The Scribe (36 page)

She could do nothing but nod. The music had grown louder each time she slept. The whispering voices more persistent. Ava worried that she cried in her sleep, that she said the words that haunted her, but she didn’t know what she said.

Damien ignored the tears that dripped down her nose. “Your magic is growing stronger, but you have no outlet. You must learn how to control it. You could hurt yourself or someone else without even meaning to. I can’t teach you, but Sari can. You must go to other Irina.”

For some reason, the thought of leaving the scribes angered her. “So you’re just going to dump me with strangers?”

“No,” he said. “I will not. I will stay with you. Though Sari might be angry, my mate will not turn me away. Malachi was my brother, and you were his mate. From this day, I vow to protect you.” He paused and took a deep breath. “As a brother guards his sister, Ava, I will watch over you. You will
never
be alone.”

Her shoulders were shaking when Damien crossed the room and closed the computer on her lap, taking her in his arms as she cried in loss. Relief. Confusion.

You will never be alone.

He finally whispered, “Will you go, sister?”

“I’ll go.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

She packed her things in a bag Max had found for her. Leo would drive Damien and Ava to the airport, but even she didn’t know where they were going. Damien trusted no one. He only told Max to find warm clothes for her, and somehow, the clever scribe delivered, even at the end of a Turkish summer.

She had new documents, a new name, and a new mobile phone with an untraceable number, according to Rhys. She was Ava Sakarya, the name Malachi used on documents when he needed them.

The dreams still haunted her. She stumbled over and over through the dark forest, trying not to be afraid. On the wind, whispers in the Old Language teased her.

But one refrain, the mourning cry, echoed over and over again.

It was the cry she’d heard since childhood. The voice of every heart who had lost. Only now, it was her soul that spoke it.

The day before she and Damien were supposed to leave, she wrote it down as best she could on a piece of paper and went looking for Rhys in the library.

Ava found him working on the computer. She stood behind him, watching as he typed an e-mail in some language she didn’t recognize. Farsi, maybe. It didn’t matter.

She placed her hand on his shoulder, taking comfort from the contact. She’d learned not to hold back. Malachi’s brothers needed to hold her hand. To hug her. To offer her whatever comfort they could. She knew their hearts ached, too.

Rhys leaned over, pressing his cheek to the back of her hand before he turned. He pulled over a chair, taking her hand as she sat in it, and pushed up her sleeve. With soft fingers, he brushed them over her forearm to reveal the glowing gold spells Malachi had written on her during their mating. They lay hidden in her skin until the touch on another Irin made them visible.

Weeks ago, the very sight of them caused her to burst into tears, but now, looking at the soft smile on Rhys’s face, she forced herself not to cry.

“Malachi always was messy about that letter,” he said, rubbing his thumb over a twisting character near her wrist. “Never practiced enough. Always in a hurry to go beat something with a sword.”

“I think it looks perfect.”

“So do I.”

He kept her hand in his until she tugged it away and reached into her pocket for the slip of paper where she’d written the words. She knew writing the letters wasn’t dangerous for her, only speaking them. Still, she felt like she’d done something forbidden when she handed them over.

He took them with a frown. “What’s this?”

“I just…” She cleared her throat. “I need to know what this means.”

He looked at them, then he cocked his head. “Why?”

“I hear it.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. She wouldn’t cry. She was out of tears. “This phrase. All the time, I hear it now. I’ve heard it for years. When I pass a funeral. When I hear someone who’s grieving.” She lowered her voice as she nodded toward the old scribe who still sat in front of the mural. “I think it’s the only thing I’ve ever heard from his mind. I just… I need to know what these words mean.”

“Ava, I’m not your teacher.”

“But you are my friend.” She forced out a smile. “Please? Please, just tell me. It’s not that long, right? And it’s driving me crazy.”

Rhys shook his head. “You’re right, of course. There’s no reason you can’t know what it means. It’s not even complicated. It’s just…” He cleared his throat. “
Vashama canem
. In the Old Language it means ‘Come back to me.’”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.” He squeezed her hand and tossed the paper in the wastebasket under the desk. “I guess that makes sense for someone who’s lost someone.”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“Still leaving tomorrow?”

“Like you said, you’re not my teacher.” She smiled. “But I know I need one.”

Rhys knit their fingers together, palm pressed to palm. “I’ll see you again someday, Ava.”

It wasn’t a question.

Damien and Ava drove to Nevşehir the next day, leaving the last pieces of the familiar back in Göreme with Evren and the remnants of the Istanbul scribes. She stared at the twisting rock formations as they drove, then closed her eyes as the plane took off, trying to imagine Malachi’s arms wrapped around her as she slept.

That night, Ava stared out the window of her hotel room near Atatürk Airport, watching the moon shine over the city. She draped herself in the blanket that barely held his scent and remembered the night they’d watched the moon rise behind the Galata Tower, huddled under the blanket on the roof of the old wooden house.

“There’s no going back. I know that. I…I don’t even want to. You were right about what you said before, even if the truth hurt. I was alone.”

She wasn’t alone anymore. No matter what. She knew that.

“Plus, I’m stupidly in love with you… so I guess we’ll have to figure this out together.”

“I love you, Ava.”

Then the whisper from his mind. From his heart.

Reshon
.

Ava buckled over, and sobs wrenched from her gut as the pain hit her again. She was walking through darkness, having lost the one love she’d ever dared to trust. Rage battled with grief as she knelt on the floor of the sterile hotel room, clutching the last piece of him she had.

“I hate you tonight,
reshon
!” She sobbed and curled against the bed. “How could you leave me like this? How?”

Ava beat her fists against the floor, pressing her tears into the rough blanket that had wrapped around them in the garden that night. The scent of her mate filled her nose, but he wasn’t there. No arms held her. No touch soothed her. No familiar voice filled her mind.

“I love you,” she choked. “I hate you. I love you. Come back to me, Malachi. What’s the use of all this if you’re not with me?”

His spells glowed in the darkness, and Ava stared at them, the old words whispering in her heart. Her soul wept, reaching for its other half.

In the darkness, Ava cried out. The words slipped from her lips, reaching up to the heavens.

“
Vashama canem, reshon. Vashama canem
.”

Come back to me.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Hundreds of miles away, he woke with a gasp, his lungs filling with the night air as he lay cold and naked on the Phrygian plain. Grey eyes gazed into the heavens, staring at the full moon, and grass pressed to his back on the deserted riverbank. Night cloaked him, bare and unmarked as the first night he’d been born into the world.

He knew nothing and no one.

But a million stars danced over him, and a familiar voice whispered in his mind.

“Come back to me.”

End of Book One.

A first look at

THE SINGER: Irin Chronicles Book Two

Coming SPRING 2014

The Fallen appeared on the summit of Mt. Ararat. Golden eyes reached west, settling on some point unseen by the hawks circling overhead. The wind whipped past him, brushing the black hair that fell to his shoulders. Jaron wore his human form, content to cloak his true nature and enjoy the sharp pleasure of the sun on his skin. Ancient
talesm
covered his shoulders and chest, gold against bronze. He was a vision of glory, resting on the mountain peak.

His brothers appeared beside him, Barak with his wolf-grey hair, gold eyes watching the birds overhead. Vasu, already pacing, his lean human form dark against the snow.

“You gave up your city, brother.” Vasu stared down as he spoke, seemingly mesmerized by the tracks his bare feet made in the frost. The angel chose to reside in warm climates, though none of their kind were truly bothered by either heat or cold. They commanded their senses at will.

“You imply defeat. I simply chose not to fight for it. It no longer interested me.”

Barak murmured, “And the rest of your territories? Are they secure?”

“Volund knows better than to become too brazen. I allowed his child to overrun Istanbul because it served my purpose. No doubt, he was confused to find my people withdrawn.”

“Where are they?” Barak asked. “And do not underestimate Volund. I thought the same about him until he attacked. Now my children think me dead. They hide, afraid of their own shadow.” Barak’s lip curled. “I would cleanse this realm of their presence if doing so wouldn’t give away my continued existence.”

“I am watching,” Jaron said. He couldn’t take his eyes off the city. Something was churning there. The sun fell in the west, slipping below the clouds to shine pink over the plains and mountains of Asia Minor. “I am always watching.”

“But for what?” Vasu asked. “I hope your visions sing true.”

“Have they ever not? I warned you of Galal’s attack, didn’t I?”

Gold eyes flashed from behind Vasu’s curtain of black hair. His
talesm
sparked gold. Black and gold, the Fallen glared at his brother. “And I allowed you to persuade me. Now my children think their father murdered by a foreign god. They fight to remain true to me, even as Galal’s soldiers slaughter them.”

“Tell them to be more careful, then.” Jaron shrugged. “When the time comes, you will breed more.”

Vasu curled his lip. “I have not consorted with human women for a millennium. You know I tire of their attention.”

“I hear sorrow,” Barak growled, rising to his feet and looking west to the ancient city. “What is this? I thought the female was unharmed.”

“She formed a bond with one of the Irin scribes. He sacrificed himself for her.” Jaron’s voice held a faint note of admiration. “She mourns.”

“Does this change anything?” Vasu asked.

“No.”

Barak cocked his head. “Why did you allow the sacrifice? Did you foresee it?”

“I did. I was… curious.”

“And she mourns him?” Barak’s voice held no pity. His eyes were impassive as he stared into the distance, the evening sun flushing his pale skin a gold-tinted rose.

“She does.”

“You were curious?” Vasu asked, his voice holding more judgment than Jaron expected. Vasu was younger than his brothers, a mere boy when the Fallen had left their home. He had lived longer in the human realm than the heavenly. “Toying with humans is beneath you.”

“His sacrifice was incidental. Still, it is curious how she mourns.”

The three angels rested at the peak of the mountain, the hawks circling above them, screaming at their intrusion. Jaron relaxed, bronze and gold in the light, eyes watching the distance, seeing beyond time and space. His children, when it served him, bore traces of his foresight. Vasu stood slightly behind him, dark and brooding. His physical presence dwarfed his brothers. Not in size, for the tall, lean human form he donned was not imposing, but his energy, the tightly chained physicality of his presence, marked him as different, more terrestrial, than his brothers.

Barak sat silently next to Jaron, his brother’s mirror in eternity. While Jaron saw, Barak heard, his solemn presence the eternal and constant punctuation of Jaron’s curiosity. The two friends had existed in tandem for millennia. And now they struggled to attain what others thought was lost.

“Do you truly think it possible?” Barak asked, rising to his feet. “After all this time?”

Jaron narrowed his vision. Something was stirring in the distance. “Seven years or seven million, brother. He does not see time as we do. It must be possible.”

A flicker. A wavering in the heavens as the stars danced above. Jaron stood and walked to the edge of the cliff.

Barak asked, “What is this I hear?” His eyes sought Jaron’s, which were wide and filled with a long-lost emotion.

Wonder.

“A complication.”

Vasu darted to his side. “What do you see?”

“Look, my brothers.”

Then Jaron opened his vision, sending it to the two angels at his side. All three watched as the woman crouched in a hotel room. All three heard the words she uttered, then the tearing of the heavenly realm.