Emergence (Book 2) (32 page)

"Now it is I who should apologize for my ill manners. I, of course, hold the guard in as high esteem as I hold the Emperor himself. Without them, who would be able to sleep without fear?"

"Is there something else I can help you with, my lord?" Berk asked. "If not, I need to make my report to the Emperor."

The upturn of the mage's lips made his expression look like a smile though it held no warmth. "No, nothing at all. Please, carry on."

Berk gave another respectful nod before turning away to continue down the corridor. He could feel Lord Arnok's eyes on him until he entered the anteroom outside the Emperor's office. Even then, his presence seemed to linger until the Emperor's aide stepped out to usher Berk through the wide, double doors.

***

"You put us both at risk with your constant summons," Arnok announced as he entered Donovan's study. He stopped short, just inside the doorway, his gaze narrowing. "You are unwell."

Donovan curled a lip. "And you presume that gives you an edge. Allow me to assure you it does not. Should you attempt to try me the Order of Mages will find themselves in search of a new leader."

Arnok scowled and crossed his arms, tucking his hands in his copious sleeves. The habit made Donovan curious as to what types of things the mage might keep stowed in them. A bit of poison, perhaps? A dagger? Some sort of protective amulet? None of which would surprise him in the least.

Colm entered with a steaming mug of some concoction the priestess had brewed. It smelled like boiled swamp water
, and tasted of mushrooms and dirt. Donovan wrinkled his nose but forced a mouthful down his throat. The priestess knew her herb lore, and possessed the uncanny ability to subdue the worst of the effects he experienced from using the crone's power. Or her curse, as the priestess had called it, and Donovan wondered at her use of that word.

"Sit down, Arnok," Donovan said, his voice sharp.

The mage did so after a moment's hesitation, folding his frame into the upholstered chair and arranging his robes of office with precise moves of his fingers. He caught Donovan's gaze and stilled his hands in his lap. Donovan would have laughed had he felt less like something left to die on the side of the road, and more like his normal self. The mage had actually attempted a bit of hand magic, a self-ward to negate Donovan's influence on him.

"I sent my request shortly after dawn,"
Donovan said. "It is now dusk. I did not realize it took quite so long to travel here from the castle."

"I have some news you may find interesting," Arnok said, ignoring the comment.

"Do tell." Donovan took another swallow of the hot bog juice.

"I ran into one of the Emperor's personal guard."

"That is bound to happen when one spends a great amount of time fawning at his royal feet."

A flash of anger lit Arnok's eyes. "This particular guard was one of those sent to provide escort to the Lord General and your...daughter."

Donovan covered his reaction by holding the mug cradled beneath his nose. The stench brought bile rising in his throat. "They are in the city?"

"If by 'they' you mean General Bolin and the girl, then no. Not yet. Apparently there was a delay of some sort. The guard felt they would be here by tomorrow evening. He didn't elaborate on the nature of the delay. His report was apparently for the Emperor's ears alone."

"You have thus far failed to interest me," Donovan said.

Arnok smiled, a parody of Donovan's usual expression. "I believe the man could be of use to you."

"Of use to
us
? In what manner? I hardly have need of a personal guard."

"I took the opportunity to read him. A ridiculously simple task, really."

"As simple as reading you?" And Donovan would have done so merely to prove his point if his head were not still throbbing. The priestess's brew had helped, but the day had drained him. "I do not play guessing games, Lord Arnok. I have neither the time nor the patience for you to exercise your cleverness. Tell me plainly how this man will be of use, and then assure me of your willingness to cooperate with me, or tomorrow will be a day of mourning for the faithful of Nisair."

Arnok stiffened. "Knowing your plan would make it easier for me to offer assurances."

"Or to betray me," Donovan said. "What I require from you is a lifting of the city's wards."

The mage barked out a laugh. "Impossib
le. That would take the entire Council and the Emperor himself."

"Not necessarily. I have spent some time studying the structure of the wards. There are points around the city at which they are weaker than others. Places where one or two
Imperial Mages could manipulate them without the Council or the Emperor being any the wiser. The northwest corner of the outer wall, for instance."

"You said one or two
mages," Arnok said.

"If you can manage on your own, then do so. If you cannot, then I suggest you enlist the aid of your youngest member."

Arnok fussed at his robes, adjusting his chain of office as he shifted in the chair. "My part in this..." He wet his lips before dragging his gaze back to Donovan. "What is it exactly you hope to accomplish here?"

"I plan to reclaim what is rightfully mine."

"And afterwards?"

"Have we not discussed this?" Donovan studied the mage. "Ah, you seek reassurance. You look for some guarantee of your position in the new order of things once I have become something even greater than your hag of a Goddess. I have a long memory, Lord Arnok. I value those who stand with me
, and will not tolerate those who do not. Does that answer your question?"

"I risk much to stand with you. If you should fail I will be ruined."

"And what do you presume will happen should you not stand with me and I succeed? Ruin can come to a man quickly, or agonizingly slow. There is but one way for you to emerge from this whole. Now," Donovan waved Colm over and handed off his empty mug, "tell me how this Imperial Guard can be of use to us."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

"Welcome back."

Bolin rolled his head and blinked, something which took far more effort than it should have. A thin shaft of dust-streaked light filtered in through the half closed shutter, showing Garek slouched in a chair, his feet propped on the end of the bed, ankles crossed. The expression he wore reflected a blend of concern and irritation. If Bolin had to guess, he could look forward to that look from more than just Garek.

"Ciara?" The word came out like the croak of a frog.

"Sleeping."

"She shouldn't have..." Goddess's blood, he felt weak as a newborn, and stringing words together seemed an impossible task. "How long was I out?"

Garek cocked an eye at the window. "Slightly after dawn puts it at a day and a half. I sent Berk and Salek on to Nisair to apprise the Emperor of our delay. The Lady thought it best not to move you or Ciara, or I'd have thrown you in a cart and we'd be there ourselves. I could've spent the night in my own bed as opposed to this rock of a chair worrying over you. Do you realize how close to dead you were?"

Bolin shoved himself up, leaning back on his elbows until his head caught up to the movement. He hurt. Everywhere. And the last thing he wanted was a lecture on the stupidity of his recent actions. Garek didn't move.

"Donovan's in Nisair."

"So I hear," Garek said. When Bolin looked a question at him, the Commander elaborated. "You talked a bit. Even if you hadn't, Ciara told me. You owe that woman your life. We all do, I guess." Garek swung his legs off the bed
, and shoved out of the chair. "Damn it to the thousand hells, Bolin."

The confines of the room didn't offer much space, but Garek used it all to pace out his anger.

"It was a calculated risk," Bolin said, his own temper rising at having to explain himself. His arm muscles quivered with the strain of holding himself up, but he refused to give in. "I had to know what Donovan was up to. Or would you prefer to keep running blind?"

"I'd prefer to know what my other hand is doing behind my back."

"Had I said anything, Nialyne would have attempted to stop me."

"
And with good cause." Garek ran both hands through his mane of hair as though he meant to pull it out. "You push the limits of tolerance, Bolin. You really do."

"If you're about done, I could use my clothes." Bolin sat up slowly, easing his legs over the edge of the bed to prevent tipping over.

"Done?" Garek snorted, and shook his head. "Oh aye, I'm about done, a'right."

He pinned Bolin with a glare, and Bolin took his meaning. He breathed out a sigh, dispelling his anger with it. "I won't apologize. Not this time. It needed doing, and had I told of my plan ahead of time the outcome would have been no different."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Find it whatever you choose," Bolin said. "I now have a much better idea of the strength of our enemy and where he is."

"How much good would that do us if you were dead?" Garek turned away to gather up Bolin's gear and clothing. He tossed it on the bed. "You probably shouldn't even be getting out of bed yet."

"Likely not." Bolin rested his elbows on his knees
, and buried his face in his hands, allowing himself a moment of wallowing.

"If it helps any, my message to the Emperor details everything we know at this point," Garek said. "And I can tell you're trying to cook up another scheme in that battered noggin of yours, but you need to just let it go. At this point, Nisair is our only option. You know that. And
we know what awaits us now thanks to your attempted suicide."

Bolin glowered from beneath his brows, but Garek appeared not to notice.

"Do you need help getting dressed?"

Bolin didn't dignify the question with a response.

Garek shrugged. "All right then. I'll go get you something to eat instead."

Bolin
sat motionless for a time after Garek left, trying to reconstruct exactly what had happened and finding the task too monumental. There were too many unconnected dots and no line to draw between them. Trying to find the line required a level of concentration he couldn't seem to muster. He opted instead to make an attempt at dressing. He managed his pants and tunic before a light knock on the door announced Nialyne's arrival.

"Garek told me you were awake
," she said by way of greeting.

Bolin braced himself for the coming lecture. He'd have to take it
. He didn't have the energy, or the desire, to argue with the Galysian elder.

"Are you thinking we'll be leaving this morning?" she asked, her words carefully measured, her eyes hiding something.

"I'm sorry, Alyne," Bolin said, guessing at what lurked beneath her carefully composed exterior, and giving her the same argument he'd thrown at Garek, "It had to be done."

"Not in that manner. We nearly lost you, but not to the Goddess's arms, a task which would have been laid in Garek's hands."

Something clicked in Bolin's memories, and all at once he understood Garek's anger and Nialyne's terror because both hit him at the same time. Losing himself to Ciara's power had always been his main concern because arrogance kept him from believing he could ever lose himself to Donovan. He'd convinced himself he would die first, by his own hand if necessary. He also held a firm belief the Goddess would never allow such a thing to happen. Yet after he'd been shattered by Donovan's attack he had been one heartbeat away from giving in.

He flinched at Nialyne's touch and took an inadvertent step backwards.

Bolin made it a point never to dwell on things that may have been. Either they didn't happen and no longer mattered, or they did and you found a way to live with it. This one hadn't happened, but all the same it stuck, thrust through his guts like a twisting knife. The ramifications of what could have been tore through him in a moment of sheer horror that left his mouth dry and sweat running down his back. He lowered himself to the edge of the bed, his legs refusing to continue supporting him.

He took Nialyne's meaning. Had he become Donovan's puppet, had they no way of bringing him back, Garek would have killed him. Bolin would have expected it. Goddess above, he would have asked for it had he been able. Maybe he had. He couldn't dredge all that many memories out of the murk of the veil, and he didn't want to. Not if they showed him that.

Someone shoved a mug into his hand.

"It's finally hit him, I take it?" Garek's voice, followed by the clattering of a tray
, and the scent of some kind of stew, then a hand under the mug guiding it toward his face. "That's for drinking, not coddling."

Bolin took a drink. The sharp heather wine hit the back of his throat and scalded all the way down, burning like the hells' own fire and bringing tears to his eyes. He blinked them back, coughing, and downed the rest. That brought more tears and another fit of coughing but served to shake him out of the pit he'd fallen into. Or at least allowed him to poke his head from the depths of it.

If Ciara hadn't managed to do whatever she'd done...

"Unholy mothers," he murmured.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. "You need to let it go. We all do. It's done."

"If I--"

Garek tipped a bottle and refilled Bolin's mug. "A wise man once told me to learn from the past but not to live in it. We all know what could have happened. Well, I'm still a little muzzy on some of the details, but I don't need to know. Don't want to. Just want to get you back on your feet, and everyone safely to Nisair."

Bolin snorted. "And then? We're walking right into Donovan's arms."

"There's the Bolin we all know and love," Garek said. "How about we take one problem at a time. Let's get to the city first. I would bet the Emperor has things in hand by now. Can we please try, just once, to put a little faith in someone else? I know it's a huge step for you, but all things considered, it is about time. Aye?"

The heather wine hit easier than it had the first time. Bolin lifted a look at Garek from under his brows. "I hate it when you're right."

"I know."

"It's been happening a lot of late."

"Nice of you to notice."

Bolin finished off the mug and set it aside. He stood and drew Nialyne into his arms, bowing his head to rest against her shoulder. "You raised a fool through no fault of your own," he said in Galysian.

"At least he can admit it," she said. "That tells me there is hope for him yet."

***

Andrakaos hadn't stirred in a full day. Not that Ciara had done much beyond sleep, but even when she reached to his chamber he didn't so much as twitch. Something felt different between them. Even though exhaustion plagued her, Ciara felt a sense of...satisfaction? Completion? For the first time since her mother's death, she had found some kind of internal harmony.

And it completely terrified her.

Mostly because she didn't have a clue what it meant. She couldn't even say she wanted to find out. Not yet. She didn't have the strength to deal with it. Pulling Bolin back from the depths of the veil had sapped her of every last ounce of energy she had. Nothing in her healer training had prepared her for such a task, and she knew she couldn't have done it with just her earth magic alone. Had Andrakaos not helped, had she not trusted him, Bolin would have died.

Ciara gasped as the thought of that tightened her chest.

She rolled out of bed before she lost herself to the shadow of that thought, dressing quickly to keep her brain from dwelling on it. She would check on Bolin, and then find Garek and Nialyne.

Ciara pulled the door open
, and a startled squeal escaped her. Bolin stood on the other side, his hand raised to knock. She threw her arms around his neck without thinking, and then the tears came. Hard on their heels followed the incoherent blubbering. Bolin stood for a moment as though too shocked by the nature of her greeting to do anything else, and then his arms folded around her and pulled her close.

"I thought…we almost...if you had..." The words burst from her around wracking sobs. And then she shoved away from him, thrusting her palms
hard against his chest. "How dare you. Did you even think about the rest of us? Do you know what we would have had to do if I couldn't get you back? What Garek would have had to do? Damn you."

She whirled away, back into the room, her hands balled at her sides. Each breath shook out of her, hard and quick, slowly taking her hurt and anger with them. When she thought she could face him again with some semblance of decorum,
Ciara wiped her cheeks with the back of her sleeve and turned.

Bolin hadn't moved from the doorway. He watched her, brow furrowed, shadows and dark lines framing his eyes. "I wanted to make sure you were all right."

"Well I'm not. Thank you."

His jaw worked, and he looked away. "I did what I felt I needed to at the time."

"As always."

His focus snapped back to Ciara, and she did her best not to flinch. But then he looked away again.

"You just can't do it, can you?" Ciara said.

His gaze slid to her face. "What's that?"

"Admit you might have been wrong. That maybe you made a mistake. That you're in any way prone to errors in judgment just like anyone else."

"Is that what you want to hear, then?"

Ciara threw her hands in the air. "Not if I have to pull it from you. Are you even sorry for what you put us through?"

"Goddess's blood, Ciara." His voice cracked, and Ciara bit her lip. "Do you not think I know what could have happened? Even if I didn't, Garek and Nialyne have seen fit to make sure I'm well aware of it. That doesn't change the fact it needed to be done. What you did..."

Ciara held her breath.
Don't you dare say it,
she thought.
Don't say it was reckless or I shouldn't have done it.

"You saved my life." He sucked in a breath. "It's all I'm trying to do for you."