Destined for a King (22 page)

“She does, I think.”

Calista would never have thought to ascribe bravery to an Acolyte, but coming from an unarmed and defenseless man, Brother Tancrid's admission was just that.

And then he did something braver, or perhaps foolhardy. He reached toward her.

She flinched away.

Fingering the hilt of the dagger thrust into his belt, Torch stepped between them. “Tell me.”

Brother Tancrid lowered his gaze to the bare ground. “I do not rightly recall.”
But you do,
his voice continued in her mind.
Tell him so that I can understand. Even if it damns me. If ever I harmed you, I deserve as much.

“You attacked me.” The gods help her, she was too fatigued and confused to embroider the tale. “You wanted blood.” She touched the linen banding her neck. “My blood.”

Sunlight skittered in a deadly dance down the dagger blade as Torch whipped it out.

“No!”
Calista's cry of protest welled from somewhere deep in her chest. She lunged and grabbed Torch's wrist. The knife-stroke went wide. Power strained in every corded sinew beneath her fingers. “You must give him a hearing.”

A glance about proved her intuition correct. Their little scene had drawn an audience. Hawk stood holding his sword at the forefront of an armed group. Every single one of them had drawn blades.

“Hammerfell gave you a hearing,” Calista reminded him.

The knotted muscle beneath her palm did not ease. Torch eyed her, his expression unyielding. “For all the good it did me.”

The full weight of his blame fell onto her like a boulder. “I had no choice.”

“Not now.” He turned to the Acolyte. “I have another pressing matter before me. Explain yourself.”

Brother Tancrid remained where he was, head lowered in full acceptance of whatever fate Torch would deal him. “I did not wish for the lady's blood. You know of the blood I speak.”

A cold finger of dread down Calista's spine raised gooseflesh at her nape. Torch was in on this? “
You
know?”

“The blood of the earth,” Brother Tancrid explained. “I told your lord of it. My journey requires I take the blood of the earth into myself. If someone arouses me from the trance too soon, my body and mind crave the return. You could not know, but waking me as you did was dangerous.”

Calista shook her head. “I do not understand.”

“It is the way I access the earth's knowledge.”
It is the way you do so now.
“I must take some of the blood into myself, through my nose, directly to my brain.” As he explained, the paths of her mind opened on an image of the Son of Earth scooping a gray powder into his fingernail and inhaling it. “And from there, I may quest for whatever I desire to know.”

The grime on his nail. It was this blood of which he spoke. And he'd scratched her with that nail. Some of the earth's blood had mingled with her own. “Whatever you desire? If…If I asked to know the future, could it tell me?”

“Not the future, for that is ever changed by our present actions.”

“But if I wished it to show me a path, a means of escape…”

Brother Tancrid held up a hand. “Do not set your feet on that road. It will consume you in the end.”

It is consuming me, do you not see?
Once again, he spoke directly to her mind.
As I have begun in my quest for knowledge, I long for more and more and more. I shall never have enough.

And so she attempted the reply—directly. Concentrating on Brother Tancrid, she aimed her thought toward him.
Too late. You've put the blood in me.

His eyes widened. “Show me your wound.”

“Yes, show us,” Torch added in a menacing whisper.

For some reason she couldn't fathom, her fingers trembled as she raised them to untie the knot at her nape. She unwound the white fabric. Her heart skittered. What were they expecting?

The strip of cloth fell away. Brother Tancrid bent to peer closer, but Torch moved to block the other man. He extended two fingers and traced the length of Calista's neck. Beneath that touch, her skin warmed.

“That is quite an impressive scar,” he commented.

“Scab, you mean. How can there be a scar, when I sustained the wound not three days ago?”

“Have you not seen yourself?”

“No.” That cold finger at her spine was back. “Should I look?”

With no mirror in the offing, she raised her fingers. In the place where Tancrid had scratched her, a ridge of skin had risen, smooth beneath her touch. Not like a scab, but very like a scar.

“Just so you know, it is black.”

Brother Tancrid leaned over Torch's shoulder. “I'd call that more a dark gray. Like charcoal.”

The color of that streak through Torch's Scrying Stone.
The color of the earth's blood.

She craned her neck toward the Acolyte. “What does it mean?”

“I cannot be entirely certain,” Brother Tancrid replied. “No one has ever taken the blood in this manner. No woman has ever connected herself with the Sons. It may be you are now permanently connected to the knowledge that lies in the earth.”

She blinked. If anything, those words rang true.
The path. It is in your mind.

Tancrid bowed his head. “If you are ready to pass judgment on me, please do so. For my part, I make my apologies to your lady wife. I meant her no harm. It was done in ignorance, and I retain no memory of the deed.”

“I think it's best if you leave us,” Torch said.

“I agree with you. I will return to my cloister, where I can continue my quest for the knowledge you asked of me.”

Calista looked from one man to the other before her gaze alighted on Torch. Her husband. “You were behind this?”

“I asked him for the secret to creating Adamant, yes. It seemed expedient at the time, when I possessed a keep whose defenses required improvement.”

“I was close, I tell you.” Brother Tancrid sounded anxious and excited. For all the world, his demeanor reminded Calista of a puppy. “Another journey, uninterrupted, and I'm there.”

“You can accomplish this among your brethren,” Torch said. “There's only one more thing. I should like to have my Stone back.”

Brother Tancrid retreated a step, his fingers plucking at his robes—robes coated in a dark gray substance, very like charcoal dust. Calista's neck throbbed, and a thrill of recognition passed through her.

“Forgive me, my lord,” Tancrid said. “The Stone no longer exists. I thought you realized. I needed the blood within it. I have now extracted it. But…” He glanced at Calista. “Your lady holds the power of the blood within her now. You no longer need the Stone to access the truth you seek.”

“Truth?” Calista asked. “What truth do you seek? Beyond the making of Adamant.”

“I ask very little,” Torch said. “A means to my throne, is all.”

“Your lady has access. She has become a Daughter of the Earth. The knowledge has become a part of her. It will come to her as she needs it.”
You only have to open your mind and accept.

She had opened her mind, though, or it had been opened for her. The path she'd seen, the one that had led her to the Kingsbane, the one that had led her to freeing Torch and his Brothers. It was still there in her mind, showing her the way forward.

Yes, her mind was open now. All that was left was for her to accept.

What was he going to do with his wife?

Torch pondered that very issue as he watched Brother Tancrid disappear into the southern woods, making for the security of his cloister. Some of Blackbriar's guards accompanied him. Torch had hoped to send Calista along with the Acolyte.

Now that he'd heard her tale, that course of action was out of the question. Damn it all, and who would have expected a quiet dreamer—a man in search of knowledge—to become a danger? Calista no longer trusted her former tutor, and now Torch couldn't, either.

He turned to eye the remainder of his followers. Many had already melted back into the surrounding trees in pairs and small groups, heading for the Bastard Brotherhood's private lair. A few fathoms off, Calista crouched at the base of a large stone, scrabbling at the dirt. A small pile of greenery lay at her feet.

Hawk had not yet left the rendezvous, and Torch waved him over. “I must entrust you to bring Calista to safety,” Torch told the man who had become his second since Kestrel's departure.

“My lord?”

“Surely you didn't expect me to abandon her in the forest.”

“Of course not. I only reckoned you'd like to see to the matter yourself.”

“I have other plans.”

Hawk lowered bushy brows over the beak of a nose that had earned him his name among the Brotherhood. “How pressing are they?”

Torch raised his own brows. Hawk wasn't usually one to question. No, Torch had Kestrel and Griffin for that duty—only he no longer had his true brother. The reminder of that pain sharpened his reply. “How long has my sister been a captive of our enemy now?”

“You don't trust Kestrel to bring her back safely?”

He had when the news first came, but that was when he utterly trusted his Stone. He'd been so completely convinced that Calista was his proper future that he'd forged ahead with the marriage. No matter how much faith he had in his commander's abilities, he'd never intended for Kestrel to rescue Jerrah. “He may require help.”

“Your own sister can give him that.”

He knew. Gods, he knew. If Jerrah were not able to handle weapons, she would be safely ensconced at the Pinnacle along with their mother. Still…“She was never meant to ride against the Usurper's men.”

“Yet, she did,” Hawk prodded. And based on what Torch had seen through Griffin's eyes, Jerrah had handled herself as well as any of his men. “You don't even have a proper sword.”

He could get that back, too. “Who are you to question—”

“No one, my lord,” Hawk cut in quickly. “But begging your pardon, I have been married before. Once you've bedded a woman, she has certain expectations.”

Torch slipped a friendly arm about Hawk's shoulders and gave him a pat. A hard one, just to warn him he was treading close to the line. “She's not the first woman I've taken to my bed.”

“Best not tell her that.”

“I wasn't planning on giving her the details.” Even he knew that much. “At any rate, I married her.” In spite of her resistance. “What more does she want?”

“Wives expect you can read their minds. You have to get good at pretending you can.”

Damn the man. “What has my marriage to do with this?”

Everything.
Hadn't he just told himself that? Still, he'd never told Hawk his reasons for his hasty wedding. Thank the Gods, since those reasons now seemed weak and ridiculous.

“Besides the fact you delayed going after your sister so you could wed? Seems you trusted Kestrel to do the job then.”

Damn the man for his insolence, but he was right. “And?”

“Take my advice. See to your lady wife. I've strong grounds to believe she cares a great deal. We may live in a time of trial, but all the more reason to foster her feelings, if you take my meaning.”

Why in the name of everything did that feel like a punch to the gut? “What do you know of her feelings?”

“Only how bitterly she sobbed when she believed you weren't coming back.” Yes, and hadn't she thrown herself straight into his embrace—an embrace he hadn't returned? “She's a tough one. She tried and tried to hold it in, until it became too much. What's more, she's proven herself. Do you really want to chase that away?”

“I'm not going to chase that away.”

“Then I shouldn't be the one who comforts her when she's all upset. It's never a pleasant thing to realize what you've had after you've lost it.”

Torch eyed the older man. Hawk's words rung with the bitter chime of experience. “Off with you, then. You know where we're meeting. Take the stable boy—Aimery—with you, at least.”

But Hawk was not finished. He nodded in Calista's direction. “She may not be your first woman, but you can make sure she's the last you ever take to your bed.”

If what Hawk had said about fostering his wife's feelings had felt like a gut punch, this statement felt like a lance straight to the heart, and the blow carried all the power of a charging destrier.

“You overstep.” But Torch could put no authority behind the warning, not with the very air knocked from his lungs.

“Your wife wouldn't think so.”

Before Torch could reply, Hawk stalked off to collect Aimery and the remaining handful of men. One by one, they disappeared into the woods.

Torch turned to face Calista. She was standing now, brow furrowed over a bundle of greenery in her hand.

“What have you got there?” he asked. Not the most inspired question, but he had to start somewhere.

She looked up at him, her expression unchanging. In fact, it carried enough frost to blight her handful of weeds. “A few things that might turn out to be useful, at least if I had a way to preserve them properly. And if I'd thought matters through, I would have left home with something more useful than a wineskin full of poison.”

Home.
She'd stated that so simply, but the word echoed through Torch's mind. He'd never had a home, truly, but he'd uprooted Calista from the only home she'd ever known—as surely as she had uprooted those herbs in her fist. Would he need to find a way to preserve her?

No.
The answer rose just as quickly. She was strong; he wouldn't have to concern himself there. As for any feelings she might hold for him,
that
was where he ought to worry, just as Hawk said.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “That wineskin might still turn out to be useful.”

She watched him from beneath her lashes, but the expression reminded him more of a cornered fox than anything remotely close to flirtatious. “I daresay it might.”

Damn Hawk. Damn him and his unsolicited advice—even if it was right. “Calista.” Torch reached for her, unsure where to set his hand. Her shoulder might be safe enough. At least she didn't shrug off his touch. “I'm not good at this, am I?”

“Would you care to be more specific?” she asked airily. “Off the top of my head, I can think of several things you might be referring to.”

Faceless One take it. “Would being married cover most of it?”

“Do you have the slightest idea what I went through to set you and your men free?”

Thump!
The fist clutching those cursed weeds buried itself in his shoulder. Sharp knuckles she had, too.

“And then to watch the stable go up in flames?”

Thump!

“I didn't dare stay to see if you made it out.”

Thump!
If she didn't take care, she was going to crush that handful of hard-won herbs into oblivion.

“And then you didn't come.”

Her voice wavered alarmingly on that final syllable. Her entire body sagged, and the battered greenery dropped to the ground. Torch battled an odd impulse to pick it up and tuck it somewhere next to his skin.

Despite her show of temper, Calista needed him now. Wasn't that the entire point behind her display? Sharp knuckles or no, he gathered her against him.

Comfort. This was what she'd wanted when he first entered the clearing. But he'd been too distracted and put out with her over…what? A ruse she'd had to perform to keep herself above suspicion. If she'd answered Hammerfell's questions about their marriage truthfully, she'd never have been in a position to help him escape.

Curse him thrice over for an idiot.

“I'm here now,” he murmured. Such a simple, obvious reply. He fitted his palm to the back of her head, his fingers threading through silken tangles of hair. “I'm here, whether you want me to be or not.”

She pulled out of his embrace at that. “I'm still deciding.”

At her peevish tone, an incongruous spate of laughter rose in his chest, but he held it in. Now was not the time. Even he knew that much. “I've been remiss.” He framed her face with both hands, his thumbs sliding along the line of her jaw. “Thank you for risking everything for my men and me. I wish I hadn't put you in that position, but I'm grateful.” He dropped his gaze to her lush lips. Would she even accept his kiss? “I'd show you how grateful, but you might prefer I bathed first.”

The corners of her mouth tipped upward into an exhausted smile. Dark smudges of fatigue marred the delicate skin under her eyes. Salty traces remained on her cheeks, a testament to the upset she'd poured on Hawk. Her hair was unkempt, the hems of her skirts tattered and muddy, but service to him lay behind her dishevelment. In this moment, she was every bit as beautiful as when she'd worn that golden gown on their wedding day.

“Come,” he added. “Let's get you on my horse. You're not out of danger yet.” Neither was he, but danger had become a long-familiar companion in his life. Calista was about to become closely acquainted with peril, whether she wished it or not, for as long as Magnus sat on the throne at Highspring Moor.

Torch's fault. He'd brought this upon her, unasked for.

And that was merely the expected threat. His gaze traveled the length of the dark gray streak that marred her neck, a permanent reminder of the unexpected menace a friend had presented. That, too, was his fault. The weight of the responsibility for another life bore down on his shoulders, as heavy as a millstone, but at the same time a burning desire to protect her at all costs flamed to life.

“Where are you taking me?” she muttered as he lifted her onto his horse's bare back.

He smiled grimly as he clambered on behind her and set a steadying arm about her waist. “I thought I'd live up to my reputation. I'm dragging you off to my secret lair.”

Lulled by the horse's rocking gait and the steady beat of Torch's heart beneath her ear, Calista dozed. Hours and leagues passed, but she hardly noticed them, secure in the circle of Torch's arms. The shadows had grown long, and twilight reigned in the deeper woods when Torch brought his beast of a horse to a halt.

“It's a pity to rouse such peaceful slumber,” he said, “but we continue on foot from here.”

She stirred. The chatter of a rushing river filled her ears, but from somewhere off in the woods came a low roar.

“Where are we?” she asked sleepily.

He leaned forward, his chest to her back, and swung himself to the ground before lifting her down. “The edges of Lord Tarr's holdings, but since the boundary runs with Blackbriar's lands, he does not patrol very often.”

“He probably didn't leave many behind for that duty.”

“No,” Torch agreed, “fortunately for us, but that was the idea.” He gathered the reins in one hand, while holding out the other to her. “Follow me carefully, now. Here the path is easy, but later it becomes treacherous.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“I've already told you. My lair. Or if you will, sanctuary.”

He set off along the water's edge, leading his horse. If there was a path to follow, Calista could not see it. Only stones at the river's side, beaten earth where no grass grew, and rising ground. As she stumbled in Torch's wake, the roar became louder, drowning the evensong of the forest birds.

The shadows about them deepened. The humid air was filled with the sharp scent of pines, underlain by the earthiness of loam and bracken. The trees closed about them, pressing from all sides, until Calista and Torch picked their way among the rocks of the riverbed. Ahead, a faint glow of white glimmered beyond low-hanging branches.

Calista squinted. Water, tons of it, poured over a lip of rock at least two fathoms high and just as wide. She increased her stride to catch up to Torch.

“Halt!”

The command came from the branches above. In the next instant, a hooded figure dropped from the trees. In the fading light, it was difficult to make out a face, but the form was tall and lean and armed.

The sharp tip of a spear pointed at Torch's chest.

“What's the password?” The voice emanating from the depths of the hood carried an accent that invoked the plains farther to the east and the thunder of hooves. Avestari. And hadn't Torch mentioned that one of the horse-masters rode with his Brotherhood? But this voice was distinctly feminine.

“I've no need of a password,” Torch replied, “and if you don't recognize me, you can go back to the eastlands where you came from.”

The figure laughed, a deep, throaty sound that made the hairs on the back of Calista's neck rise. “I wasn't asking you. I was asking your new friend here.”

“Calista needs no more of a password than I,” Torch fired back. “You will treat my wife with the same respect you accord me.”

The point of the spear lowered. “Wife, is it?”

Calista straightened her spine and summoned all the pride of her mother's people. “I daresay you'll treat me with more respect. What call have you to draw a weapon on your leader?”

Torch edged closer to her. “Wolf is only fulfilling her role as guard.”

Wolf, yes. That was the Avestari rider Torch had mentioned. The one who had been with him when he found his Scrying Stone. The one who had told him of its powers. “
This
is Wolf?”