Sword's Call (13 page)

“Aye, I assumed you called me for a reason.” Jorrin’s father’s voice was steady and even, his accent revealing he was a man from the far north, though it wasn’t as thick as the elf wizard’s.

“Yes, we do have a great deal to discuss.” Cera’s words repeated the only statement Jorrin had made since his father rode into the clearing.

She glanced at Jorrin, but he was studying his boots. Her stomach fluttered, and she clenched her fist at her side instead of reaching for his hand like she wanted to. He’d probably push her away, anyway. Her eyes smarted and she swallowed against the lump in her throat.

“Let’s go inside then,” Hadrian said, gesturing to his home.

She nodded, meeting the elf’s eyes before looking at Jorrin’s father. He offered her a small smile, which she returned.

Braedon’s appearance meant returning to her original plans and dark thoughts.

Hadrian had said the half-elf’s father was her only hope.

Cera was going to see about that.

****

Jorrin kicked himself. He was acting like a spoiled child.

His father had been at Hadrian’s cabin for two whole days. Two days of briefing, planning various strategies, approaches, and strong magic . . . but not two days of catching up on lost time and getting to know the man he’d left his childhood home to find.

Since reaching adulthood, he’d not had ill feelings toward his father. Selfish childhood desires were in the past.

The bitterness at Braedon’s physical appearance was a shock.

Fear and hurt had hit him, made him want to recede into the shadows. He was that abandoned little boy all over again and afraid if he said anything to Braedon, he’d have regretted it.

So, he’d remained silent, letting Hadrian and his father catch up happily, which had only irritated him even more.

Cera and Avery liked his charming father, too. They’d talked, laughed and eaten, all at ease with each other, as if they had known one another forever.

Shaking his head, he cursed himself.

Why couldn’t he have loosened up then?

He’d been quiet, unlike himself, staying in the corner near the fireplace, even sitting on the hearth next to the white wolf.

Every time he’d looked at him, Trikser had just thumped his tail and met his eyes.

Ironic.

Jorrin might’ve been amused at another time.

All the words he’d wanted to say to his father had dissolved on his tongue.

Even now, he was brooding outside Hadrian’s cabin at the edge of the woods, his hand buried in Grayna’s mane. She pawed the ground and bumped his other hand with her nose until he caressed her.

Smiling, he rested his forehead on her wider one. Jorrin suppressed the urge to throw his arms around her neck like a child. He hadn’t spent time with his horse since before he’d met up with Cera, and he missed it tremendously. The mare always calmed him.

“When are you going to give me a chance to talk to you? I’ve waited for two days, and I don’t want to wait any longer to talk to my son.”

Jorrin jumped. He’d not heard his father approach. “Two days? What about twenty turns?” He didn’t bother looking over his shoulder.

“I deserve that, but then again, you don’t know the whole story. Hadrian shared with me what he told you, what your mother told you, and let’s face it, it wasn’t much.” Though Braedon spoke calmly, Jorrin sensed hurt his father wasn’t trying to hide.

He should let it go, be grateful his father was with them, but a part of him wouldn’t let that happen. “What’s there to know? You left, and we were forced to cope without you.” Jorrin also didn’t bother to hide his emotions.

Highly trained, highly skilled empath, so why not give him the onslaught?

Emotions could tell his father how he was feeling much more than any words he could form.

“But you did. You and your mother were
always
survivors,” Braedon said, his tone irritatingly patient. “That’s how I knew you two would be all right. And you
were.”
He sucked in a breath, betraying some of the calm in his voice. “Did she tell you I
had
to leave? They were after me. They would’ve killed both of you. The two I love,
not
loved,
more than anything
else in this world.”

“Who is
they?
I’m always hearing about
they,
but no one can, or will, tell me about
them.
So how
am I supposed to begin to understand why my father was
forced
to go away from me?” Jorrin whirled on his father, looking him in the eye for the first time since he arrived at Hadrian’s.

“
They
have another time and place. We have important things to do for your lovely Lady Ryhan. I know you understand that. I hope you won’t hate me forever. I promise I’ll tell you everything you ever wanted to know about me and why I had to leave, but not now.” Braedon paused, sighing. “I didn’t want to go, Jorrin. I love you. I love your mother, too. I never have and never
will
love another woman.”

“I have nothing more to say to you then.”

Assurances of love from the man meant nothing. Jorrin had to have information to accept any of his father’s justifications.

Braedon closed his eyes, pain radiating from him.

Sorrow and regret hit Jorrin’s empathic senses in waves, making his head throb.

Damn him.

Damn the magic he’d inherited from him, too.

Neither of them spoke.

Jorrin turned back to Grayna.

Braedon retreated, the door to the cabin opening and closing with a small thud that resounded in his temples.

He closed his eyes and buried his face against his dappled mare. “That went well.”

“Jorrin?”

Jorrin winced. He hadn’t heard Cera’s approach, either.

Why won’t everyone just leave me alone?

He’d not spoken to her since she’d answered his confession with the one word that cut him deeper than any ballad of rejection ever could have. He was as frustrated with her as he was with Braedon.

What was he supposed to say to her?

He was tired of her
not
wanting him.

“What is it, Cera?” Jorrin whirled on her like he had his father.

Her eyes widened and her face flushed. “I . . . I just . . . ” Cera’s voice wobbled. Then she clenched a fist, and her mouth set in a firm line. “Never mind. Talk to me when you’re not an idiot.”

Jorrin’s heart sank.

No. This isn’t how I want it.

As she turned away, his hand shot forward. Touching her sent an electric charge up his arm and he stared at his fingers enclosing her slender wrist.

Her skin was soft and he wanted to explore her more, pull her into his arms and kiss her, beg her to be with him. “Cera, I’m sorry.”

She shook her head and yanked away.

Jorrin released her and tried to cup her face, but she turned and backed away, squeezing her eyes shut, tears shining on her cheeks.

He was an arse.

A total arse
.

He couldn’t stand to see her cry, yet he was here, causing her tears when she already had so much to deal with?

“Cera, I’m sorry,” Jorrin repeated, but she still wouldn’t look at him.

She shook her head once more, rushing away as Braedon had, slamming the cabin door.

Great,
now everyone would know what an idiot he was.

Just what he deserved, right?

Jorrin’s vision blurred.

Crying?

Are you really crying?

As he belittled himself for not being much of a man, he took a few steps backward and leaned heavily on Grayna.

She whinnied, but the notion didn’t give him any comfort.

What the hell was he supposed to do now?

Chapter Ten

Cera sat at Hadrian’s small table, not really a part of the conversation. The past day and a half a whirlwind, she was locked in some sort of haze she couldn’t escape.

Braedon and Hadrian were deep in discussion, a map of Tarvis laid out before them.

They were pointing and nodding, but she couldn’t recall a word.

She couldn’t clear her mind, couldn’t focus on the task at hand. And she needed desperately to do so. Guilt crept up from the pit of her stomach.

A door closed, jarring her, as Avery entered the small cabin. His face was flushed, he looked flustered, but he said nothing as he took a seat at the table next to Hadrian.

She remained silent while her cousin jumped right into the talks.

More guilt assaulted her.

Avery agreed to something almost immediately.

Then three sets of eyes turned, staring.

Had Hadrian addressed her?

Why hadn’t she heard him the first time?

“Wouldn’t you agree, lass?” The wizard’s clear blue eyes accessed.

Cera shifted in her seat and exchanged a glance with her cousin.

Avery’s head was cocked, his eyes wide.

“What was the question?” Her cheeks burned.

Hadrian smiled.

Stop looking at me like I’m five turns old.

Braedon sat across from her, gazing with what could only be considered fatherly concern.

She shifted in her seat again then screamed at herself to sit still.

What is wrong with me?

“I was trying to decide the best manner to enter the Province. Avery thinks from the Southgate, farthest from the castle. Although, indeed it may be safer, it would be the most ground to cover.” Hadrian tapped Tarvis Southgate on the map for effect, and Cera focused on it.

The parchment looked old and fragile, which was akin to how she was feeling.

She gulped and then wanted to cringe. “Avery thinks it’s best?”

“As do I,” Braedon said.

Her gaze shot to his amber eyes, and suddenly she was unable to look away. Though a different color, they were the exact same shape of Jorrin’s. Her heart raced, starting an unpleasant ache in her chest. She wanted to rub the spot, but didn’t. Clasping her hands tight on her lap, she chided herself to calm down.

The haze started to consume her again, and she had to concentrate to clear her head enough to answer the three people who were expecting her input.

This was her quest, after all.

“I’ll agree with what you think is best,” she whispered.

Sympathy and fatherly concern consumed Braedon’s expression again, and tears sprang to her eyes.

She needed
out.

“Excuse me, I need some air.” Jumping up, Cera shoved the chair away from the table so hard it toppled. She winced as it clattered to the floor.

Fleeing, she didn’t pause to pick it up, already sobbing before she hit the door.

Trikser shot out the doorway behind her just in time to miss the slam she hadn’t meant to cause.

What could she do?

Where she could go?

It wasn’t like she could grab Ash and Trikser and leave. She needed every person in that cabin, and they knew it, too. She even needed the person who was absent from the cabin, the person who was causing Cera’s haze.

Hadrian’s small barn was the only refuge she could find. As she threw herself into a pile of hay, Trikser came along, lying down flush to her body.

His mind was quiet, but he wrapped her in feelings of love that only made Cera cry harder.

She buried her face in his furry warmth, sinking her hands into his white mane.

He whined and licked her ear, but she didn’t take any comfort.

Jorrin hadn’t spoken to her in two days, since she’d tried to check on him by Hadrian’s barn and he’d ended up crushing her, but he hadn’t
really
conversed with her since before that, when she’d hurt his feelings by the woodpile.

The back and forth was killing her.

She hurt him, he hurt her. His confession wasn’t a surprise, but hearing the words had jarred her. Pushed one word from her lips that he’d taken the wrong way . . . but had he?

Cera didn’t know what to say to him anyway. Admitting she cared about him was just too hard, wasn’t it?

Coward.

Going outside after Braedon’s dejected reentry of Hadrian’s cabin, she’d only wanted to make sure Jorrin was all right. Talk to him, maybe even try to explain something of her feelings, if she could’ve mustered the courage.

What did she get instead?

Disaster
.

And more hurt. Now he wouldn’t even look at her.

Was her mission really the only thing keeping her away from Jorrin?

Getting close to people had always been a struggle. She was highborn. Female, so there were even more specific things that were expected of her. Childhood had consisted of that knowledge being drilled into her. She’d grow up, marry a nobleman, and bear children. It was the cycle of those with land and titles.

Cera respected duty and what was required of her. For the most part she’d never even questioned it. Her parents had expected her understanding, while not inhibiting who she was. She’d been lucky in that.

Then again, she didn’t fit into the mold of the highborn heiress, duke’s daughter.

She’d always been a tomboy, climbing trees and playing with wooden swords as a child, even challenging the boys to countless duels. She won most of the time, too. It’d gotten so they would even refuse to spar with her until she’d pulled rank, and they’d have to.

One corner of her mouth lifted at the memory.

Learning to ride younger than most girls, she’d rarely worn dresses. Her father had never discouraged her, and her mother had teased she should have been born a boy.

Kait had been the dainty one. She crushed her eyes shut. Her sister had been as girly as Cera was not. Always wanting a new gown, a new hairstyle, fascinated by pretty, shiny things. Jewels, broaches and hair ornaments.

Her younger sister had never even worn a pair of breeches. Kait had always asked for lavish, flowing and embroidered gowns. The more shimmery the fabric, the better.

Their seven turn age difference was obstacle enough to seeing eye-to-eye with her little sister, but Cera had still adored her, despite their diverse interests. The older Kait got, the more they’d really talked.

Varthan had stolen that from her, the bastard.

She’d never see her sister into adulthood, never be a true friend to her.