Wielder of Tiren (The Raven Chronicles Book 3) (6 page)

Chapter Twelve

A
rwenna sat in the sheltered area near the stern of the ship, watching the coast move by with a wary eye. The sailing was smooth. So far.

              “I was sorry to hear of your husband’s passing, Daughter.” Captain Wolfgang’s deep voice drew her attention. Moving her feet aside, she gave him room to sit on the bench with her. “I did not know him well,” he said as he lowered himself to sit, “but what I knew was good.”

              She allowed a small smile to cross her lips. “Thank you, Captain. He would’ve been pleased to know you thought well of him. I think he always wished he’d been able to set sail more than he did.”

              He chuckled. “That doesn’t surprise me. He wasn’t one to stay in his cabin, even when the seas were rough. Not even six years ago, when I ferried him to Oranji in the middle of a hurricane, did he remain below decks.”

              “What? Help me understand this, Captain. I never knew he’d been to Oranji after we all came back on our first voyage with you.”

              Wolfgang started. “Really? He said he was working on something for you. Something about your family history. Said he had to go back to the cave you all found when you were there before.”

              Arwenna tried to think. Joss had never said anything about going back to the cave. True, he rarely spoke of what he did when he was the Summer King for Lexi, but to tell the Captain it had to deal with her and not tell her. “I must be getting old, Captain.” She chuckled slightly. “I can’t recall what he would’ve been referring to.”

              Shrugging, he brushed off her words. “Nothing major, I’m sure. He found whatever it was he was looking for, got back on board, and then said he planned on visiting his son for a time.” He looked out across the deck of his ship. “The Cygnet’s making good time. I think I’ll go chat with Ramberti for a few. See if he wants to drop anchor or surprise everyone in Tanisal with a nighttime docking.” He rose, tipping his hat at Arwenna in farewell.

              She went back to watching the coastline, but really didn’t see anything. What had Joss been doing when he went back to the cave where they’d found Tiren? And what did it have to do with her?

              Her eyes sought out Liam. He sat with the other young members of their party near the starboard rail. There was something about how he sat, the look on his face as Hala pointed to something on the shore, that reminded her of Joss. More to the point, how Joss looked at her when they were first reunited. The girls from the Stronghold would be sorely disappointed when he came back from this journey. Hala had his heart, even if she didn’t know it.

              He turned his head, catching her gaze. What prompted him to rise and come her way, Arwenna had no clue. But he was so much like Joss. Both of them could read her even if her face was marble.

              Liam sat next to her, his elbows resting on his knees. Ever direct, he didn’t hesitate to speak. “What’s wrong, Mom? The others may not see it, but I do. There’s something you don’t know and it’s killing you.”

              She laughed, “Did your father teach you that trick? The two of you are the only ones I could never hide from.”

              A slight blush crept across his cheeks, “There may have been a discussion or two, yes. But only because he wanted me to be able to take care of you if he couldn’t. Which meant learning when you were hiding something.”

              “Like how you’re hiding how you feel about Hala?”

              The red flush grew more pronounced on Liam’s face. “Eventually, she and I will talk about it. But now doesn’t seem to be the time. It’s bad enough for Sera to be prancing about with Kial on her arm. You don’t need two more lovesick puppies on this trip.”

              “What I need, Liam, is to be home with your father. That’s not happening any more. Besides, you two are far more levelheaded than Sera. Kial’s currently terrified of me, and what I can do to him. And I doubt Y’Dürkie or Hugh will argue with you courting Hala, if she’ll have you.”

              He turned, placing one leg up on the bench and leaning against the wall of the shelter. “That’s all well and good, and there may be a discussion or two between Hala and myself before we get home, but you’re evading my question. What’s wrong?”

              Arwenna laughed for the first time in weeks. “Fine, since you won’t leave this alone. Six years ago, when you first started your apprenticeship, did your father come see you that summer?”

              Liam shrugged, “Yes. He came every summer.”

              “This time would’ve been different. Did he ever mention visiting Oranji, or the cave where we first found Tiren? The one where Lexi brought him back as her Son?” She’d shielded her children from some of what happened, left out details, but they knew about Joss’ return. And most of the events leading up to it.

              His brow furrowed in thought. “There was one visit, yes. The time would’ve been right. He talked about visiting with what was left of Tiren’s mate, Trieste. Said there was part of the story missing, and he knew the whole truth now. He gave me a strange
bar of metal, told
me I’d know when to use it. Then he left.”

              “Did he tell you the story?”

              “No. He didn’t. Or, if he did, I don’t remember it.”

              Arwenna knew she’d give herself a headache trying to force a memory that wasn’t hers. Whatever Joss found out, he took it with him. Krilln would know. If she saw the Aeshor again, she’d need to ask him. “What happened to the steel?”

              “That’s easy to answer. Three years ago, when Hala was getting ready to go to Almair, Y’Dürkie found me in our home in the Stronghold. Tiren had told her it was time to leave her, have another Wielder. I was told to make a dagger for Hala. It felt right to pull out that bar and use it. So, I did.”

              “Did your father say anything about the steel that you remember?”

              He paused. “He called it the ‘heart of the matter’.”

* * * * *

              Heavy raindrops pelted the deck and shore alike. Small bursts of dust
dotted the shore, kicked up from the force of the storm as the earth welcomed the moisture. It’d been a hot summer, and the land had
suffered for it.

              She drew her cloak a little tighter about her shoulders. The temperature had dropped significantly in the last half hour, between the storm and setting sun.

              They’d passed a small village about two hours earlier, docked long enough to take on a few provisions. Arwenna elected to stay on board while Sera and the rest went to stretch their legs on solid ground. It was the same place she, Barek, and Y’Dürkie went to after she buried Joss the first time.

              “You are melancholy again, sister. This is not a good think.” Y’Dürkie’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

              Shrugging, she didn’t turn around. “Does it matter? It’s going to be a long time before I don’t see him everywhere.”

              “It does matter. I do not tell you not to grieve. Ve all miss him. But your children need you now. Senyan vill not lay down and vait for you to kill him. He vill insist on a chase, one he has the advantage in. One he can take his revenge on you durink.”

              She turned to face her friend. “Have no worries on that. If it’s a chase he wants, fine. The end is all that matters.” She reached back, settling the hood of her cloak on her head.

“Sister,” Y’Dürkie called out after her. “Do not do vhat you must for vengeance. If you do, then he vins. It vill destroy your soul. I vould not vish that on anyone.”

Arwenna paused, one hand resting on the framework of the door leading down to the cabins. “But I already lost my heart, Y’Dürkie. Why not my soul?” Turning, she descended the ladder and retreated to her cabin.

Chapter Thirteen

R
ain pelted the leaded glass pane, masking the view of the harbor. Curtis swore under his breath. His spies told him that Ramberti was coming by sea, not overland with his entourage. And that wench was with him. The storm would keep him from spying the ship as it pulled up to the dock. Keep him from being ready.

              “Your meal is here, Your Excellency. Shall I have the servants wait until you’re done and remove the dishes?”

              Curtis turned from the window, “No. Just leave everything where it is. I’ll call if I need you.” He watched as his manservant ushered out the rest of the staff.

              He had to admit, the chef here was good. The aromas drifting up from the domed tray tempted his appetite.

              “I’m surprised at you, Curtis. Your King is on death’s threshold, your hold as successor is not secure. And the women who slaughtered your son are coming to keep you from it. Yet you can still eat.” The mocking voice seeped from the darkest corner of the room.

              He raised the lid covering the food, placing it on the table. The bowls beneath was piled high with roast beef, gravy, and vegetables. “Bohrs died because of his own stupidity. He had no control over his appetites. I, on the other hand, know the meaning of discretion.” He put a healthy portion of food onto a warm plate and grabbed a fork and knife before walking over to a seat near the fire.

              He didn’t look at his visitor as he placed his food down on a small table next to a comfortable leather-clad chair. “If you’re hungry, there’s more over there,” he waived back toward the sideboard with the food. Lowering himself into his seat, he continued, “Or was that something Arwenna stole from you?” He knew he was goading Senyan, but didn’t care.

              The pact between the two of them was one of convenience, not respect. He needed Senyan to get the crown. And Senyan needed him to get to Arwenna, and his son. The Daughter and her barbarian sister were the only ones alive who knew what happened to the boy. Maybe once they both had what they wanted he could teach those two women a lesson on what it meant to live in fear.

              It was true, what he told Senyan. Bohrs let his obsession with Arwenna drive him to madness. Having Y’Dürkie shove that
flaming sword of hers down his gullet was the end he deserved. And he’d be sure to give her a death worthy of such a warrior. Arwenna, however—she was
a different story.

              Merelle accepted the foundling immediately, never questioning how she was orphaned. Or the small things he’d done to hide her Mark. Above all, he’d insisted that she be raised in the faith Merelle clung to. Never understanding that her husband and son followed another, or that they were grooming Arwenna to do the one thing they couldn’t. Start a war between the Gods themselves.

              It should’ve worked. With Hauk and Silas at each other’s throats for ‘stealing’ her, Corse should’ve been able to take over the world. Lu’Thare, his Son and Herald, had transformed into Senyan. Become the soulless leader of their cause.

              But then Arwenna regained her memory. Lexi, that damned cousin of hers, found her and brought Hauk. Silas, instead of insisting she was His, begged for forgiveness and purged the Corrupted from His church. He shuddered involuntarily. The memory of that night haunted him. He and a handful escaped, hid. The numbers of the cult cut down to barely a score of dedicated ones. Lucky ones.

              “And now Corse is dead. The only path to the power he held is for one of his Sons to die. We cannot share the magic. It belongs to one and one alone.” Senyan’s voice interrupted Curtis’ thoughts.

              “You seem to read minds well enough,” his voice, filled with distaste, snapped at his companion.

              Senyan shifted in his chair. “Not really. You’re as easy to read as your son was. At the end of the day, neither of you can stand the idea that a woman has that much power. That much control over her own life. To be honest, I rather admire what she did to Bohrs. She drove him insane simply by telling him no.”

              Curtis thrust himself from the chair and returned to his post by the window. The storm raged even stronger than before.

              “Bohrs was a fool. I tried to turn him from that path, knowing well how it would end up for him. But he only saw a prize for the taking.” His breath fogged up the glass, cold from the rain pelting it on the other side. “He didn’t see the one way to turn her into the obedient pet he wanted.”

              “And you know how?” Senyan’s voice, mocking, carried across the room.

              “Oh, yes. I know how.”

              He heard Senyan rise from the chair he’d occupied. “Then I suggest you start working this plan of yours. She’s here.”

              Curtis swung his head about, looking at Senyan. “How do you know?”

              The pale-haired man smirked. “That remains my secret. For now.” He bowed slightly at his waist. “I beg your leave, Your Excellency. But it’s past time I depart. It would not be good for me to be found in your company. Not until after your coronation, of course.”

              Curtis watched the man disappear, his mind trying to decipher why he felt like the title Senyan had used was an insult. Shaking his head, he gave up. Anything that man said was full of half-truths and misinformation.

              He crossed the room to an ornately carved wooden box. Lifting the lid, his hands reached in to remove the simple coronet inside. Setting the silver circlet on his brow, he imagined the weight of the kingdom crown resting there instead. Soon, as long as he could keep the King and Ramberti apart.

              His boots rang against the marble floor as he headed to the Royal apartments. He had to get to the King’s bedside before that fool from Almair. Or delay Ramberti somehow. The Duke was his closest rival, and letting him meet with the King alone could undermine everything Curtis had put into place.

              Rounding the final corner, he slowed down. A group of people, cloaks dripping water into puddles on the marble floor, stood before the King’s chamber. He was too late.

              Taking his time, he studied the group before they noticed him. Ramberti and his wife weren’t there. Odds were good they were in with the King. Y’Dürkie and that hulking blacksmith she married were there. No real surprise. Arwenna always had someone nearby to do her dirty work for her. What with that half-orc she’d run with dead, her adoptive sister was the last one willing to follow her when she snapped her fingers.

              The quartet of younger folk were a bit harder to identify. Two of them, a boy barely able to shave and a girl just out of her teens, the black hair on both betraying their parentage. Those two had to be Arwenna’s children. He filed the information in his head, knowing he’d need to know them by sight. Depending on how enthralled they were with their parents
would determine the approach he used. They were old enough to be rebellious, reckless.

              The other girl, with the dark red hair. She had to be the barbarian’s whelp. She moved like a warrior trained. And just as likely to slip a knife between his ribs as give him the time of day.

              He turned his attention to the last one of the group. His hood remained up, with his back to Curtis. About the only thing he could tell was he was tall, and hovered as close as he could get to Arwenna’s daughter.

              The blacksmith pointed at him. He put a smile on his face, approaching them with his hands spread wide. “Arwenna, my daughter! You should’ve told me you were coming.”

              She turned to face him, her features hardening at his approach. “I am not your daughter, Curtis.”

              The other one turned at the sound of her voice, his hood slipping from his pale, strawberry blonde hair. His features spoke volumes to Curtis. Senyan was right. Arwenna would bring his son to him.

              “Really, Arwenna. How can you say that? Merelle would be crushed if she knew you turned your back on the years we cared for you.” He chided her, watching the anger flare in her eyes as he walked closer to her.

              “Your wife cared for me well enough, Curtis. But you are not now, nor were you ever, my family.”

              He feigned a resigned sigh
. “If that is your will, who am I to argue with a Daughter of Hauk?” He
clapped his hands together, the sound echoing in the hallway. “But surely you are tired from your journey. Has His Grace retired already? I can summon someone to show you to your quarters for the night. Your arrival is earlier than we anticipated.”

              “His Grace has presented himself to His Majesty as requested. And we know where we’ll be staying, Curtis. I seriously doubt we’ll need your assistance for anything while we’re here.” She stormed past him, the others trailing behind her.

              “Oh, I don’t know about that, Arwenna.” He whispered. “I’m sure you’re going to see me far more than you could possibly hope to.”