Duty (Book 2) (31 page)

Gen slammed into the walls over and over, almost losing consciousness as he clung to the Chalaine to buffer her against harm. The carriage revolved and spun unpredictably as it churned in the powerful force of the falling water. He braced himself for the impact he thought might end both their lives, but a light splash was all that signaled the end of their violent descent. The water pounded on the carriage roof until the force pushed them downriver.

Gen took stock of himself, noting a broken ankle and several bad bruises, easy fare for the Chalaine, if she were up to it. He worked quickly to extricate the thrashing young woman from the blankets, sensing through his brand that she had acquired some bruises of her own, but little else.

“We’re alive!” The Chalaine hugged him, and the pain from his injuries disappeared. He found himself crying with her, for joy at surviving the fall or for worry about the battle above, he couldn’t tell. After several moments, he pulled away, feeling awkward.

“Well, let’s see where we are,” he said, lifting the key from his neck and inserting it into the lock. The door faced away from the falls, opening to a boulder-strewn river. Mighty stone walls towered above them, casting the canyon into twilight. The force of the falls pushed them near the northern shore, and Gen spotted a sandy riverbank surrounded by maples where the water moved slowly.

“I can’t steer the carriage, so we will have to swim for shore.”

“But I can’t. . .”

“I know. I’ll help you over. Is there anything you need from your trunk? Do you have anything suitable for hiking? Be quick.”

The Chalaine unlatched the chest and flung it open, pulling out clothes and a wedding dress so ornate Gen could only guess at its worth. Working quickly, Gen fashioned one of her unused dresses into a crude backpack by tying the skirt closed and the sleeves together. After leaning out the door and throwing the pack to shore, he grabbed the Chalaine’s hand. Without giving her time to think, he pulled her into the water. The Chalaine gasped in surprise as the cold water enveloped her.

The current, while slow, proved difficult for Gen. His sword and boots coupled with the Chalaine’s robes dragged them down, and they only managed to get to the shore with the help of a low-hanging branch. Exhausted, they sat on the riverbank for several moments to recover from the exertion. While Gen could ignore the cold, he noticed the Chalaine shivering in the canyon breeze, wrapping her arms close about her. He retrieved the pack.

“You need to change or you’ll catch a chill,” he suggested. “Choose something easy to walk in, if you have it. I don’t think they’ll be able to get to us for many miles. We’ll have to walk downriver and meet with them . . . if they survive. Come. There’s a good thicket of trees here. That’ll give you a little privacy at least.”

“Do you need healing, Gen?”

“The healing you did in the carriage took care of the ankle and the bruises. I only wish I could do the same for you.”

“I didn’t heal you in the carriage.”

“Yes, you did,” Gen contradicted, “when we embraced. Remember?”

“I didn’t, Gen. At least I didn’t try to. Healing takes concentration and effort. Were you hurt badly?”

“A broken ankle and some deep bruises.”

“I didn’t do it. At least I don’t think so.”

Gen could sense a worry in her voice, but he didn’t ask her about it as she knelt down and rummaged in the makeshift backpack, pulling out a black divided riding dress and boots with a matching dark blouse and veil.

“They packed these in case there was need for me to ride in stealth. You and I will match quite nicely in black.”

The Chalaine stood and walked into the thicket. “You must promise me that you won’t try to look at me while I change.”

The suggestion stung Gen’s sense of propriety. “I would never!” he protested. “The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind!”

“Oh, of course,” the Chalaine acknowledged in a strange tone Gen couldn’t decipher. Putting his back squarely to the thicket, Gen assumed a soldierly stance and concentrated his gaze on the river’s foaming water.

“How was the battle going, Gen? I couldn’t see. But I could hear. Could you see my mother?”

“It went poorly. I judge at least thirty men died before we even went in the river. That was before the Uyumaak horde. I saw your mother and Chertanne fleeing the battlefield on horse. The Pontiff and others rode close by. I think the soldiers remained behind to buy them escape time. I think she’ll do well if the way before them is clear, though the caravan is done for. ”

Gen didn’t voice what he thought was true. If the Uyumaak had any sense, they would fortify the road ahead of the clearing against escape.

“Are we in danger down here?” she asked.

Her wet clothes sloshed to the ground.

The answer to the question slid away as an overpowering urge to turn and look washed over him. He fought against the sudden, insistent desire, turning his thoughts everywhere, to the danger at hand, to his old master, to Mirelle’s kiss, and even to his training with Shadan Khairn. He tried to send the compulsion into the emotional nothingness his swordmaster had created within him. Everything broke against the supernatural and unseen command to look.

Mind sprinting for any fortification, he ran through every logical reason he could muster not to turn around—the danger to the Chalaine, the disappointment of Mirelle, a guaranteed dismissal from his post. Gen closed his eyes, gripped his sword, and struggled for mastery.

“Are we in danger here, Gen?” the Chalaine repeated. Her voice showed she was still unaware of his struggle.

Just a glance, he thought. A quick one.

“Gen?” She knew.

Resistance crumbled. Gen turned.

The Chalaine had dressed completely save for her veil, and her face, open, beautiful, and kind beyond imagination, fixed upon Gen’s with an expression of surprise. Wet, blonde curls framed her perfect features, and her pale, utterly flawless face seemed to glow in the dim thicket. Gen could sense rather than see the presence of light about her. Her beauty, both carnal and divine, forged a strange union of passion and worship within his breast.

“Gen!” she yelled as if to awaken him.

He barely heard it. Thoughts of possession invaded his mind, yelling at him to take her, to claim her before someone else did. She was his. Hadn’t he earned the right? Had any other man risked so much for her? Would Chertanne make her as happy as he could?
I can give her a life of dignity
.
Take her pain away
. He would kill Chertanne and marry her himself. She would thank him for it.

He took a step forward and stopped. The Chalaine hadn’t replaced her veil or even moved to do so. Sky blue eyes, once filled with surprise, softened to a wanting tinged with fear. She breathed heavily, almost expectantly. Her reaction confirmed his thoughts. She was his. He could take her. The Chalaine wanted him, too. His Alumira’rei Se Ellenwei. The voice that had pulled him from despair and darkness.

And at remembering the name he had given her so many nights ago, the pull of her presence quavered and fell and the urge subsided, leaving him at peace. His face and eyes relaxed, and a sudden joy filled him. He breathed out and smiled at her.

The Chalaine watched him questioningly, a return smile turning up the corner of her lips. While he felt like running, he managed a nice casual walk to stand in front of her, staring into eyes that were clear, alive, and pure. Stooping, he lifted the veil from a low branch where it hung and handed it to her. She twisted it in her hands, not taking her eyes from his face.

She said, “You resisted! What kind of man are you, Gen?”

“Come,” he invited, ignoring the question and turning back toward the river. “We need to find a protected place to hole up in tonight and get a fire going. Night and cold will come quickly in this canyon. To answer your question, I do not think we are in immediate danger here.”

“Look at me!” the Chalaine demanded.

Gen turned. She still held the veil in her hands. “How, Gen? How can you do it? Cadaen accidentally saw my mother unveiled once and they almost had to kill him to keep him from dragging her off. I affect men more strongly than she ever did and yet you resist. Tell me how.”

“I don’t know, Alumira. Be grateful I did. I never want to think of you in that way again. You should put your veil back on.”

The Chalaine held his eyes, searching for something, and Gen waited as she rifled through his soul for answers. At last, she smiled as if she found one. Walking forward, she plastered the wet veil to Gen’s chest.

“You wear it. I want to feel the wind on my face.”

“You really should put the veil back on.” Gen decided he should say that at least once a day so he could swear truthfully that he had said it when he faced the inevitable inquisition that would come if they ever found the others. He shuddered to think what would happen if Chertanne found out he had seen the Chalaine unveiled—and not only seen her, but traveled alone with her for days.

Gen already knew to expect several intense sessions with the Pontiff and Ethris—if the two older men survived the attack—so they could ply their magic to ensure for the prophecy’s sake that he and the Chalaine had behaved according to propriety while they traveled alone. If they found out she had walked with him unveiled, he doubted they would believe him, truth and innocence notwithstanding. As she had done the last three times he had suggested she don her veil, the Chalaine said nothing, choosing instead to flash him a smile that unhinged his knees.

Gen could only marvel at her. Each time he looked at her seemed the first, and while he wished she would replace the veil for fear of what others might think, he also wanted her to do it because she was achingly beautiful. The possessive obsession that had overcome him when he first saw her unveiled did not plague him again, but her glory discomfited him. For three days he fought to keep his concentration on the task at hand, but her flawless and inviting countenance invaded and occupied his mind, threatening to overwhelm discipline with distraction.

Gen tried to use Fenna and Mirelle as his defenses, but with the Chalaine near, he could barely summon either woman’s face into memory. In the evenings, he tried to immerse himself in practicing sword forms, but the Chalaine always sat nearby watching every move with wonder and appreciation. He struggled with a man’s innate tendency to show off for a beautiful woman and nearly lost. Perhaps he did lose. Thankfully, she never clapped or lavished him with praise. She did ask insightful questions about what certain moves were for or what battle was like. He appreciated the questions. Talking to her was easy; having her stare at him with that affectionate look was hard.

He supposed she would wear the veil if he told her of the feelings that she awakened in him, but he feared telling her would complicate the friendship they shared. Every man who looked upon her would no doubt feel the same way as he—that she cared for him. Try as he might, Gen couldn’t imagine her face holding malice or even apathy for anyone. Despite the discomfort and privation of the trail and her worry for the caravan, unhappiness never fully took hold upon her features, outing her native good nature. Each day revealed a vivacious, sweet personality that had been smothered by a lifetime of solemnity and the more recent fear of Chertanne, a personality Gen had snatched glimpses of in the dark hours when Alumira had replaced the Chalaine on the trail.

When he wasn’t wrestling with his attraction to her, he found himself staving off feelings of inadequacy. When he saw her, Gen felt ugly inside and out. Perfection exuded from her like light from the sun, and wherever she shined, every shadow was twice as dark. He remembered taking her hand to help her over a tumble of rocks. His tanned, rough hand, marred with a web of scars, seemed like gnarled tree bark next hers—white, smooth, and without a mark or imperfection. Even after three days, she bore no scratch, no bug bite, no sunburn.