Daughter of Light (Follower of the Word Book 1) Page 23

  Rowen leaned toward Lore and cupped her mouth. “I thought our visit was supposed to be a secret.”

  “It was. But apparently word got out.”

  “So what do we do now?” she asked.

  “Stay near Lady Astrea. Let no one near her. And keep your eyes open.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Rowen placed her hand on the hilt of her sword.

  Lore let his horse fall back until he was next to Lord Gaynor again. The high lord’s face was pale, whether from fear or anger, he didn’t know. Probably anger. But Lord Gaynor kept his head high as they rode through the gates and down the main street toward the castle ahead.

  • • •

  Caleb Tala stood with the crowd that eagerly awaited the party from the White City. His clothes were dark colored and ragged, much like the men around him. A hat covered his dark hair and shaded his eyes.

  Across the street, people lined up in front of storefronts and houses. The only splash of color in the city was the deep sea-green banners that some had hung outside their windows and blue kerchiefs a couple women waved in the air. All the greens, greys, and blues made him wish for Temanin.

  Soon, Caleb reminded himself. And this job would make that day come faster.

  He congratulated himself on obtaining not only the time of Lord Gaynor’s visit, but the exact room he would be staying in at the castle, thanks to young Tristan a few nights ago. Now he stood, waiting to catch a glimpse of the man he would soon kill.

  The people crowded around him, bumping him. Caleb inched his way toward the side of a nearby building. Crowds always made him nervous, probably because he knew how easy it was in a crowd to slip up behind someone, plunge a dagger in just the right spot, then back away before anyone knew what had happened. Not that anyone was looking for him in this mass of people. But just the same, he felt better having his back up against the protective surface of stone.

  Caleb glanced over the heads around him and watched the entourage approach the castle. All of them were wearing traveling garb, nothing ostentatious that would give hint that they were royalty from the White City. But word had leaked who they were, and, honestly, it did not take a trained eye to see that the people approaching the castle were not common.

  The man in the middle of the entourage caught his eye: Lord Gaynor.

  A small smile crept across Caleb’s face. Lord Gaynor rode stiffly through the crowd with two men beside him and one behind him. His varors. But they were no match for Caleb. He had slipped past tighter security than that—

  A warm haze brushed across his mind.

  Caleb went rigid. He backed up against the wall and reached for his dagger. His eyes darted from Lord Gaynor to the crowd. Everyone stood around him, cheering. The feeling grew stronger, like a warm wind flowing through his mind. A seed of panic took root inside his chest. He gripped his dagger. The world began to spin around him, colors and people fading in and out.

  Caleb let go of the dagger and reached for the wall instead. His fingers felt cold stone, but he could not see it. All he could see was a sandy mass swirling in front of him. He could hear someone speaking to him, but the words were garbled, as if he were listening underwater.

  Then everything went black.

  Caleb tried to speak but found his mouth would not move. He could hear nothing, save the rapid beat of his heart. He strained against the darkness, hoping to see something. A small speck of light appeared in the distance.

  His mind scrambled to find an explanation for this strange phenomenon. The light slowly moved toward him. It grew and expanded until suddenly Caleb realized that the light he saw was…a woman.

  Paralyzed, Caleb watched the woman approach him. Slowly she lifted her hand and reached toward him. Bright light radiated from her palm.

  Show him the truth.

  Caleb could hear the words echoing in the darkness and through his mind. The woman’s hand drew near his cheek. He shivered. Even his nightmares never left him feeling this terrified. Caleb tried to back away, to shout, to do anything, but he could not move, not even his head. The woman’s hand reached for his face, as if to give him a lover’s caress. Closer, closer….

  Then he found himself staring at a beige stone wall. Caleb blinked.

  “Are you all right?” a voice said next to him. Caleb turned to find an old man staring at him. “Perhaps you need to see a healer—”

  “I’m fine.” Caleb took a step back. People were mingling around him, some staring at him, others going about their business.

  “But you were—”

  “I said I’m fine!” Caleb glared at the old man.

  The old man shook his head. “If you say so…”

  “Yes.”

  The man shook his head again. “People these days…” The old man shuffled away.

  Fighting the urge to turn and run, Caleb clamped down on his feelings and began to walk back through the dwindling crowd toward the gate that led to the port.

  What in all the Lands was going on with him? How could he be having nightmares in broad daylight? Caleb sidestepped a crate full of fish, and hurried through the gate. A sea of grey flowed gently between wooden walkways. What was wrong with him? And who was that woman?

  Show him the truth.

  What truth? He knew who he was, what he was. An assassin. With a mission tomorrow that would require his full attention. Caleb stopped and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and mentally shoved the disturbing vision deep into the dark recesses of his mind. Dwelling on the dream would only hinder him.

  Satisfied it would stay back, Caleb opened his eyes. Determination filled his heart and soul. Time to report back to his men and perform this operation.

  • • •

  Rowen gripped her head. Show him the truth. The words echoed inside her mind until they shouted above every other thought. Show him the truth. Then they faded into a whisper, finally drifting away on the salty air.

  “Rowen!”

  Rowen snapped her eyes open. She found herself in her saddle, her hands still gripping the reins. A massive fortress-looking castle stood before her, the color of fresh milled wheat. Along the wall facing her was a double set of doors. Windows lined the second story. Sandstone walls surrounded the perimeter. Packed dirt covered the ground.

  “Rowen!” said the voice again.

  Rowen turned and found Lady Astrea bringing her horse up beside hers. “Are you all right? I called to you, but you kept riding.”

  Rowen shook her head as if to clear it. She could not remember how she had gotten here, or where here was. “I—I think so.”

  “Lady Astrea.” Both women turned. Lore stood behind them. “Please excuse us for a moment. I need to speak with Rowen.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Lady Astrea steered her horse away.

  Rowen grabbed her saddle and swung her leg around to dismount. A pair of hands grasped her by the middle and helped her down from her horse.

  “What happened?” Lore said, removing his hands. Rowen turned around. She could see creases of worry across his forehead.

  “I blacked out for a moment.” And more, but she wasn’t ready to tell Lore that. She was still trying to work it out herself.

  He stared at her, searching her face.

  Heat filled her cheeks. Lore thought something was wrong with her, Rowen realized, staring up into his grey eyes. Wait…grey eyes? Weren’t his eyes green?

  “Rowen, I need you to tell me the truth. Can you handle your duties as Lady Astrea’s varor during this trip or not?”

  Rowen took a moment to assess her mind and body. She felt normal again. No visions, no words, no blackout. Just fatigue. “Yes.” She looked back up into his face. “I’m fine now.”

  Lore sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, then, you’re free to return to Lady Astrea. But the moment you feel…anything…you need to let me know.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Lore looked like he was going to say more. Instead he motioned toward Lady Astrea. “You are
free to go.”

  “Yes, Captain.” Rowen grabbed her pack from her horse and quickly moved toward Lady Astrea, who stood waiting beside the double doors. She hoped that whatever had caused her to black out would not happen again.

  • • •

  Lore watched Rowen cross the courtyard, wondering if he had made the right decision. There had been a moment when he’d almost demanded that Rowen see a healer, but he instantly realized it would not be Captain Lore requesting this, but the man Lore. And that had stayed his tongue.

  He watched the two women enter the castle. His feelings for Rowen were starting to affect his decisions as her captain. That worried him. Never had a woman distracted him so much.

  Lore grabbed his pack and headed inside the castle. Three halls diverged from the main hall. He went right, following the sand colored walls. Intersecting circles were carved into white molding that followed the ceiling. Marble floors flecked with rose and gold veins twinkled beneath silver candelabras. A hint of rose hung in the air.

  Rowen was off limits, Lore reminded himself. She was under his command as Lady Astrea’s varor. And, as far as he knew, she was not a Follower of the Word. A bonding between them would be in body and heart only, but never in spirit.

  Lore shifted his pack across his shoulders. A partial bonding would eventually tear them apart. He had seen it happen before. Besides—he ran a hand through his hair—would Rowen want a man like him? A man fifteen years her senior or more?

  Lore dropped his hand and sighed. As much as his heart desired Rowen, there were things far worse than loving a woman from afar.

  But his heart twisted in hope just the same.

  18

  Lore stood in front of Lord Gaynor’s guest quarters in Avonai the following day. Guard duty was not one of his usual jobs, but Lord Gaynor needed time alone to prepare for that evening, and, having just dismissed Aren and Justus, Lore found himself the only varor on duty.

  He rolled his shoulders, then his neck, hearing his joints pop as he did so. He shifted his legs. Anyone who thought the job of Captain of the Guard was glamorous never had to stand and guard a door for any length of time. It made him appreciate all the more the guards who did this on a daily basis back at Celestis Castle.

  He studied the circles carved into the white molding along the ceiling. Each circle interconnected and looked almost at if it were a seamless, curving, neverending line. Then he looked down at the marble floor and wondered how such rock formed, with gold- and rose-colored veins. He knew the special marble was found only in Nordica and had been brought here over a hundred years ago.

  Lore looked at the beige wall, then glanced out the window. The sky looked subdued. Grey clouds were scattered across a dull blue sky. No changes today. The sea seemed content to stay calm.

  Footsteps sounded down the hall. Lore reached for the hilt of his sword. A courier dressed in dark blue hurried down the hall. A courier from the White City. Lore frowned. What could possibly bring a courier here during this crucial treaty signing?

  “Captain Lore,” the courier said upon reaching him.

  “Aiden,” Lore replied, recognizing the young man.

  Aiden still wore his riding cloak, and mud was splattered across his boots and pants. “I need to speak with Lord Gaynor.”

  Lore didn’t like the somber look on Aiden’s face. And the fact the young man hadn’t even taken the time to make himself presentable meant the message was urgent. “I will let Lord Gaynor know you are here.” Lore turned and opened the door.

  Inside, Lore found Lord Gaynor standing at the far end of the room, gazing out a large window that overlooked the sea. A fire burned in the hearth nearby. Two matching chairs covered in a light blue brocade sat in a semicircle around the fireplace. A low table stood between them.

  “Lord Gaynor.” Lore took a step inside.

  Lord Gaynor turned around. “What is it, Lore?”

  “Aiden has come from the White City.”

  Lord Gaynor frowned. “Send him in.”

  Lore nodded and turned back toward the door. Moments later he followed Aiden back in.

  “Lord Gaynor,” Aiden said with a bow. “Commander Kelyn sent me here with all haste to tell you that the Temanin army is mobilizing. A spy was caught a few days ago, and from him we learned that the expected assault will fall upon…” Aiden paused and swallowed… “the White City.”

  Lord Gaynor’s face blanched. He moved toward one of the chairs and grasped the back. “So Temanin is finally making its move on the White City.” He sighed. “And I’m stuck here in Avonai.”

  The room remained silent. Lord Gaynor stared into the fire. Then he pulled himself to his full height and turned toward the men. “Aiden, I’m afraid I must ask you to ride back right away. Tell Commander Kelyn we are returning. We will leave tonight, after we sign the treaty.”

  “Yes, milord.” Aiden gave a hasty bow, then left.

  Lore moved toward the door and shut it with a quiet click. Lord Gaynor stared at the fire. Lore crossed the room and stood by his side. “So it has begun,” Lore said, breaking the silence between them.

  “Yes. I never thought I’d live to see the day.” The fire crackled and spit as a log collapsed within the bright blaze. “Lore,” Lord Gaynor said a moment later.

  “Yes, milord?”

  “I know you are a man of the Word. I’ve never been one myself, but I guess times like these can change anyone. And so I’m asking you to…to pray for our city.”

  “Milord,” Lore said quietly, “I already am.”

  • • •

  Lore stood at one of the side doors inside the audience chamber and watched the dignitaries and nobility gather to watch the treaty signing between Avonai and the White City.

  The chamber was large enough to accommodate over a hundred people. Men and women crowded inside, standing between the two stout pillars that held the high ceiling up. Their voices echoed across the room, bouncing off walls covered in blue and green tapestries. He could hear the excitement in the air.

  A platform stood at the front of the room with a table set in the middle. On top lay a white linen cloth and piece of parchment upon which the terms of the treaty had been written out in black ink. Behind the platform were five windows, each reaching from floor to ceiling. They gave a panoramic view of the Illyr Sea. The sky looked like the inside of a conch shell: a mixture of grey and blue and pinks. A wispy fog lay across the sea. The evening star twinkled just above the horizon.

  Lore turned his attention back onto the crowd. He knew it would be even more chaotic if the people knew of the impending attack on the White City. Lord Gaynor’s choice to keep the attack silent had been a prudent one.

  After a couple of minutes, the doors on his right and left opened up. Lord Gaynor entered on his right just as King Alaric entered from the left. Both men were dressed in their city’s colors: Lord Gaynor in the dark blues of the White City and King Alaric in deep sea green. King Alaric held the arm of what looked like his manservant.

  Lore did a double take at King Alaric. The ruler looked twice as old as the last time Lore had seen him. His hair had gone from long grey locks to a wispy white. Had his madness done this too him? Pity filled his heart, pity for King Alaric, for his son Prince Evander, and for the people who did not know of their ruler’s ailment.

  Prince Evander followed his father. He was dressed in the same deep sea green, and he wore his crown on his head. Two varors came to stand behind him. Lady Astrea entered from the other side of the room. Her dark hair hung loose around her shoulders, and her silver circlet was set on top. Rowen and Aren followed her in. Both of them stood behind Lady Astrea.

  Lore’s eyes lingered on Rowen. Her pale hair was pulled back in a long braid that hung over her shoulder. Her tabard made her eyes look deep blue. She began to scan the room and caught sight of him. She gave him a small smile and then went back to scanning.

  Lord Gaynor stepped onto the platform. King Alaric followed, assisted by his ma
nservant. The room hushed. Both men made their way to the table. Lord Gaynor reached for the parchment, but King Alaric reeled forward and snatched the paper up.

  The crowd shifted uncomfortably. Lore felt his own face grow warm at King Alaric’s actions. Lord Gaynor stepped graciously back and clasped his hands together.

  King Alaric began to read it aloud. His voice was high and shrill. His face looked eager, almost hungry. Lore looked at Prince Evander. The prince stood stiffly, his eyes on his father. He wondered how the prince was feeling.

  Lore turned away and listened with half an ear, his eyes darting across the crowd, watching for any danger.

  It was a simple treaty, short and to the point. King Alaric finished, then placed the parchment down. “Anyone opposing the treaty, speak now.”

  No one spoke.

  “Then let it be done.”

  Lord Gaynor stepped forward. Both men signed the treaty and placed their signet rings in the cooling wax. A small murmur rose from the crowd, but quickly hushed as Lady Astrea and Prince Evander approached the table.

  “As part of the treaty,” King Alaric said, that same eager, hungry look on his face, “our two families have chosen to align by bonding.”

  Lore watched Lord Gaynor pale slightly, the only indication that the high lord was distressed. Lady Astrea stood beside her father, a faint blush creeping along her cheeks.

  King Alaric spoke excitedly about the bonding that would take place later between the two young people, the shrill in his voice even higher now. Lore winced and went back to watching the crowd. He began to feel on edge. Those premonitions of doom he had first felt when traveling to Avonai were coming back tenfold. He had the urge to clear the building and conduct the rest of the ceremony in a more secure location.

  Something was wrong. He could feel it. Perhaps it was only the news they had just received an hour before. Or perhaps he just felt uncomfortable with the whole ceremony. He could tell Lord Gaynor was. But whatever the reason, his vigilance refused to stand down.