It blackens the soul. You're too good a man for that, Berk, and I won't lose you to it."

Thirteen years he and Sully had known one another. Berk had been fresh to the guard and Sully, already a veteran of border skirmishes at the ripe old age of twenty-two, had taken up the role of older brother for a boy trying to fill his father's boots. From friend, to brother, then comrade-in-arms. Berk had no doubt Sully had been instrumental in getting him assigned to Commander Garek's detail. There were few people Berk felt closer to, and fewer still who knew him as well.

He met Sully's honest gaze. "How do you do it?"

"You give it no quarter," his friend said. "You acknowledge it and let it go. Today, Berk. It's what you have right now. You can't do anything for that boy. You can't change what you saw, or what they did to you. Not saying you can ever forget, or that you should. Remember your first bloodying?"

Berk furrowed his brow. "Arrow to the thigh. Hurt like hell."

"You can recall it now, because I brought it up. Do you think about it any other time?"

Berk shrugged. "Not normally."

"That's how you do it."

Which would have been more likely if that were all he needed to bury, if he could look at Ciara without shame and disgust rippling through him. Even thinking about it twisted his stomach into a tight knot.

"There's something else," Sully said, not making it a question. "I'm not prying, but if you need to be out with it, I'm listening."

And Berk wanted to be out with it, but confessing an act that would have gotten him run through had anyone witnessed it--that still would find him on the back end of a blade if the wrong man heard of it--didn't come easy. It wouldn't pass any further than Sully. He didn't need to worry on that score.

"Look, the Commander said you can stay behind if you need," Sully said. "Sergeant Evan wouldn't argue the point. He's not much faith in magical healers, it seems. He'd just as soon see you lying in a bed for a few weeks, mending in 'the usual way' as he put it."

"I don't need to be laying in a bed," Berk said. "I don't even need this sling, but he wouldn't let me out of the infirmary without it. I feel fine. Sore, yet. Muscles are stiff, and my range of motion isn't quite back. But whatever Ciara did--" And why had she done anything to help him when she should hate him?

Berk closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to rid himself of the turmoil of images and emotions. A short, hard laugh escaped him when he thought how much pleasure the marauder chieftain would be getting right now if she knew the hell she'd sunk him into. He owed her. Blood for blood. Not just for himself, but for the messenger and countless other Imperial soldiers that had very likely suffered at her hands. Damn the thousand hells.

"You've just gone round the bend to angry," Sully said, his voice low. "Don't let it take you."

Berk's fingers clenched around his empty mug, and his muscles twitched as he resisted the urge to throw it. "She drugged me. Their chieftain. Something she put on the knife blade. Damn near ripped me apart, but she enjoyed herself." The words came hard and bitter. "When she had her fill, she threw me at Ciara and I tried--" He couldn't look at Sully. "I tried to force myself on her."

Berk felt Sully go still. Down the wall the watch laughed at some shared joke. Further out, the hollow clinking of a cow bell signaled a farmer moving his stock. From the city behind them, a myriad of noises rose with the morning bustle.

"That's not you, Berk."

He scoffed. "Apparently it is."

"Whatever she put on that blade--"

"Wasn't entirely to blame."

Sully let that hang.

"I know you, Berk," he said at last. "A lot of years lay between us. You're one of the most honorable men I know, so I can guess how deep this cuts, but you weren't acting on your own. Not from what you're telling me. And I've not seen that Ciara holds anything against you so I'd say my assumption is right. No matter how you feel about the woman, any woman, you'd never take her against her will. It's just not in you."

"I would have."

"Damnit, Berk, you can't l
ive on what could have happened." Sully's voice sharpened. "It didn't. There's no harm been done, am I right? Suffer some embarrassment, talk to the woman if need be, but don't let it get hold of today. It's not here. It's done."

"Easy to say, Sul."

"Then maybe you ought to stay here for a bit. Come to Nisair when you're feeling better."

Berk narrowed a look at his friend. "Is that what you're going to suggest to the Commander?"

"Not unless you give me cause," Sully said. He rubbed a hand along his jaw. "We're not in the clear until we ride through Nisair's gates, you know that. All of us need to be sharp until then. If that's going to be a problem for you, I've got to say something. If you tell me it's all good, everything gets left up here on the wall. By both of us. Your choice."

"It's all good," Berk said, with more conviction than he felt, but damn the unholies if he'd be left behind like some raw-nerved recruit.

Sully studied him a moment longer, then took Berk's empty mug and gestured toward the stairs. "Then I'm supposed to get you back to Sergeant Evan so he can assure himself you're physically further on the mend than he suspects."

"When are we on the road?"

"Commander says tomorrow morning." Sully put a hand on Berk's shoulder. "You're a better man than you think you are. Stop trying to convince yourself otherwise."

***

Captain Rothel's scouts had spotted a marauder band coming up a shallow draw that ran parallel to the road less than three leagues from Broadhead. A staccato bird call rose above the others, and Bolin glanced to his right. Garek held up five fingers, curled them, five again, curled, then three, followed with a sharp gesture to the left. Thirteen against ten. They had both faced worse odds but rarely with a group of men they didn't know. Of the eight Rothel had suggested for the hunting party, only three were veterans. The other five may have seen a skirmish or two in their escort duties, but he doubted their blades had ever been bloodied.

He started to raise his hand to signal the archers when a familiar tingle slithered up his arm. He waved Garek off and scrambled from his vantage point.

"They're not alone," he said, when the Commander joined him.

"Donovan?"

Bolin shook his head. "His witch."

"Can you handle her?"

"If I know she's here, then she's definitely aware of me," Bolin said.

"Meaning?"

"Our element of surprise no longer exists."

"That's a given, but that's not what I asked."

Bolin stared into the distance. He had the pendant, but using it meant stirring Ciara's power. Even from this distance she'd likely feel it, and he had no idea what the repercussions of that might be. Maybe nothing. Worse case, the total destruction of Broadhead.

"Your failure to answer isn't inciting my confidence."

"I'll keep her busy," Bolin said. "Get a bit of a lead on them again. Get your archers placed. Take them when you see your opening."

"And you?"

"Like I said, I'll keep her busy."

Garek pursed his lips. "Is it wise? Perhaps would be better if we let this opportunity pass."

"Why? So they can meet us somewhere between Broadhead and Nisair?" Bolin shook his head. "We can't risk it. Not with that witch in their midst."