Heir of Hope (Follower of the Word Book 3) Page 16

  Her pulse quickened. Not much longer and she would know. Just a couple more weeks and she would be home.

  She spotted Lore sitting with a group of men on the other side of the fire. His knees were drawn up and his arms lay across his kneecaps. He looked thin, his face weary. His search for Rowen was slowly whittling away at him.

  Nierne clutched her cup. Please, for Lore’s sake, and more, let us find Rowen.

  Laughter and chatter filled the air as more people joined around the bonfire. Roasted meat on sticks was passed around, along with more cups of spiced wine. Wooden bowls full of plump dates, platters topped with sliced white cheese, and hard crusty bread were placed on low tables that had been brought out from the tents.

  A young woman offered Nierne a stick with meat. She took the meat and thanked the woman. She sniffed the meat, then took a small bite. The texture and taste were like poultry, only she hadn’t seen any chickens around. Perhaps some native bird to the desert?

  She took a few more bites, then held the stick to the side. Although famished, the fever had left her weak and unable to eat much in one sitting. She sipped the wine and watched the people.

  There were people of all ages and sizes, at least fifty or more in the tribe. They all shared the same dark hair and rich brown eyes and skin the color of a walnut shell. Their clothes were dark and coarse, mostly handspun. The scarves worn during the day were gone, leaving their dark hair long and wild. Yes, they definitely looked like Caleb’s people.

  Drums and some type of fluted instrument began to play. People sat down and ate. A moment later Caleb joined her. He held a chunk of bread in one hand and a stick of meat in the other. He alternated between the two. Even with the rough surroundings and food, he ate with a certain dignity. Was that because he was a prince, or was he just precise in everything he did?

  She continued to watch him eat until he looked at her and paused. “I’m sorry, did you want something? I saw the meat in your hand, so I thought—”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  He looked at her as if he didn’t believe her. The orange light from the fire made his skin look even darker, and his eyes like black orbs. Caleb could truly be intimidating.

  Except, he wasn’t. Not to her. Not anymore.

  Strange. When did that happen?

  “And how are you feeling?”

  Nierne shrugged. “Just tired. But normal, now.”

  His gaze switched to the meat in her hand. “You should eat more. It will help you gain your strength back.”

  She shrugged again, but raised the stick of meat and took a bite.

  Caleb went back to his own food, his gaze wandering around the campfire and along the people.

  She finished half the meat, then left the stick on the ground. That was all she could muster for the moment.

  A half hour later, people began to gather around the fire. Tables were pulled back. The drums grew louder and another fluted instrument joined the first one.

  Thamina stood before the fire. She had changed. Her hair was loose and fell around her shoulders and down her back in a black cascade. Instead of dark, course clothing, she now wore a long red silk tunic that reached to her knees. Beneath it she wore a matching sarong. Both pieces were trimmed in gold and bells were sown along the hem.

  Nierne shifted and looked away. The outfit reminded her of the blue one she had been forced to wear the night she was sent to Caleb’s room months ago. Only Thamina’s was more modest. Much more.

  The crowd grew quiet. Slowly, Thamina began to move. First her arms, in a fluid motion. Then her body. Then her legs. The bells jingled in sync with the drums. Each minute, she moved faster and faster, weaving around the fire, but never too close. The gold thread glittered in the fire’s light, the bells jingling more rapidly.

  Nierne glanced at Caleb.

  He seemed mesmerized by the dance.

  Frowning, she turned back to Thamina. The woman was now swirling, lifting her hands and throwing back her head. People started clapping. Everything moved in rhythm: her body, the bells, the music, and the people. The music reached a crescendo then stopped. Thamina stopped too, her hands raised, her eyes toward the night sky.

  The entire camp was silent. Thamina looked down and smiled at the crowd. “Come, gather.” She beckoned with her hands. “Let us join and dance.”

  She spotted Caleb and walked over to him. She extended her hand. “Guests first.”

  Caleb shook his head. “I’m not much of a dancer.”

  “That does not matter here. We always celebrate when we reach Merida. Water is the life of the desert. We celebrate that by dancing. You should join us, son of Selene.”

  Caleb shrugged and took her hand. With one swift motion, he was on his feet.

  Thamina led him toward the bonfire, where others were gathering. The music started up again. The group began to move around the fire, slowly at first. As the music increased in tempo, so did the people. Even children joined in.

  Nierne wasn’t sure what to think of it. There was no dancing in the Monastery. She had seen children dance in the streets, but it was not structured, more play than anything. Any real dancing she had only read about in books or scrolls.

  The people moved around the fire like moths around a flame. She spotted Caleb amongst the group. He moved with grace and strength. His muscles, long and lean, moved in perfect rhythm with the music and the people around him. Thamina wove around him, her skirt sweeping past his legs.

  He was . . . beautiful.

  Heat spread across her cheeks, but she could not look away. She watched him with a kind of hunger. They were so different, she and Caleb. He was dark and energetic and passionate. She was pale, meticulous, and from a strict background. So opposite.

  Yet, what would they be like if they were together?

  Nierne sucked in her breath. Where did that come from? The heat from her cheeks spread throughout her body. She took a hasty sip of wine, but she could not shake that thought. Instead, she saw a future, a different one that she had ever imagined. One away from the Monastery, where her vows were never taken.

  As Caleb moved around the fire, she saw him in her future.

  She took another gulp of wine and watched the older women clearing the tables behind her.

  Minutes later the music stopped and so did the people. Laughter and loud talk replaced the music as people went back to their groups and sat down.

  There was movement to her right. Caleb sat down. She turned and found his face a couple inches away. He grinned and looked as if he was about to say something. His scent, a mixture of spice and man, filled her nostrils. She could feel his breath and the heat from his body. The smile on his lips slowly died and his face changed.

  The heat inside her began to churn, from her belly upward. He swallowed, his eyes growing darker. He leaned in closer. Her heart rapped hard against her ribcage, her throat tight. He was so close now his breath brushed her lips and smelled of wine. “Nierne . . .”

  “Nierne should probably rest.”

  Lore’s voice broke the connection between them.

  Caleb sat back as if burned.

  Nierne glanced up at Lore and the heat inside washed away. She felt like a child who had been caught snitching an apple from the Monastery kitchen.

  “You’re right.” Caleb rose to his feet and brushed off his clothing. “She is still recovering.”

  Nierne looked back and forth between the two men, not sure what to think. Her mind was still muddled from moments before, still filled with Caleb’s presence. If only he had leaned in a little bit—

  Her eyes went wide.

  Caleb held out his hand. “Come, I will take you back to our camp.”

  She hesitated, then took it. His hand was warm, almost hot. And strong.

  With one firm pull, he helped her to her feet. They stared at each
other, the heat spreading again across her middle.

  Nierne let go and picked up the blanket that had fallen from her shoulders. Her cheeks and ears burned, and her heart thudded inside her chest. She wanted him to take her hand again, she wanted to see his face—

  No!

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Remember your disciplines. She breathed in slowly through her nose. I can do this. And Lore is here.

  She turned back around.

  Lore took her arm. “I will take Nierne back to our camp. I’m ready to turn in myself.”

  Caleb looked at her, his eyes dark. The fire inside her flared. “Are you sure?” He seemed to be addressing her rather than Lore.

  She nodded, her heart racing. Yes, let Lore take her back. It was safer that way.

  “I’ll watch over her.” Lore exchanged glances with Caleb.

  Nierne narrowed her eyes. What was that about?

  Lore turned her away from the fire and toward the trees. The light from the bonfire grew dimmer the farther they went. Ahead, she could see the pale reflection of the moon across the water’s surface.

  “Are you all right?”

  She considered Lore’s question as she picked her away through the darkness. “Yes, I’m fine.”

  Liar.

  “If you need . . . anything, let me know.”

  Was Lore talking about Caleb? Had he seen them? Yes, he had. Would she have really—? Her face grew hot again. She had never done anything like that in her life. Not even close.

  She touched her cheek. Her skin was feverish beneath her fingers.

  What would the fathers have done if they had seen her? Father Karl? Father Cris? She would have been reprimanded and put on probation.

  Father Reth, however, would have talked to her.

  She hugged the blanket to her chest. I wish you were here.

  Lore placed logs in the fire pit and stuffed dried leaves and twigs beneath them. He brought his flint stone out, struck it twice, and watched the spark fall onto the woodpile. The spark grew into flames and spread.

  He turned back and found Nierne lying on her side, her blanket pulled up across her chest. She watched the flames, a thoughtful expression on her face.

  He moved to her right, unrolled his blanket across the sand, and lay down on his back. The air was cool, but not cool enough yet to need a cover. Away from the bonfire, the stars appeared overhead by the thousands, dotting the night sky. He sighed and placed his hands behind his head.

  Caleb and Nierne were in love. Or at least highly attracted to each other. He had seen enough of his own guards fall for a pretty face to know. But would it last? Only time would tell.

  He glanced at Nierne. Her eyes were closed. Good. She needed sleep. One did not come back from the brink of death brimming with life. Not even an Eldaran. And Nierne was only human.

  He studied her face. She was young and pretty. Smart, clever, and capable too. She would never have made it this far without those qualities. He could see why Caleb would be attracted to her.

  Lore looked back up at the stars and a deep ache spread across his chest. Caleb and Nierne reminded him of his own loss. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  He missed Rowen.

  No, not missed. A person missed a lost a boot or favorite shirt. More like his heart had been ripped in half, but he still lived on. And every beat hurt. Every day, every minute.

  I miss you. He lifted his hand and stretched out his fingers as if he was cupping the night sky. Did Rowen see these same stars tonight? If only he could write a message to her and let her know he was coming.

  Word, please let her be alive.

  Lore tilted his hand. One of the scrolls back home said the Word held the sky in His hand. He looked at his hand, then back at the night sky. How small his hand was compared to the sky. If the Word could hold the sky, just by His words, then He could take care of Rowen. Right?

  He dropped his hand. But what if the Word’s plan for Rowen did not involve her living? Could he give her up if her death saved everyone else?

  The ache came back. He rolled onto his side and crossed his arms, his back to the fire.

  I just want to see her one more time. And tell her that I love her.

  Chapter

  19

  Rowen stood before the mirror. Over the last few weeks, her strength had returned. Her bones no longer protruded and the bags were gone from beneath her eyes. But the scar was still there, right below her chin, ugly and red, like someone had pressed a torch to her throat.

  If only . . .

  She pulled her hair across her neck until the scar was covered. Even then, bits of red skin showed through.

  Rowen spun away from the mirror and went to the wardrobe. She pulled out a blue silk scarf and walked back to the mirror. She wrapped the silk around her neck until it covered all but the highest part of her scar.

  There. The blue from the scarf matched her eyes. Blue, like a bright summer’s day, her father used to say. A heavy lump filled her throat. Father, Lady Astrea, Balint, Aren.

  Lore.

  The lump expanded into her chest.

  Rowen swallowed and turned away. No use pining for what she had lost. It only sapped her strength. And today she would need all her strength to face whatever Valin had planned.

  She braided her hair and let the braid hang over her shoulder. The scarf looked a little odd, but it made her feel less vulnerable.

  She grabbed her grey wrap and headed out the door.

  The hall was dark and silent. She crept out and shut the door behind her. A chill hung in the air. She shivered and hurried down the hall, down the stairs, all the way down to the first floor. The scent of bread hung in the air. Another loaf probably left by the invisible servants.

  As she entered the dining room, a figure moved.

  Rowen clutched her wrap.

  Human, male, medium build, reddish hair.

  Rory.

  She let out her breath. “Rory, you scared me.”

  He didn’t say anything. Instead, he focused on her hand. The one with the metal glove.

  She dropped her hand and took a step back.

  “What is that on your hand?”

  “Rory, please . . .” Her back hit the wall.

  He crossed his arms. “You never did say how you freed me. I thought at first that you had merely found me. But now that I’ve had time to think . . .”

  Black spots appeared across her vision and her heart raced. Cleon from her village. Prince Evander. Almost every human she met. They all feared her once they knew.

  Would Rory fear her too?

  He stepped forward, his gaze pinned to her hand. “So who are you?”

  She didn’t have to tell him. He didn’t know, and he didn’t need to know—

  Lore’s words from over a year ago came rushing back. Is that how you want to live? And more important, is that how you think the Word would have you live?

  No. She closed her eyes and shook her head. No lies.

  “My name is Rowen. I am not from here. I am from the White City. I was brought here because . . .” She held up her hand. “I also have power. The Shadonae thought that by trapping my mark within this metal glove I would be powerless. But I was able to touch you despite the glove. That is how I freed your mind.”

  “Are you one of them?” His voice cracked. “A Shadonae?”

  “No.” Rowen lowered her hand. “I am an Eldaran. A Truthsayer. I reveal the truth inside people. When I touched you, I found the true you beneath the shadows of memories and I showed you who you really are.”

  “I—I remember that. The light, and the memories. That was you?”

  “Yes.”

  His face grew hard. “How do I know I can trust you? How do I know this is reality and not the other memories?”

 
; “You don’t. You have to choose which you will believe.”

  Rory glanced at her hand again.

  “Perhaps if you heard my story, you would understand.”

  Rory leaned against the wall. “I’m listening.”

  “It all started the day I touched a man in my village . . .” Rowen spoke in a quiet voice, reliving memories from over a year ago. They were less painful now–less of a wound and more like a scar across her soul. Every few minutes she checked down the hall for Valin, but the front door remained shut.

  Rory listened, his arms uncrossing and sliding to his side. His posture relaxed and his eyes widened when she reached the part about saving the White City. But he made no comment.

  She shared about her time in Temanin, and how she was forced to heal for Drake.

  He held up his hand. “Hold on. I don’t understand. Why didn’t you run? With that kind of power, I would have destroyed Drake and anyone else in my way and run.”

  Rowen froze. With that kind of power . . . I would have destroyed . . .

  Wasn’t that what the Shadonae did?

  She crossed the room and took a seat in one of the chairs. For the last few weeks Valin had used the words we and us. She had dismissed them, but now . . .

  Was the only difference between her and Valin . . . their names and choices?

  Shaken, she pressed her hands together in her lap. “I could have. I thought about it.” She stared at the metal glove. “But to use my power like that would have changed me.” A shiver ran down her back. “It would have made me into a monster.”

  “Like them. Like the Shadonae.”

  Rowen swallowed. “Maybe.”

  “How did you end up here in Thyra?”

  “I . . . um . . .” Rowen took a deep breath and slowly drew back into her story, ending with Valin imprisoning her hand in the metal glove. But she couldn’t shake the connection now between her and Valin.

  “How do you not become like them? Like Valin and Malchus.”

  Rowen glanced at the window. There was no rain today, but it was still dark and cloudy. “The Word,” she said softly.