Read Edge of Darkness ~ A Darkness & Light Novel Book Three Online
Authors: K. L. Schwengel
Berk spent the better part of two days sleeping, thanks, no doubt, to Ciara. Outside of a few stiff muscles, and a lump on the back of his skull he couldn't recall getting, he felt amazingly well, once he finally woke. Right up until they were breaking camp on the morning of the third day and a summons from the general put a knot in his stomach the size of a boulder. A well-deserved boulder, given more than one case of insubordination he recalled on the walk to the creek. Not to mention, several comments regarding Ciara that Berk couldn't be completely certain if he'd said, or merely imagined saying.
The general's grey stallion swung his head around to watch Berk's approach, which in turn, drew the scrutiny of the man leaning against the horse's muscled shoulder. Though he appeared far more relaxed than Berk had seen him last, shadows still darkened the general's eyes. "You look like you're expecting a dressing down."
"Honestly, sir, I'm not sure what to expect, but a dressing down doesn't seem outside the realm of possibilities."
"I suppose not. Although, my behavior of late hardly warranted as much tolerance as you gave."
"I was just doing my duty," Berk said.
"Do me a favor, don't use that word to dismiss your actions. In all actuality, had you done your duty, you would have followed my orders, and things would have turned out much differently." Something that could have been a grin touched the general's mouth. "But don't take that as an endorsement to make a habit of it."
"I wouldn't think of it, sir."
His horse nudged at him, wanting attention, and Bolin absently complied, rubbing the stallion's nose. Berk considered breaking the silence that settled between them but, for once, thought better of it. Behind them, the sounds of jangling harness and murmur of voices permeated the morning as the men finished saddling horses and stowing gear, anxious to be underway. Berk only hoped they made it back to Nisair without coming across any more marauders, wraiths, or even so much as a disgruntled farmer.
"With any luck, the road to Nisair will be uneventful for once," Bolin said, as though reading Berk's thoughts. He shouldered his horse to the side, and turned to face Berk again, blowing out a short gust and shaking his head to some random thought. "I'm not much good at humbling myself, or, apparently, admitting when I've been egregiously wrong, but I owe you an apology, and a debt of gratitude I'll find hard to ever satisfy. I've questioned your honor, and betrayed your trust. I can only hope to earn that back at some point."
Berk nodded in lieu of saying anything that would have amounted to either empty platitudes, or bold-faced honesty. That last would have taken him into uncomfortable territory. The general's eyes narrowed and Berk shifted beneath the scrutiny, but didn't look away.
"Fair enough." Bolin said. He glanced at something beyond Berk's shoulder and a flicker of anger crossed his expression, gone again when his attention returned once more to the man in front of him. "Ciara told me what happened in Nisair, how you stood for her before the Council. You have my thanks for that as well. She's fortunate to have your loyalty."
"General, I never meant--"
Bolin held up his hand. "My reaction to your… Well, it wasn't prompted by any actions on your part. Or Ciara's for that matter."
"She would never betray your trust," Berk said. "Nor would I. I hope I haven't done anything to lead you to believe differently. Outside of trying to kill you on the wall, that is." He added the last with a sheepish grin and a tip of his head and, surprisingly, Bolin chuckled.
"I think we can both agree, that wasn't one of your finest moments. I'm willing to call it even at this point, if you are?"
"More than willing."
"There's one more thing, then. Sully informed me of Garek's plans, and your hesitancy in regards to them. I realize you've hardly had the opportunity to give it any real consideration but, unless you have some very compelling cause not to accept, I see no reason to delay the commission. As far as I'm concerned you've more than earned it. I certainly won't force it on you, but if you choose to decline, I'd like to hear your reasons."
Berk opened his mouth to start rattling off his list, then closed it again when nothing came to him. He had a whole slew of excuses when Sully first told him of the promotion. Somehow, none of them seemed valid any longer, and that gave him hope he'd finally found some peace with everything that had transpired. Or been forced to find it. In either case, Berk couldn't come up with an answer for the general.
"Well, if anything should come to you on the road, Lieutenant, please do let me know," the general said. "Now, I suggest you get to your horse. It appears we're ready to move out."
More than two weeks after Donovan's death, Ciara stood on the balcony outside her and Bolin's bedchamber, wrapped in a thick fur to ward off the chill. The city lay blanketed by a layer of fresh snow, glittering like diamonds beneath the full moon, winter having held off its arrival until the day they returned to Nisair. The trip back had been, thankfully, boring, if a bit too quick. Every league behind them put Ciara that much closer to having to stand before the Council again. She had no desire to face Lady Honval a third time, even though Bolin assured her he would be by her side. He'd taken the news of her arrest about as well as the Emperor had suspected he would. First, there was an outburst of temper directed at the Council, followed by brooding anger, which in turn, devolved into brooding in general, and finally settled into a cold irritation any time the subject was broached, which Ciara made sure was rarely. Now that they were back in Nisair, however, she could no longer put it off.
"A bit cold to be taking in the sights," Bolin said as he came up behind her and slipped his arms around her waist to pull her back against him. "What's claimed your thoughts tonight?"
"I was just wondering when how soon I can expect to be summoned before the Council," Ciara said.
Bolin made a noise in his throat that sounded suspiciously like a growl. "We'll have a few days. Dain will have to meet with them and hear their ridiculous charges first. Ari will have her say, I'm certain of that. They'll debate for a time and, if they've any sense left at all, will see the error of their ways and set the whole thing aside."
"And if they don't?"
"They will," he said, the tone to his voice leaving no doubt he would see to it himself if the Emperor didn't.
"I don't want you doing anything foolish," Ciara said. "I need you with me."
"Always," he murmured and lowered his head to nuzzle her neck.
"Especially now." Ciara put a hand over his, and guided it purposefully to rest over her stomach, holding her breath as she waited for understanding to reach him.
It took a while before he stilled. He spread his fingers out beneath her palm and the tingle of magic rippled across her skin.
Bolin spun her around to face him. "You're with child?"
Ciara bit her lower lip, searching his face and uncertain how to interpret what she found there. "Are you angry?"
"Angry?" He dropped to his knees and rested his forehead against her stomach, his hands on her hips. When he tipped his head back to look at her, his eyes were moist, his face glowing with unrestrained joy. "If I'm to be honest, I'd say I'm terrified. Stunned. Ecstatic. But angry? How could I be?"
He caressed her stomach again, and Ciara closed her eyes as tendrils of the Greensward's power wrapped gently around the tiny presence in her womb. Words in Galysian reached her ears, Bolin's voice a quiet, cadenced whisper. When he stopped suddenly, his breath catching, Ciara sank to her knees before him. His eyes were closed, head bowed, the full moon glistening off the wetness streaking his cheeks.
"The grace of the Greensward is now hers," Bolin said.
"Hers?"
He looked up. "Your daughter."
Ciara cupped his face in her hands. "
Our
daughter."
A sudden grin twisted his mouth. "I'm intolerably over-protective as it is. You do realize, this is only going to make it worse."
She will not want for guardians,
Andrakaos's voice reached them in the same instance his shadow drifted across the face of the moon.
"And how long has he known, then?" Bolin asked.
Since the day of her conception, of course.
"You're both going to be intolerable," Ciara said, laughing. "I can tell already."
The moon shone round and full above his beloved swamp by the time Grumnlin made his way to the ramshackle hut on its northern border. He had spent the day catching toadies. Three fat, delicious toadies. After which, he took a long nap in the sun, lying on his back on a large, flat rock. Midges and skeeters swarmed around him in a welcome chorus of buzzing that brought a smile to his face. He had missed his swamp. He didn't much care for the world beyond its borders. Or the people who lived there.
The hut smelled of must and rot, and Grumnlin wiped a tear from his cheek. Something skittered away through the dark as he trundled to the low cot and peered through the filtered moonlight at the bony figure still lying beneath a ragged bit of blanket. He touched the gnarled hand that hung over the side.
"Lady?"
But Lady was gone. Pretty Witch had killed her. Only skin and bones rested beneath the blanket now. Grumnlin tipped his face to the silver orb laughing down at him and sighed. Lady made him. He had done Lady's bidding because she could not leave the swamp. Grumnlin never liked leaving, but it had always been for only short times, and Lady had always been there when he returned. The Lor-del-ing had come, and changed everything.
Grumnlin reached into the pocket of his vest where a tiny shard of shell remained. He drew it carefully out and laid it in his palm. For a long time he studied it in the dim light. Lady had given him see-crets. Pretty Witch had given him see-crets that silly nightshades stole away. Mebbe he should go back to the whispering grasses and find Pretty Witch again. Then they could go together and kill Lor-del-ing. Eat his heart.
But Grumlin didn't like the grass. Or the skittery flittery nightshades that danced among them. He liked his swamp and, if he could choose, he would choose Lady over Pretty Witch.
Mebbe the same see-crets that called Pretty Witch back would call Lady back? Grumnlin closed his eyes, remembering all the see-crets he knew, then lifted his hand and traced a symbol through the air with one grubby finger.
~Finis~
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
K. L. Schwengel lives in southeast Wisconsin on a small farm with her husband, a handful of Australian Shepherds, Her Royal Highness Princess Fiona the Cat, and assorted livestock. Growing up as the youngest of nine children, and the daughter of a librarian, Kathi spent many hours between stacks of books, and secluded away in dusty archives, drawn to tales of medieval heroes and conquering knights. With so many characters and ideas spinning in her head, she had to get them onto paper or risk what little sanity she possessed. She has been penning wild tales of magic and mayhem as long as she can remember, but opted to follow her artistic muse first. After earning a Bachelor of Fine Arts and spending many years working as a freelance artist, grocery clerk, art teacher, graphic designer, stable hand, advertising account coordinator, dog trainer, and process technician (among other things) she answered the call of her writing muse. When not writing, Kathi trains and trials working Australian Shepherds, still paints, dabbles in photography, graphic design, and anything else creative her assorted muses send her way.
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