Son of Truth (Follower of the Word) Read online

  Oh, Word. Her middle felt like she had been stabbed with a dagger. Tears prickled her eyes.

  Rowen reached out her hand and felt for the wall. How could she have been so naïve to think everything would be different, now that Lady Astrea and Captain Lore knew what she was?

  She knew why. She thought that, by saving the city, she would be accepted. She would be one of the people again. Instead, she found herself right where she had been the day she had touched Cleon. Feared. Hated.

  She tried to swallow but couldn’t. All her hopes, all her dreams…dashed.

  Someone laid a hand on her shoulder.

  Rowen jumped and gasped. She twirled around, afraid she would see the hatred on Commander Kelyn’s face—

  Lore stared at her, his face tight and eyes wide. “Rowen, what are you doing here?”

  Rowen sucked in a deep gasp of air. It was only Lore.

  He looked over his shoulder then back at her. “You should still be in the Healers Quarter with Balint, not wandering the halls late at night.”

  She stopped and stared at Lore. “What do you mean? Am I not allowed to walk the castle anymore?” Immediately she regretted her harsh words. Lore dropped his hand and stared at her in shock. “I-I’m sorry.” Rowen looked away, her body still rigid.

  “Come, let us talk. But not here.”

  Lore guided her toward an open door to the left. Warm, muggy summer air pressed against her body. The room was dark save for the pale moonlight filtering through the window encased in the far wall. A couple of chairs stood in the corner, covered in dust. The door shut behind her.

  Lore walked around her. “Did you hear what Commander Kelyn said?”

  Rowen wrapped her arms around her middle and turned toward the side wall. She worked her mouth, wanting to deny she had. But she could not. “Yes.”

  “Then you realize you’re not safe.”

  She clenched her jaw and refused to look at Lore.

  “Rowen—” He placed his hand on her shoulder again.

  Rowen jerked away. Feelings of rage and betrayal swirled inside her chest. She felt herself retreating behind walls she had finally torn down weeks ago in that cave by the sea. She would not be vulnerable. She would not let herself be hurt again, especially not by Lore.

  “Rowen.” Lore’s voice cut through her heart. “Please, turn and look at me.”

  Slowly Rowen turned. She gazed at Lore over her shoulder. The moonlight from the window left half his face in shadow. But she could see his eyes, and they were dark and intense, like the depths of the ocean.

  He took a step toward her. “I’m not Commander Kelyn.” His eyes bore into hers. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  Rowen stared at him, the feeling of preservation still strong.

  “Please.”

  Her defenses crumbled. Her shoulders sagged, and Rowen gripped her face with her hands. “I don’t want to be an Eldaran anymore!” She shook her head. “I—” Her voice hitched with emotion. “I just want to be normal!” I just want to be normal! Why can’t I be like everyone else?

  She wanted to cry, to release the heavy emotions inside of her. But the tears would not come. She stared at her fingers. Was this the long dark path her life would be? Feared by others, always marked as different? She thought she trusted the Word. But now…

  “But if you were normal,” he said, “our city would be overrun by Temanins, and we would all be prisoners of war now.”

  Rowen fought to keep her anger burning. But already it was cooling. “I-I know.” She brought her hands away from her face and turned toward Lore. His face was a foot away from hers, close enough for her to see each line and the stubble just beginning to form along his jaw. “But how do I fight the fear they have for me?”

  He shook his head, his eyes on her. “You don’t. You continue to be who you’re supposed to be.”

  She looked away. “And be hated and feared for it?” Bitterness slowly wrapped itself around her heart. “I give everything I have to help others, only to have them turn on me.“ Her voice caught, and she looked down. She did not want a life like that, a life of sacrifice.

  “Remember what I said a couple days ago, when we arrived back in the city?” Lore asked. “I said you would not be alone, that even if others turn on you, I won’t.” He placed a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head up toward his. Their eyes met again. “And the Word will never leave you either. But that doesn’t guarantee the road will not be tough.”

  Rowen swallowed. “So what do I do now?” she whispered. “It won’t take long for Commander Kelyn to figure out what I am.”

  Lore dropped his hand and sighed. “I think— I think you should accompany Lady Astrea to Avonai. Put some space between you and the White City. But it is time—” his eyes lit up— “that the Ryland people realize that not everyone with a gift like yours is evil.”

  Rowen thought of the chief healer, Balint. How long had it taken before the Ryland people had accepted his gift of binding? Or was it as Balint had said, that he was tolerated only because his power was weak and controllable?

  Would she ever be accepted? Truly accepted? She still felt so alone, even with Lore here.

  Rowen closed her eyes. Word, please help me.

  A sense of peace flowed over her like cool water. It undid the knots she felt twisting inside her gut. I will always be with you, a voice whispered. I will always be with you… The words wrapped themselves around her, a thick blanket, covering the bitterness and worry. No matter what, the Word was still in control. And He would be with her.

  But was He enough to face the dark road that loomed before her?

  Rowen felt her strength ebbing away. She reached for the wall and leaned against the stone.

  Lore placed a hand on her arm. “Come, let me take you back to the Healers Quarter.“

  “No.” She looked at Lore. “No, not there. I would rather stay in my room…please.” Somewhere familiar, somewhere she called home.

  Lore opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed his lips and nodded.

  Rowen let out her breath. “Thank you.”

  2

  Lore stared at the small wooden door, behind which Rowen lay on her bed. The candles along the hallway had been lit for the evening, and only a whisper of voices could be heard.

  His hands clenched every time he thought about his conversation with Commander Kelyn. Did the man not realize that if the Word had not intervened, the White City would’ve been lost?

  With a growl, Lore turned and headed toward the Guards Quarter. Even after all he and Commander Kelyn had been through together, including the war, Lore hated to admit that he did not trust the commander. If Commander Kelyn found out that Rowen was an Eldaran, who knew what Kelyn would do? Even under Lady Astrea’s protection, Rowen could still be subjected to the old Ryland law.

  Lore took the stairs two at a time down to the lower level. Voices grew louder down here where the refugees had been put. The air was hotter too. Lore couldn’t remember when a summer had felt so warm. And the people crowding the narrow halls and rooms only added to the heat.

  Lore gave the two guards at the bottom of the stairs a curt nod. They nodded back. People sat huddled along the walls beneath the flickering sconces. A couple glanced up at Lore. He headed toward the hallway to the right. He needed to find Aren.

  A man came to his feet. “Captain Lore!” His clothing was worn and rumpled. Grey hair stood straight up where he had been leaning against the wall.

  Lore stopped. Other people in the hallway turned in his direction. The man hurried toward him. Lore suppressed a sigh.

  “Captain Lore, have you found my daughter yet?”

  Lore shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, I haven’t.” The man’s face fell. “But I’m doing everything I can.”

  “I-I understand.” He turned and went back to the empty spot against the wall.

  “When can we leave this place?” a voice asked to Lore’s left. Lore turned and found a young man looking up at
him.

  “Is it safe yet to leave the castle?” a woman asked a couple of feet away.

  A baby started screaming from one of the rooms.

  Lore raised his hands in a calming gesture. “I will let you know when I know.” He knew these people had been through trauma, but he was only one man doing his best. He made his way to the hall on the right. He could hear the people grumble quietly behind him and fought the urge to rake his hand through his hair. At the end of the hall, Lore reached the double doors leading to the Guards Quarter. He let himself in.

  The room was two stories high, with a staircase along the left side and doors on both floors leading to the guards’ private rooms. To the side stood the scrap table with a couple of mugs and two dirty plates. In the middle of the room was a long wooden table with candlesticks set on either end. To the right, the large stone fireplace stood dark and empty.

  Aren sat alone at the table, his back to the fireplace. He had long blond hair, which was pulled back by a leather cord, giving full exposure to the dark tattoos on the left side of his face. A plate with a couple of bones and a chunk of bread lay in front of him. A pewter mug sat to the side. The sound of quiet munching echoed around the room.

  Aren reached for his mug and lifted it halfway to his lips. He stopped and turned. “Captain,” he said with a grin and placed his mug down. “I was just eating before going back to duty—”

  “I have something for you to do.” Lore’s mind was racing now, making plans. “I want you to stand guard outside Rowen’s room tonight.”

  “Rowen?” Aren stood. “Is something wrong? I thought she was still in the Healers Quarter—”

  “She’s fine. But…” Lore hesitated, looking at the younger man. He knew he could trust Aren. “You know what she is,” Lore said, more of a statement than a question.

  Aren sobered immediately. He sat back down. “I never told anyone about that night, and what I saw. But I take it from your expression that people are figuring it out anyway.” He pushed his plate away and sighed. “I do not understand why your people are afraid of those like, well, like Rowen. My people should be the ones afraid. It was my people who were seduced by the Shadonae, my people who fought for them, my people who paid the price during the Nordic Wars.” Aren clenched his hands over the top of the table and looked back up at Lore. “But Rowen is no Shadonae.”

  “No,” Lore said, “But people are not going to make that distinction. And since it is Commander Kelyn who—”

  “Kelyn!” Aren sputtered. “Commander Kelyn is the one making accusations? After the White City barely escaped capture?”

  Lore nodded. “Yes. And he has power right now. He is a war hero. He helped keep the Temanins at bay, and people will remember that. They will listen to him.”

  Aren scowled and stood up. “So you want me to guard Rowen’s room just in case he moves against her.”

  “Yes, although I would suspect Commander Kelyn would speak out against Rowen first before moving. But just in case he decides to move more covertly, I want her watched until she leaves tomorrow with Lady Astrea.”

  Aren frowned. “You’re sending Rowen away? I thought you were escorting Lady Astrea to Avonai and leaving Rowen here to rest.”

  “Things have changed. Rowen will take my place. I need her out of the city and away from Commander Kelyn and anyone else who might start thinking like him.” Lore tapped the table with his finger. “At least until I can figure out how to keep her safe.”

  “But you are needed in Avonai to escort Lord Gaynor’s body back.”

  A dull ache filled Lore’s middle. “I know,” he said quietly. “And I will be there. But I must finish some things here.” Another thought hit him. He knew it was the right decision, but it hurt just the same. Lore let out his breath. “And, with everything going on, I think it is time for Rowen to step down from her position as varor.”

  “What?” Aren knocked back the bench behind him. “You can’t do that! Rowen has done nothing wrong! She doesn’t deserve this.”

  Lore swallowed. He knew that. But… “People will start to think Rowen is influencing Lady Astrea’s decisions.”

  Aren’s face flushed. “That’s not right! She’s one of us.” He gave Lore a hard look. “And we protect our own.”

  “I am protecting Rowen. I will be saving her from false accusations.”

  Aren stared at him then slowly shook his head. “Captain, you know that will break her heart.”

  Lore looked toward the empty fireplace. “I will do it as gently as I can. I will give her my reasons why. She will understand.”

  But will she really? Rowen had been hurt so much already. How could he inflict more pain? And would it really help her? Or would it only reinforce the idea in others’ minds that Rowen had indeed been influencing Lady Astrea?

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. What a mess. “I am also sending you to Avonai.” Lore looked back at Aren. “To watch over both Lady Astrea and Rowen. I will finish my work here and then join you.”

  “And who will replace Rowen? We still haven’t even replaced Justus after he died protecting…” Aren stuttered to a stop.

  Lore felt the same pang of grief. “I’ve decided to replace Justus with Geoffrey.”

  Aren paused, then nodded. “Good choice,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “And Rowen? When will you tell her?”

  Lore sighed. “I’m not sure. Right now my first priority is to keep her safe.” Weeks ago, when he had first thought about Rowen stepping down from her position, it was for a very different reason. A personal reason. Now he was doing everything he could to protect her.

  “Captain.” Lore looked back at Aren. “I urge you to reconsider. For Rowen’s sake.”

  Lore gave him a curt nod. But he could see no other option. However, he would not turn Rowen loose to fend for herself. He remembered her words in the cave by the sea, the condemnation she had faced from her own village. He would not let her face that again alone, if it came to that.

  Aren moved away from the table, his demeanor still distant. His plate of food sat on the table, getting cold. “When will you have Geoffrey take his oath?”

  Lore brought his thoughts back to the present. “Tonight if possible. That way he can accompany Lady Astrea to Avonai.”

  There was a silent pause. “I see. Well,” Aren said, rounding the table and joining Lore by the door, “you do not need to worry: I will watch over both Lady Astrea and Rowen.”

  “Thank you, Aren. I knew I could count on you.”

  “Always.”

  The two men parted out in the hallway. Aren headed down the corridor toward Rowen’s room. Lore began to walk in the opposite direction, stopped, and decided to head toward his own rooms first. Ever since he had arrived back in the White City, he had barely had time alone. He needed that now.

  Lore followed a flight of stairs to the third floor and headed toward the door at the end. He opened the door to his own personal quarters and breathed in the familiar scent of the only home he had ever known. For as long as anyone could remember, these rooms had housed generations of the Palancar family as they had served the ruling family of the White City.

  The air held a trace of smoke, leather, and the subtle sweetness of wildflowers. A stone fireplace stood to the left of the large main room. Over the fireplace hung a painting of his grandfather. The man stood tall and stern, with iron-grey hair severely parted down the middle.

  To one side of the mantle was a silver vase filled with white, blue, and yellow flowers. His mother always kept the vase filled whenever there were flowers in bloom. After she passed away, Lore had one of the maids fill the vase whenever possible. The subtle scent and colors softened the cool grey stone of the rest of the room.

  An old desk, a table in the corner, and two rigid wooden chairs filled the rest of the room. A faded blue rug covered the stone floor. Lore crossed the room toward his own bedchamber.

  Near the doorway to his room hung a painting of his father and
mother. Lore stopped briefly and looked at it. His mother was a head shorter than his father, her face surrounded by light brown hair pulled back in a net. Her eyes were a strange green grey. His father stood slightly behind her with a hand on her shoulder. He was tall and stern, much like Lore’s grandfather. Lore had inherited his father’s height but none of his sternness—or so he hoped. Rather, he felt he was more like his mother, not only inheriting her sea blood and strange eyes, but also her gentler disposition.

  But his strength did not come from either of them.

  Lore moved toward the door and entered his bedroom. A large four-poster bed made of dark wood stood against the left wall. It was covered in dark blues, the coverings rumpled from hasty snatches of sleep. A small fireplace stood across from it with an oval blue rug on the stone floor.

  Lore passed both, moving toward the window ahead. The ceiling slanted downward at a steep angle here, where the wall of the castle met with the rooftop. As a boy, he would sit beside this window and watch all the activity in the courtyard below. Sometimes he’d watch snow fall on a cold winter’s day, the fire from the nearby fireplace warming his back.

  But now this little corner by the window had become a place of serenity, a place where he would look up at the star-studded sky before turning in. Here he could lay his thoughts, feelings, and concerns down before the One he had chosen to follow as a young man.

  It was here Lore now knelt.

  • • •

  The large common room inside the Guards Quarter was full of activity that morning. Voices echoed across the chamber, bowls and spoons clattered, benches scraped the stone floor. Bright sunlight poured in from the training room beyond, and the smell of porridge and leather wafted through the air.

  Rowen watched from the doorway. Her pack hung from one shoulder, full and heavy. Her sword was strapped to her side, and her right hand was tucked inside her new glove.

  The table in the middle of the room was full. Men and even a couple of women sat along both sides of the table with bowls and spoons, devouring a quick breakfast before heading to their posts. The stone fireplace was dark and empty. No need for a fire with the summer heat pouring into the castle. A long line followed the side table where a large black kettle sat with wisps of steam rising above its rim.