Beyond the Boundary Stones (The Chronicles of Tevenar Book 3) (40 page)

“Maybe.” Vigorre dropped his forehead to her shoulder. “But not tonight. I won’t get a chance to speak to his men before they attack. And I doubt they’d listen to me if I could. They’re sworn to obey Keeper Yoran the same as I am.”

Nirel’s heart caught at the anguish in his voice. “So don’t do it. Come up with some excuse for Keeper Yoran why you were prevented from acting tonight. Wait until you can talk to him and make your case.”

He pulled away from her and stared out the window at the passing buildings. “You don’t understand, Nirel. I swore to obey him, in the Mother’s name. He gave me my orders. I have to follow them.”

“But he’s wrong,” Nirel said, her voice fierce. “He’s ordering you to do something evil. It’s your duty to disobey.”

He gave a huff of bleak laughter. “That must be a Tevenaran idea, because it’s certainly not what I’ve been taught. My duty is to obey the Mother and those who speak for her.”

“It’s your duty to make up your own mind about what’s right and do it, no matter what those in authority command you.” It was so easy to put conviction in her voice. Did some part of her still believe that? Elder Davon might not consider her words heresy, but the rest of the Faithful would. Obedience was everything in her Faith, to the Lord of Justice and those who spoke with his voice. “In Tevenar or Ramunna.”

He cupped her cheek with a strong hand. “You always do, don’t you? And you won’t let anyone stop you. Not Ozor, not your father, not the demons. Not even the Lord of Demons himself, I expect.”

“Nor the Mother,” she said pointedly. “Not if what I’d sworn in her name led me to do something stupid.”

He chuckled, stroking her cheek and letting his arm settle around her shoulder again. “Point taken. I’ll think about it.”

“I mean it, Vigorre. I know you. You can’t do this. You can’t betray a friend, and Master Elkan and Josiah have become your friends. If you do, it will hurt you terribly. I can’t bear for that to happen.”

“I said I’ll think about it.” His tone firmly shut down that line of conversation.

She was striving to think of some other way to persuade him when with a tone of forced casualness he changed the subject. “Kevessa made a good point. I wonder why the demons didn’t erase your memories of what you saw. I suppose they wanted to intimidate you, to scare you so badly you wouldn’t try to escape again. But they risked a lot by allowing you to remember once you were back among other people.”

She forced her voice past the tightness in her throat. “They didn’t expect us to live long enough for it to make a difference.” She hated having to lie to him this way. She wasn’t very good at it. Telling a prepared story was one thing. Making up convincing answers on the fly was something else entirely. “Please, I don’t want—”

He patted her shoulder. “I know you don’t like talking about it, but I promise, you’ll feel better if you do. Part of Keeper training is learning to counsel people who’ve been through traumatic events. It’s always better to talk it out with someone you can trust. So what do you think? My guess is that erasing memories takes a lot of energy, and they didn’t want to weaken themselves while they were keeping you captive. Although that doesn’t explain why they still didn’t once they brought you to the prison. You could have told anyone, the guards, the other prisoners, the servants who brought meals and emptied the chamberpots…” His voice, which had started out bright and conversational, faltered. “Why didn’t Ozor want you to tell those people about the demons’ true nature? It’s not like any of you had much to lose at that point.”

She had to fall back on her default answer. “I don’t know. He didn’t tell us.”

“Why did you listen to him, then?”

He sounded genuinely curious, not suspicious, but that would change if she couldn’t get him to stop delving into the details of events that had never happened. Her story had never been designed to hold up under close scrutiny. “I was afraid. I hoped he had some plan to escape. Please, I don’t—”

“How did you escape, anyway? I think you said a flood destroyed the prison? How did you survive?”

She vividly remembered running across the narrow plank bridge over the rushing torrent, golden light sparking warm around her feet, boards tearing away behind her as Elkan and Sar approached exhaustion. Josiah had crossed the flood to the tiny doomed spit of land to help rescue her and the other people trapped there, including Ozor and the rest. Master Elkan had been prepared to give his life to save them. Josiah had told her how only Sar’s quick thinking had brought them all through it alive, at the cost of his bond with Elkan.

She couldn’t tell Vigorre any of that. No stretch of her imagination could attribute the wizards’ actions that day to motives plausible for demons and their slaves.

She waved her hand vaguely. “It was dark and everything was confused.” Even the way the guards had thrown open the prison doors to give the captives a chance of survival cast doubt on her portrayal of a land ruled by evil. Better to skip it. “Ozor kept us together. When the water broke down the wall he and Tereid helped us over it. The guards had run off.”

His arms tightened around her. “You must have been terrified.”

She didn’t have to fake her shiver. “Yes. Please, can we—”

“I don’t care what I have to do. The demons have to be stopped. They’ve hurt you too many times already; I won’t let them hurt you again. If that means leading Elkan and Josiah to their deaths, so be it.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he plowed on relentlessly. “Did you know him well, the man the demons killed? Mar—” He paused. “That’s odd. I thought you said his name was Marom? But just now you called him Malon.”

Nirel’s stomach lurched and her pulse pounded in her ears. Had she really made such a stupid mistake? She tried to remember that night back in the fall, but it was a blur. Elder Davon had asked her to add authentic Tevenaran details to the story he gave her, so she’d borrowed the name of a shopkeeper her family used to sell cheese to on their rare trips to Tathorlith. She could picture the man’s rotund stomach and ale-reddened nose, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember which name was right.

No choice but to brazen her way through. She looked blankly at Vigorre. “Of course I called him Malon. That was his name. You remembered it wrong.”

His brow creased. “No, I remember thinking how strange it sounded, with that funny growling ‘r’ in the middle, how I wouldn’t even be able to pronounce it. I still don’t think I’m saying it right. It probably sounds like I’m calling him ‘Marrom.’” He used the long rolling “r” common in Ramunnan, that Nirel had struggled so hard to learn to say correctly.

She jumped on the idea. “My accent was horrible back then. You probably couldn’t understand half of what I was saying. I bet everyone at the ball was laughing behind my back.”

He shook his head, looking even more baffled. “No, your Ramunnan was excellent. I remember being impressed that you’d learned it so quickly. And besides, even in an accent as bad as Josiah’s, Malon doesn’t sound much like Mar—”

“I think I know his name better than you!” Nirel clamped down on her panic and fought to control her voice. “I never called him Marom. You’re remembering wrong, is all. It’s not surprising, people do it all the time. Ask Master Elkan to tell you about the trial where a window showed—” She broke off. He couldn’t really intend to help Yoran Lirolla murder Elkan and Josiah, could he? They might wield the Lady’s corrupt power, but they weren’t bad people. She’d never meant for them to get hurt, never realized Elder Davon’s plan would put them in so much danger. It seemed obvious now that she should have.

Vigorre stared at her for a long moment, then shrugged and looked out the carriage window. “I guess I must be.”

She hurried to shift his mind from the subject. “To answer your question, no, I didn’t know him well. He’d only joined the band a short time before. And Father never let me talk to the men more than absolutely necessary.”

Vigorre scowled at the reminder of the way Kabos sought to control her. “Still, to see a man ripped to pieces before your eyes, even a complete stranger—I can’t imagine how awful it must have been for you. The demons are ruthless. Our only hope is to be equally ruthless fighting them.”

Blast it if she was going to let him use her fictional pain to goad himself into ruining Elder Davon’s plan. “That would make us as bad as they are. There’s got to be a better way.”

“But what if there’s not?” The anguish in his voice tore at her heart. “I’ll do anything I must to keep you safe.”

She hardened her resolve. If she couldn’t dissuade him with appeals to his conscience, she was the one who’d have to be ruthless. “Vigorre Rothen, you listen to me. Josiah and Master Elkan are my friends. They’re innocent victims of the demons just like the rest of us. If either one of them dies tonight, it’s over between us. I will never have anything to do with you ever again. Understand?”

He gaped at her. “Nirel, I—”

“Over!” She had to get away from him. All this digging into her story was far too dangerous. The carriage had just passed out the far side of the Dualist Quarter. She had to warn Elder Davon as quickly as possible. By the time she rode the three long miles out to the village and walked all the way back, it might be too late. Even if her threat prevented Vigorre from taking part in the plot to kill the wizards, that wouldn’t stop the rest of Yoran Lirolla’s underlings from finding another way. “Stop the carriage and let me out. I’ll walk home from here.”

“Nirel, no! It’s too dangerous.”

She glared at him and raised a fist to bang on the ceiling of the carriage. “I’ve done it hundreds of times. I think I can manage.” She leaned out the window and shouted for the driver to stop. As soon as the horses slowed she lurched to her feet and got the door open. “Don’t you dare try to stop me.” She slapped his hand when he grabbed her arm.

He let go, but didn’t back off. “Please, Nirel. I promise, I’ll do whatever you want. Just let me take you home.”

“No.” She jumped to the ground as the carriage rolled to a halt. Her skirts tangled around her legs, but she kept her balance. Vigorre was right behind her; she whirled to face him. “If Master Elkan and Josiah are still alive in the morning, you may come for me at the usual time. Otherwise—don’t bother.”

He gulped and nodded. “I’m scheduled to officiate with my father at the Temple.”

“Then you may send a carriage and I’ll go with your stepmother like I did last week.” She narrowed her eyes. “Assuming Lady Nathenarre is well enough to attend.”

He inclined his head in acknowledgment of her jab. “We can talk again after the service and decide what we’re going to do.”

“All right.” She pointed to the carriage. “Go. If you’re going to warn Master Elkan what Yoran Lirolla is up to before his men proceed without your help, you’d better hurry.” She gulped. “And if you’re going to decide that your oath to obey him is more important than your promises to me, you’d better hurry and get out of my sight.”

He didn’t move. “I love you, Nirel. No matter what happens, I want you to know that.”

Her emotions were such a snarled tangle she didn’t even try to unravel them. “I love you, too, Vigorre. I hope I can still say that tomorrow.”

He swallowed. She thought for a moment he was going to step forward and kiss her, but he didn’t. He jerked around and climbed heavily into the carriage.

Nirel stepped off the road and watched as the driver maneuvered the carriage in a tight circle and headed back toward the gate into the city. Only after it was rolling quickly enough she was sure Vigorre couldn’t jump out did she turn and start walking toward the village. To be absolutely sure, she walked almost a quarter mile before reversing course. She studied the road as far as she could see in both directions, but it was deserted, the carriage long gone. The signs advertising Ozor’s healers stood at regular intervals in the moonlight, like silent sentinels.

She set out toward the gate with long, anxious strides. She had to tell Elder Davon everything that had happened and find out what he wanted her to do. He would know how she could best serve the Lord of Justice.

Twenty-Five

V
igorre crouched behind the sign, holding his breath. When he dared peek out, Nirel had finally quit looking up and down the road. But instead of continuing toward her home as he’d expected, she was walking purposefully back toward the city.

What in the Mother’s name? Vigorre stared at her for a long moment before ducking into the shadows barely in time to keep her from spotting him. He waited until she was well past to hurry as quickly and silently as he could to the shelter of the next sign.

It had been a long time since he’d used the trick he’d perfected to escape watchful nannies, but he’d pulled it off as smoothly as he could when he was twelve and eager for a few hours of independent adventure. Luckily he hadn’t grown too big to squeeze through the window on the far side of the carriage, or too heavy to cling to the decorative scrollwork until he could drop off at the precise spot in the turn where the wheels blocked the view of his feet. He was lucky Ozor had littered every ten paces of the road with signs, or he’d have been forced to throw himself flat in the shallow ditch that lined the road.

He would have, though, without a second thought. He couldn’t allow Nirel to walk so far through the dark night alone. If she wouldn’t allow him to accompany her openly, he’d have to do it secretly.

He was still reeling from the shock of her ultimatum. But in a strange way, he welcomed it. It had put an end to his tormented dithering over whether or not to obey Keeper Yoran’s command. He’d wanted desperately to find some excuse to break his oath to the Mother. He was convinced Nirel was right and that neither Elkan nor Josiah had any idea of the true nature of the animals they were bonded to. But the threat of the demons loomed over Ramunna like the shadow of an approaching storm, and the need to stop them had seemed paramount. Perhaps the wizards’ deaths weren’t too high a price to pay.

Losing Nirel was. His commitment to her might not be as formal as his oath to Yoran, but it bound him far more deeply. The Mother couldn’t fault him for giving it the higher priority. The fact that Nirel had demanded he do what he’d wanted to do anyway was a welcome bonus.