The Northern Approach (75 page)

Yoska’s isolation made Estin think again of his children and what they must be feeling. Oria, at least, would be angry and want revenge for all that had happened. Without family and someone to love, she would seek out battle the way Yoska was, charging into the war, knowing it could kill her. That was something Estin had to prevent. That was reason enough to go on…to finish things before Oria made up her mind to follow her mother’s reckless past and put her life in danger, never thinking of the risks. Estin could not allow his daughter to kill herself, seeking some kind of absurd solace in misery. The only way to ensure that was to lure the Turessians far from her.

Estin thought about On’esquin, steadfastly continuing toward his old homeland, knowing there was little chance of success. Another life lost, but for what purpose? He could not let that be in vain. He owed the man that much.

Resting his head on the cloak they were using as a pillow, Estin stroked Feanne’s fur, trying to calm her restless sleep as much as sooth his own nerves. He had buried her once and he could not do it again. Not that he would have any choice if things went that badly. The magic he had used to save her was long gone, buried with On’esquin. There were no more second chances. Resurrection circles were gone—most healing magic was gone—it filled him with such a sense of finality that he had not felt in years. The somber realization that death was always waiting to snatch away any of them was something he had forgotten in the years since learning how to heal, but it was back with a ferocity that unnerved Estin.

“I swear you’ll see our children again,” he whispered to Feanne, though she remained asleep, her ears twitching at his breath.

Opening an eye, Raeln watched Estin across the fire for a moment before saying softly, “Do not promise anything that you can’t ensure. I made that mistake, and you will never forgive yourself if you fail.”

Estin realized he knew the look Raeln was giving him. The man was jealous in a small way. He envied Estin having his love in his life, while Raeln’s was gone. It was unfair and painful. Estin knew that all too well and wished there was more he could do. “I told you months ago that I could bring back the spirits to talk to us,” Estin said quietly to Raeln, trying not to wake the others. “I would be willing to try, once I’ve rested a night. Would you like me to bring back her spirit to talk to you tomorrow, if I’m able?”

Raeln smiled and shook his head. “No need to bring him back,” he replied, emphasizing “him.” Estin had thought Raeln wanted to say good-bye to his sister, but that word made it clear that his worries were elsewhere. “He died the way he wanted to, fighting a superior foe and finally finding his limits. He died loved and I think he knew it. Bringing him back will only reopen the wounds for me and make him look on me with grief. Let him rest, and I will find a way to bring honor to his memory. When I am finished, I will either find a way to live without him or I will go to him in the same way he left. There will be plenty of opportunities where we’re going.” Closing his eyes, Raeln said nothing further.

Shivering, more from the somber thoughts than from the cold, Estin buried his face in Feanne’s fur, trying to find solace in clinging to her. He would cling to her through anything and never let her go again. He could not or he would risk losing himself.

Standing outside the tent as the storm raged, Turess wrapped his arms around himself and fought to keep his body from shaking. He was cold to the bone, but his body remembered that pain. It was familiar, refreshing even. The last years of his life—his old life—had been in the bitter lands farther north than this, and he had certainly felt no warmth in his deathbed, kept hidden from those who wished to steal the empire from him. There had been no fires to keep him warm in those last days. There had only been On’esquin, begging him for information as his life ebbed.

Turess turned to look back into the tent, where the three wildlings, the fae woman, and the roguish man slept. He did not know or understand them, but they felt like old friends, matching the vague flashes of prophetic visions he had seen. They were good people, that much he could see from the way they doted on one another. There was much love in that tent, both real and remembered. If anything else, that was a reason for him to stand in the storm, a penance for his misdeeds so many years earlier. He had allowed one-sided love to consume his heart, while thousands suffered and his empire collapsed. Now that emotion belonged to others and he would do what he should have done so many years earlier.

How many years had it been, he wondered. On’esquin had not had time to tell him before the magic that brought Turess back had snuffed out On’esquin’s seemingly endless life. That had been something Turess had not expected when he created the artifacts that were meant to bring him back to his full capabilities immediately upon his resurrection, but it was not terribly surprising. The magic was unstable, and he had honestly not expected it to work at all, no matter how many of the dozen items On’esquin had managed to bring to the tomb. That he had managed to reach Turess’s remains at all with the mists following the artifacts was a small miracle. On’esquin should have known better than to lead the mists straight to them, but it had worked out, providing Turess with a little more needed magic.

There would be time to figure out the details once he had learned the language of these people who seemed willing to trust him. Thus far, the patterns of the language had been difficult to piece together, but he had figured out more complicated languages, given enough time and patience. Tone had already given him much of their language, allowing him to guess at the intent of most comments of these simple people, though specifics would take him far longer. A few weeks and he would probably be able to converse freely with them.

Turess rolled up his sleeve and eyed the bracelet he had taken from the wolf. It felt foreign now, something that had been away from him for too long to hold its importance. Even the magic he had imbued it with—designed to shield one from the mists or trap the mists’ energies and use it to restore him and feed magical effects nearby—was now nearly gone. It might work once or twice more, though he had his doubts. It was nothing more than a trinket, holding memories of abandonment and loss. Even the best of his creations could only linger in the mists so long before they were torn apart. Another run-in with the mists would be dangerous for him.

“You left me to die, Kharali,” Turess whispered, unfastening the heavy bracelet. The twin silver jewelry had been their wedding gifts, with each of them wearing one from the matching set he had commissioned. That had been so very long ago. Kharali had left with her bracelet. “I trusted you with my life and you walked away, despite all your pledges and my faith in you. After all that we went through and promised each other, you were the one I never thought would leave me. You were not the one I called ‘traitor.’”

Holding back his tears, Turess walked to the edge of the hill, where the ground dropped off sharply. The swirling snow made it difficult to see more than a few feet, but he remembered the look of the area from before the storm had started. Anything that went over that ledge would likely not be found for weeks, until after the snow had melted off again. With luck, a heavy enough object would sink into the snow and be lost for decades.

“Good-bye,” he whispered, pulling back his arm to throw the bracelet as far as he could. He wanted to be rid of Kharali and all of his old memories. It was time to start fresh, to reclaim what was taken from him. All he had left to do was to throw that relic of old emotions far from himself and walk away.

Turess could not make himself do it. Slowly, he let his arm drop, feeling weak and helpless. He had been betrayed and he still could not put the past aside. The woman had let him die and never even come to see him, let alone save him. He should hate her with every fiber of his being and never feel a bit of guilt.

Turning to look back into the tent, Turess could see the lemur and fox, curled together under their blanket. She seemed as savage a creature as Kharali had been and the lemur was hardly fearsome. The man reminded Turess of himself in his younger years, pursuing something he knew was a risk but so very worth it. Turess had been the vulnerable one back then and Kharali had been his strength in times of war. For the two wildlings who had come for him, it seemed much the same. Their survival and strength came from one another, with neither having all that they needed to endure the trials the world placed on them.

Turess thought back to his first meeting with Kharali and how they had hated each other. He had initially told himself he respected her rather than loved her, even as his feelings had shifted. That had smoothed over so many difficulties, but it was nowhere near enough to get past the knowledge that she had abandoned him. In that she was so very different from the two in the tent. She had turned her back on his affection when he needed her most. He should scream curses against her memory at the sky, but the anger would not come.

Slipping the bracelet back on and snapping the clasp shut, Turess eyed the silver as it glistened in the snow and dim light. He waved his hand over the clasp, burning it with magical flame until it was fused. The magic that kept the bracelet intact would make it nearly impossible to remove again. It was as much a part of him as Kharali had been.

Memories could bring grief, sadness, and forgotten love back, he thought, rubbing at the blistered skin where his magic had gone astray. That burn could remind him of the many reasons that he wanted revenge.

Love did not have to be a weakness. To him it would be his crutch until he was strong enough to seek vengeance without it motivating him. These people who had brought On’esquin to him would serve their purposes as he had seen in his visions, or he would cast them aside, the way his wife had cast him aside. Kharali had taught him much during his previous life, but her betrayal taught him even more about how to cope with these strangers.

Dorralt had always said strangers were either tools to be used or they were obstacles. These people would be tools to Turess or they would be destroyed to clear his path. It was not malicious, but he needed to reach Dorralt, and five emotionally weak people who had little or no education would not be the reason or him failing to reach his goals.

Smiling at his resolution, Turess went back into the tent to sleep. The morning would soon come and with it, he could begin searching for his brother.