Quest Of The Dragon Tamer (Book 1) (20 page)

Because the Adderiss was part human, it was unlikely she would be reborn like the nesbit. She was one being, not a breed of creature. Or at least, that was what Ren kept telling himself.

- - -

“Marianne?”

Marianne jumped. Korin grinned as if he knew her thoughts. She blushed and looked down at her hands. She had been daydreaming about him again, and his scrutiny of her only flustered her.

With a glance toward the main party she discovered why Korin had ridden over to her, or why, she thought with a pang of sadness, her father had commanded he do so. She had wandered a fair distance from the main group. She was always daydreaming and wandering. She had never been comfortable among large crowds, much less a troop of soldiers. To think Korin had come to her because he found her charming was ludicrous. Korin was just checking on her, by her father’s command.

Korin had lost his smile and was looking at her with what appeared to be genuine concern. He was handsome, with long golden hair, suntanned skin and midnight-blue eyes, so dark they appeared brown in scant light.

Korin had spoken with her many times over the past few months, for reason’s that escaped her. At first she held hopes he harbored feelings for her, but she soon discarded the idea. Korin could have anyone he wanted. Why would he want her?

“I saw you at the banquet,” Korin said, cheeks flushed from the ride. “You were the prettiest one there.”

She blinked in surprise, her shyness briefly forgotten. “How did you see me? Weren’t you camped outside the walls?”

His strong eyes turned toward her, causing her stomach to twist into knots. “Yes, but I told the guards I had a message for your father. They let me pass and I peeked inside.”

Marianne’s heart raced. “You told them you had a message just to look in on the guests?”

Korin blushed and turned away. “Actually, I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Me?”

Korin shrugged. “I just had a bad taste in my mouth. Maybe I was right after all that happened the next day.”

She wanted to say something, do something that would keep him talking, but she didn’t know what, so she just sat there gripping the reins like a fool, hoping he wouldn’t ride away. When he turned to her again she blinked in shock at the panic in his eyes.

“Did you see what happened, Marianne? Did you see the prince do all those things they say?”

His voice pleaded with her to speak the truth. She twisted the reins and nodded, remembering the dragon’s roar, the prince’s mad determination, and the woman falling. Yes, she had seen everything.

“So, you believe the sorceress?”

The question took her off guard. She wasn’t accustomed to anyone asking her opinion. Could she tell Korin her feelings? She thought of the crown prince’s pain and rage as he ran for Valor and Ista. It was terrible. She had never seen anyone so furious, but she didn’t believe the accusations. She didn’t know why, and she wouldn’t voice her feelings to anyone, especially her father. Lorlier was rigorous in his judgments, and if she spoke of believing in Ren, and he did not, he would look at her with disappointment.

Korin’s eyes searched her face, stripping her. “Please, Marianne, don’t be fearful of me. I’m just concerned people are accepting this woman blindly. Was what you saw so condemning no one will question her intentions?”

He reached over and placed his hand over hers. His thumb absently stroked her forearm, sending a tingling warmth to her heart, melting away any apprehension.

She drew in a breath, unable to turn from his eyes. “I don’t doubt Ren went after Valor and Ista. No one does, Korin, but I doubt the charges.”

As soon as her words were out, Korin’s eyes closed. She glanced down at his hand, still holding hers. His grip was strong; his touch, gentle. She laid her palm over his lower arm, feeling his taut muscles. She blinked, shocked at the way his touch made her forget her reason, and turned to see if he had noticed her caress. He was watching her with eyes filled with something she couldn’t describe. It was as if the ocean had come into them. She blushed and took her hand away. His hand stayed where it was, clutching hers with what seemed to be an entreaty for salvation.

“Marianne, I don’t know how to tell you this.” He paused and turned away. “I’m in love with you.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. She felt dizzy and was barely able to focus on his words.

“You’re so unlike me, so gentle and kind. You don’t even see how beautiful you are. I know I’ll never be able to be with you, but I’ll protect you for the rest of my days. Please know I would never intentionally hurt you. Hold me in your heart as you see me now. Know that this is who I truly am.”

Korin released her hand, spun his horse, and galloped back to the main group. Marianne watched his departure in a stupor. The warmth of his hand lingered like a fleeting wish. Had she heard him right? A rising sense of elation filled her. Closing her eyes she tilted her head back and let the sun shine down on her face.

He loved her?

Then she remembered his words. Why did he think she would hold him in ill regard? Her elation turned to worry. What was wrong with him? He had been acting strange since leaving Stardom. She had even overheard a few of the men talking about his pensiveness, like he had been sentenced to death.

She scanned the group, unable to find him. Alise would know what to say to him. Alise always knew what to say. Marianne found her sister easily, flirting with a few of the guards. She loved her sister with all her heart, but she had always lived in Alise’s shadow. Although she was the eldest, Alise’s personality was a bonfire. Hers was only a small spark.

Alise was everything: attractive, outgoing, and intelligent. Marianne was none of the above. Her hopes dwindled.

Korin wouldn’t continue to feel as he did. He couldn’t love her. How could he?

- - -

“Are you sure she believes you?” Brice asked, raising a dubious eyebrow like he always did when it was up to Korin to complete an assigned task. Brice’s pitted face had haunted Korin’s nightmares since he arrived in Fest. Korin had never seen another who looked the part of evil as much as Brice. It was the reason, Korin was sure, why Brice had never risen above a lowly stable hand. Many of the men still steered clear of Brice, with good reason. Brice was Ista’s eyes in Fest. He saw everything. Although the men didn’t know Brice’s true profession they felt uncomfortable under Brice’s watchful stare, hooded under a veil of dark brows.

“I’m sure.”

Korin took the saddle off his white steed, Salve. He loved his horse. Salve was the first thing of value he had ever owned. Lorlier had given Salve to him after he had earned a position in the king’s guard. Korin found it ironic the horse didn’t have an ounce of color on him since its rider had enough stains to taint all the water in the Lands. When people questioned the stallion’s name Korin would say the horse calmed him, but Salve’s name had nothing to do with tranquility. Salve was short for salvation. One day he planned to ride free on Salve, free from the pain, the suspicion, and the guilt.

Brice watched Korin rub Salve’s flank. Korin felt like a mouse under a hawk’s glare, but he had learned to live with it long ago. Brice wasn’t as nefarious as some, and Korin forced himself to be pacified that Brice, instead of one of the others, had been assigned to Fest. After a long silence, Brice grinned and nodded.

“We’re in a good position.”

Korin leaned against Salve and glared at the man. “It won’t matter, Brice. My confession will only gain us a little information, nothing more. Lorlier would never marry one of his daughters to a commoner.”

“But the king likes you, Korin. You’ve been promoted from a serving boy to a castle guard, to a swordsman in the king’s guard, all within two years. It isn’t unheard of for a king to give one of his valuable subjects some land, and if you have land – ”

“Dragon’s dung, Brice!” It was a phrase Korin had picked up from Lorlier. “Even if Lorlier granted me land that alone wouldn’t be enough to bargain for marriage. I still wouldn’t be in line for the throne. Davis will take control once Lorlier’s gone.”

Brice, whittling on a stick, continued to stare at Korin with devious eyes. “But Davis won’t be here.”

Korin tried to hide his shocked expression. He should have guessed killing Davis was Ista’s plan. Taking a life was nothing to her. Korin forced up the emotionless mask he always wore around the Collective. “I see,” he said, but not too quickly, too quickly would mean suspicion of his loyalty. “But I won’t harbor any vain hopes I’ll be allowed her hand.”

“That’s wise,” Brice said, turning his attention back to the piece of wood he was carving into the shape of a voluptuous woman.

Korin whispered words to Salve, suppressing the urge to retreat from Brice. If he left immediately Brice would question him. So Korin waited a degree of the sun, the shadow of Ista’s hold hovering over him like a promise of death, before ambling toward a nearby stream. Dipping his water sack in the chill water, he released a loud breath. He sat for a time, watching the water trickle over the rocks and wind its way back into the forest. From an overhanging branch a raven shrieked its displeasure at his presence. Korin’s lips twisted into a grimace.

“I know I don’t belong, my friend. I know that all too well.”

Korin sat back on the grass as he felt Ista’s invisible noose around his neck tighten with each breath. All he wanted was escape. When he left Ista’s camp over two years prior he had hoped he could find a way to rid himself of the pain. Now he knew escape was impossible. He would never be free of the needles.

Korin choked back his terror as he thought of digging up Bor’s grave. When the dragon had ripped open Bor’s chest at the dragon match, Korin hoped if he just saw Bor’s body he would discover the answer he was looking for: how Ista controlled the Collective. He had discovered the truth. Needles were in his mind. Death was his only escape.

When he had been at the camp there had been no talk of the Maker, only of the Watcher, and pain and hurt and anguish. His life seemed to be something out of a nightmare, a nightmare from which no one ever woke, only fought to survive. But during those years he had trusted something else existed, something opposite of pain.

Then he had witnessed what he knew in his heart was real: goodness, love, and laughter. He had found it when Ista finally allowed him to leave the camp: in Lorlier, in Marianne, in the men who called him friend. Where before he wanted escape, now he wanted salvation: salvation so one day he would be able to look those he loved in the eye and feel no remorse; salvation so he could have a chance to atone for his crimes; salvation so he could finally touch a woman in love, have a friend without secrets, and exist without fear of discovery.

But how could he ever have that? Even if he gained his freedom he had committed so many acts that would damn his soul he didn’t know if salvation was possible for him.

He had played a part, looked out of his own eyes, but repressed his soul, trusting he would one day be able to freely choose what he did and did not do. He had worn a mask of survival that had fooled them all. He had told himself he was only the instrument, not the offender.

But was he? How did fighting for survival, for life, make it right to do what he had done? He could argue he hadn’t known better, but he knew if he was sent back in time he would do those unspeakable horrors again if one day he thought he could be free.

No, there was no salvation for him. He was a fool to believe it. “Forgive me, Marianne.” It was over. Ista had won. Only she knew the secret behind the needles, and that knowledge would never be revealed.

He had witnessed how life could be with Lorlier and his family. The king thought him a friend; Marianne looked at him as a man. Now, because he knew the meaning of love, it was harder to release the hope of salvation he had clung to for so long.

Lorlier’s family had given him love, honor, duty, and friendship. They had given him the strength he needed to face death. He couldn’t let Ista destroy their family. Lorlier would be devastated if Davis was killed, and Marianne …

Praise the Fates he loved her! She was everything he was not. Her heart was pure. She had never harmed another, even by words, and would die before she did so.

He wet his hand and rubbed his face until it stung, wishing it were as easy to cleanse himself on the inside. It was time for him to decide his fate.

As he saw it he had three options: to give in to the pain and follow Ista, to reveal all he knew and be killed by the people he loved, or to kill himself.

Giving in to the pain was something he couldn’t conceive. He had never done so, and now that he knew how to feel other emotions he would never consider converting to Ista’s side. He knew the righteous thing would be to reveal all he knew to Lorlier, but how could he reveal his knowledge when he would be looked upon with disgust and vanquished or killed by the only person who had ever put any faith in him? No matter how much pain he had felt in his life he couldn’t handle the pain of Lorlier’s shame.

Korin released a breath, expelling his last hope. He knew what he had to do. He had to end the threat to Lorlier and his family. He had to kill Brice, and then kill himself. It was the only way to die with some honor. Ista wouldn’t claim him, and the people he loved would never know him to be the vile person he was.

His life would end without one truth. He would die before he was allowed to prove he was capable of love. He thought of the Stardom guard he had seen the night he had dug up Bor’s grave. The man had looked just like him. Korin didn’t know how, but maybe in some way, the guard knew the truth.

“Korin, I need to talk to you.”

Korin bolted up in alarm and spun to see Lorlier’s shocked expression at his fright.

“Did you use magic just then, Korin?” Lorlier grinned. “I don’t think anyone could move that fast on his own accord.” Lorlier hazel’s eyes danced with mirth. Korin’s chest tightened. The king only revealed his winsome humor to a chosen few.

“No, my lord,” Korin replied, bending to pick up the water bag that was now leaking on his boots. He didn’t want to think about magic. Magic was something he had wished for his entire life if only to learn how to escape the presence and the pain. Now he knew escape was impossible.