Rift (18 page)

Alistair touched her cheek. “Such spirit. Had you been born a man, you would have led armies and made other men tremble.”

She turned her face away from his hand. “Perhaps I still shall. I’m here, aren’t I? And, if memory serves, I’m not the one who needed to be rescued from my test.”

Alistair fell silent and Ember cursed her temper.

“Who told you?” he asked. “Was it Barrow?”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’m tired and my mouth makes complaint for my broken body. Please forget what I said.”

He laughed softly, though there was a rough edge to the sound. “Anything serious, though? Have you strained a muscle?”

“I don’t think so,” she said, wishing he would leave so she could let sleep take away her pain.

She jumped when Alistair touched her arm. “Don’t be afraid. I just want to make sure you aren’t hurt.”

Ember tried to relax as Alistair’s fingers probed her upper arms, shoulders, and neck. His touch was gentle, but it sent a creeping sensation along her skin.

“I’m fine,” she said, trying to pull away. “There’s no need for this.”

His arm slipped around her waist. “Shhh.” His other hand was stroking her cheek.

“Alistair, what are you doing?” Her question came out shaking.

“What we’ve always wanted,” he whispered. Then he turned her in his arms, pressing his mouth against hers.

Panic surged through Ember’s limbs. She went rigid against him, but Alistair took no notice. His tongue thrust between her lips.

She shoved him away with a hiss. “Stop!” Despite her shock, she kept her voice low. She had no idea what had gotten into her friend, but she didn’t want the rest of the Guard to burst in on them.

“What’s wrong?” Alistair tried to pull her against him again.

“Why are you doing this?” She put her hands against his chest, keeping him at bay.

“Don’t you see, Em?” Alistair sounded confused and hurt. “We can be together now.”

Ember’s skin had grown very cold. “We’re together in the Guard. We’ll fight side by side.”

“And at night I’ll warm your bed. I’ll worship your body.” There was a fever in his voice that made Ember’s stomach turn.

“No.” Ember pushed against him, forcing him to move farther away from her. “Our vows. Father Michael said they’re all that protects us from the Church’s intrusion. From the fate of the Templars.”

“The vows mean nothing.” He spit out the words. “Don’t you see? We take the vows to pacify the Church and the nobles. They dare not cross us for they too greatly fear the evils we face each day, but they don’t know what happens behind these walls. Father Michael keeps our secrets. He understands we are but men. We fight the encroaching darkness and then do as we please.”

“You can’t be serious,” she said.

His laugh was quiet, but horrible. “Are you really such a child? Do you believe men as brutal and hardened as those in the Guard would forgo pleasures of the flesh?”

Now Ember thought she would vomit.

He went on. “They find lovers where they will and when they will. The vows merely protect us.”

Ember curled up against the wall. Alistair crawled toward her. His voice became soft, coaxing.

“I’m sorry, Em. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I thought you understood. You needn’t be afraid. I’m here to protect you.”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. How could his words be true? What about Father Michael’s warning? Did the Guard simply laugh behind the old priest’s back?

Alistair brushed her hair out of her face. “I haven’t sought a lover. I waited for you. Not just this year, but all my life. I’ve always wanted you, Ember. We belong together. You must know that. Fate brought us both to Conatus and to the Guard. How can we deny what was meant to be?”

He started to put his arms around her, but Ember shrank back.

“That isn’t why I’m here,” she said.

“Em,” Alistair began.

“No.” She snatched the dagger from the table beside her bed, holding it between their bodies. “I was called to the Guard to be a warrior. Not your concubine.”

He glared at the dagger and then at her. “And what of us? You must have known that I’ve loved you since we were children. You’ve done nothing to discourage my affections.”

“Get out!” Ember stood up, keeping the dagger pointed at him. She was startled and enraged by his claims. Of course they’d been close as children, but Ember hadn’t felt anything other than sisterly love for Alistair. She couldn’t believe she’d done anything to make him think otherwise.

“Don’t do this, Em,” Alistair said, though he backed toward the door. He voice went soft again. “Please. Just listen to me.”

“Leave me alone.” She gripped the dagger so tightly it shook in her hand. “If you value our friendship, you will never speak of this again.”

Alistair’s shoulders slumped, but he quietly left her room.

Ember wasn’t sure how long she stood there. The chill of the room crept up her limbs and the trembling in her hand soon overtook her whole body. She didn’t care when the dagger slipped from her grasp, clattering on the stone floor.

THIRTEEN

THE MORNING WASN’T
as torturous as she’d expected. Ember glanced at the empty bowl of tea on her table, wincing from guilt at the reminder of Alistair’s thoughtful gesture. Guilt was chased away by frustration and then rage as she remembered how free he’d been with his hands. The crush of his mouth on hers had bruised her lips. How could he make such presumptions about her feelings?

In all their years together he’d never tried to push their relationship beyond friendship, except to concoct ridiculous plans about eloping with her. She turned his words over in her mind.

We can be together now. What we’ve always wanted.

Though she wished it weren’t so, Ember couldn’t claim he’d never raised this idea before. He’d constantly sworn his affection for her. Jested that they should be married. Had his teasing masked the true desires of his heart?

Her chest tightened. Perhaps she’d been too hard on him. Alistair had been so loyal, so dear to her. If he did love her as he’d claimed, then her words must have battered his heart. Ember’s sigh was long, full of the weariness of her body and spirit. She would try to mend anything broken between herself and Alistair, but she had to do so in a way that didn’t encourage him. She loved Alistair, but as a brother, not as a lover.

Much to her relief, and surprise, only Barrow was waiting for her in the barracks’ main hall. She sat beside him, happily accepting the bowl of steaming porridge he pushed in front of her.

“Where is everyone?” she asked.

Barrow leaned back in his chair; lines of concern appeared at the corners of his eyes. “Lukasz called a meeting. There’s been some news.”

Ember put her spoon down. “Shouldn’t we be there as well?”

“He discussed the matter with me last night,” he said. “We have other work to focus on today.”

She returned to eating, her poor mood worsening at the lack of inclusion. Despite the praise she’d received after her trial, Ember still felt like an outsider, like she was being kept away from the real purpose of the Guard. She took a few more bites of the porridge and set her spoon down again. When she rose, Barrow frowned.

“You’ve barely eaten.”

“I’m not hungry this morning,” she said.

He studied her face. “Are you ill?”

“No.” She avoided meeting his eyes. “Just eager to begin the day.”

Barrow stood up and servants appeared to clear the table. “If I know Morag, she’ll have worked nonstop to have your weapon ready. We’ll head to the smithy first.”

Ember didn’t answer but simply followed Barrow out of the barracks. She felt restless, battered by her fitful night after Alistair’s appearance and her deepening uncertainty about her place in Conatus. Too many questions left unanswered, too many secrets whispered behind closed doors.

When they stepped into the courtyard, Ember looked over her shoulder, her gaze wandering toward the stables.

She turned back with a sigh, only to find Barrow watching her with a knowing smile. “I won’t keep him from you long.”

Ember returned his smile stiffly. She was too unsettled to seek a bond with the knight over their shared love of riding. The one person she’d fully trusted here had been scheming, manipulating her path to serve his own desires. Alistair’s confession—no matter how well intentioned—only felt like a betrayal. It stung in her chest and made her bristle against any friendliness Barrow showed.

Though the sun had risen only a short while ago, the smithy was already alive with its craft. Barrow led Ember, stopping only when he’d reached Morag’s forge. The blacksmith was stoking the fire.

She greeted Barrow without looking up. “Good morning, my lord.”

“Morag.” Barrow leaned against the workbench. “Do you have something for us?”

Morag straightened with a smile. “Nothing for you, but something for the lady.”

Ember sidled past Barrow, curiosity edging out her ill temper. What could have manifested from her strange visions of a double moon?

From a lower shelf of her workbench Morag withdrew two leather objects.

“It’s a good thing I apprenticed for two years with a Chinese blade master,” the blacksmith said as she gripped a leather-wrapped handle. From within the slipcover appeared a weapon like none Ember had ever seen. Morag extended the strange piece to her. Her fingers closed around the handle and she held the weapon up to examine it. Connected to the handgrip was a bright silver ring, a perfectly circular blade with a diameter slightly wider than her face. A crescent blade with sharp, gleaming points projected from the leather grip into the center of the ring.

“Two moons,” Ember whispered. The weapon was light in her hand. She moved her arm up and down slowly, marveling at how natural it felt to hold something so foreign to her.

Barrow stepped closer. “What a strange thing.”

“Not everyone must fight with a massive hunk of steel.” Morag snickered. “This weapon will play to her strengths.”

“What is it?” Ember asked, turning the piece over so its bright surface reflected the leaping flames in the forge.

“A variation on a weapon of the Far East, the wheel of wind and fire,” Morag said. “Your vision pointed to a wheel for combat, but a wheel of two moons.”

The blacksmith cast a sidelong glance at Ember. “But its origins are naught. This weapon belongs to you. It shall not serve you until you give it a name.”

“A name?”

Morag nodded. “The name invokes the blade’s power. As the one who’ll wield the blade, the name comes from you, lass.”

The blacksmith handed Ember a second leather case, identical to the first. “Wheels are wielded in pairs. They are tools of beauty and devastation. Graceful and lethal.”

Ember closed her eyes. She could see the full moon and the crescent sliver. Tears of blood rained from the night sky. “Silence and Sorrow.”

Hearing Barrow expel a slow, even breath, Ember glanced at him to find he was nodding.

“Fine names,” Morag said solemnly.

Gazing at the blades’ mirror-like surface, Ember thought she caught a glimpse of the moonlight and crimson tears—as if her vision were captured within the very steel.

Ember broke out of her reverie, eyes narrowing. “These are weapons of the East?”

“China,” Morag told her.

“And you’ve followed the overland route that distance?” Ember asked. “As the spice merchants do?”

Morag laughed. “I couldn’t spare the time. If I took a caravan to the East anytime I needed to make inquiries about their weaponry, I would never forge a blade of my own.”

“But you said you could craft these wheels because you apprenticed there,” Ember said.

Morag looked at Barrow sharply. “She doesn’t know?”

“Later,” Barrow said, putting a hand on Ember’s shoulder. “Let’s give you a chance to test these blades.”

“Hold, knight.” Morag laughed. “You lot are always too eager to skip the rote lesson for the sake of letting your blades fly. The girl should know our magic.”

Barrow smiled with chagrin. “Very well. Teach on, Morag.”

With a snort, Morag turned to Ember. “The vows of Conatus require that we submit to the will of this earth. We are the shield that pushes back corruption that would taint God’s creation.”

Ember nodded and Barrow took up the story: “The Crusades taught the Church that we aren’t alone in this battle against darkness. The Templars were born to seize the Holy Land for Christians—but Conatus was born of the Templars for a purpose altogether different.”

“Father Michael said we learned from the Saracens,” Ember said quietly. “That we share our wisdom.”

“Our sometime enemies in the mortal war prove our allies when we fight for that which is immortal,” Barrow said. “And we rely on constant correspondence to increase our skills.”

“I understand the reasoning behind this cooperation,” Ember answered. “But Morag spoke of an apprenticeship without a journey.”

Morag smiled. “Not without a journey, lass, but a journey other than what you imagined. You were called to the Guard, but there are other gifts that bind our numbers to Conatus. The clerics have uncovered some of the earth’s greatest secrets. Secrets that render the impossible possible. That make a journey to the Orient take only a moment rather than months.”