Shield of Fire (A Bringer and the Bane Novel) (13 page)

Chapter Ten

Rhys wove his way through the trees, dragging Ravyn behind him. Confusion and disappointment at her announcement of not wanting to be a Bringer rendered him speechless. He’d been certain once she’d felt the full extent of her powers, she would be driven by duty to embrace her fate—like he had been. But that’s not what happened. She didn’t want to be a Bringer. Could she do that? The mixed-bloods pretended to be full-bloods and many had nothing more than intuition and drive to distinguish them from humans, but they still
wanted
to be Bringers. And yet here she was, as strong as he—if not stronger—and she wanted to turn her back on her heritage.

He huffed and pulled on Ravyn’s arm.

“Ouch. Rhys, slow down. I can’t keep up.”

He stopped and swung to face her. “Should I carry you?”

She glowered at him, twisted free of his grip, and rubbed the reddened area on her wrist. “No, I’m quite capable of walking, but my hand hurts from where I cut it and I am a bit tired from the legion of demons you just made me battle. Or did you forget that?”

Forget? How could he forget? The rage that had consumed him when he saw the demon running across the field with Ravyn over its shoulder was enough to awaken his beast. If she hadn’t escaped, he would have surely loosed the creature, consequences be damned. “I made you fight because that’s what Bringers do.” He kept his voice even. “We fight, not run.”

“Yes, I believe you have never run from a fight.” She lowered her arms and released a heavy breath. “But I’m not you, Rhys. I haven’t had 300 years to live with my powers.” She stepped around him but stopped to look at him, her expression resigned. “I’m not strong like you.”

She turned and walked away, not waiting for his reply. He rubbed his hand over his face. Damn, he hadn’t meant to argue with her. He couldn’t blame her for not choosing a life of war, always expecting the worst, never finding peace. No, he couldn’t blame her, but he
had
hoped.

He followed several paces behind, stifling the urge to pick the sticks and leaves from her long, black, and now tangled tresses. He should tell her he understood, but the words jumbled in his mind. Apologizing to her felt too much like apologizing for his sense of duty. This is why he kept his distance from people. They never understood what it meant to be a Shield. He had thought maybe Ravyn was different.

He swore at his own foolishness and cursed the fact that he’d started to care for her. His pace quickened. But he was thinking straight now. She’d reminded him that duty came first. It would be his constant companion through the centuries. Duty and honor would never waste away and die. Duty and honor would never leave him.

He swiped at a branch hanging across his path. Its small thorns speared his palm. The din of people greeted them seconds before the inn came into view. Their cuts, bruises, and overall disheveled appearance would raise too many questions if they entered through the front of the inn. Skirting the grounds, they circled around back where there was less chance of anyone seeing them. The kitchen door stood open. He hoped it was empty and they could escape to their room and clean up before dinner, but he doubted that would be the case.

He stepped aside and allowed Ravyn to enter the kitchen, then followed her in. The savory smell of mutton greeted him as his eyes slowly adjusted to the dim interior. Mary, the oldest of the Giles girls, and Willa stood staring into a huge pot. From snatches of their soft conversation, Willa was instructing her daughter in the art of making stew.

Ravyn looked at him and he gave a quick nod toward the door leading to the hallway. They’d tiptoed halfway across the room when Willa cleared her throat. He froze and slowly turned to look at her. Whereas Mary’s eyes were round in surprise, her mother’s were narrowed and full of suspicion.

“Mary, go get your father and tell him to meet us in the library. Then come back here and tend the stew.” When Mary opened her mouth to protest, Willa placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right. I trust you to handle the kitchen.”

Mary smiled, cut a nervous glance to Ravyn and Rhys, and then hugged her mother. “Thank you, Mama.”

“Now go,” Willa said. “And tell your father to bring an extra chair from the dining room.”

“Yes, Mama.”

When the girl was gone, Willa pinned them with a stare. “What happened?”

“Bane,” Ravyn answered before Rhys could make excuses.

He glowered at her, but she ignored him.

“Where?” Willa’s complexion turned ashen. “How close?”

“The clearing beyond the cemetery,” Rhys said.

She pointed her wooden spoon at both of them. “Don’t you listen? I told you not to go too far.”

Rhys straightened his shoulders, suddenly feeling like a scolded boy. “Yes, because dinner would be ready soon.”

She slammed the spoon against the huge wooden table that separated them from her wrath. “No, because the ground is not sanctified beyond the cemetery. Of all the people in the world, I didn’t think I had to spell it out to you, Rhys. Ravyn is only now on her feet. Why would you risk your lives like that?”

He flinched at his stupidity. That’s why he’d always felt safe here, sanctified grounds. He’d never asked, not wanting to broach the subject of being a Bringer, and never believing they could help him. That helping and protecting were
his
jobs.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ravyn slide him a glance. He thanked The Sainted Ones when she didn’t follow it with an “I told you so.”

“Can you bind Ravyn’s hand until I can heal it?” He grabbed her wrist and pulled it up to show Willa. An angry line cut across her palm but there was no blood. “I thought you cut yourself.”

She pulled her hand away and stared. “I did.”

“Not as bad as you thought,” he said.

Ravyn said nothing for a few seconds as she rubbed her finger along the red welt. “Yes, I guess.”

The innkeeper circled the table and looked at Ravyn’s hand. She gave a knowing grunt and walked to the door Mary had exited. She stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Follow me. It’s time we stop pretending and speak frankly.”

She held Rhys’s gaze until he nodded. Perhaps it
was
time to trust Willa and Orvis. As he followed Ravyn out of the kitchen, he couldn’t help wonder what information the Giles family held.

Willa led them down a narrow hall and into the last room on the left. It was small but brightly lit from the two large windows against the west wall. Shelves lined one side of the room, and a large wooden table, acting as a desk, held court in the center. Ledgers stacked in neat piles rested to one side of the table, and an inkwell and quill stood ready to scribe.

Rhys liked how the room smelled. Leather and the mustiness of old books mixed with the light scent of linseed oil. The smell reminded him of Alba Haven and his library. He silently sighed, feeling the tug of home. Emotions warred with each other. It would be best for Ravyn to stay here with people who would take care of her, but he wanted her with him, wanted her to
want
to join the fight. He had no right to demand this from her. He pulled out one of the three chairs with a loud scrape across the wooden floor and offered it to Ravyn.

She didn’t look at him, her voice a little too controlled. “Thank you.”

When he made a move toward Willa, she waved him away, hauled out her own chair, and plunked down. She drummed her fingers on the table and glared at him. With an impatient huff, she stood and paced along the wall of shelves. Rhys sat in an empty chair next to Ravyn and focused on the trees beyond the window. The gentle movement of the leaves was much better scenery than Willa’s glower.

The innkeeper paced back to her chair and plopped down again, slamming her hands on the table. “Well, at least tell me you’re all right.”

He and Ravyn jumped at her outburst.

“We’re fine,” Rhys said.

Ravyn crossed her arms and made a tiny noise that sounded like
ha.

“It seems Lady Mayfield disagrees,” Willa said.

“Yes, well, Lady Mayfield is being difficult today.”

Ravyn opened her mouth to argue, but something heavy hit the wall outside the room, the thud cutting her off. A picture rattled as another thump echoed in the hallway.

Scrape…drag…thud.

Willa let out a heavy sigh and tapped an index finger impatiently on the table.

Scrape…thud.

“Blessed Sainted Ones, he’s going to destroy the woodwork,” she muttered. “Are you all right, Orvis? Do you need some help?”

The round, smiling face of the innkeeper peeked around the corner. “No, I’m good, dear.”

All three watched Orvis cajole a large wooden chair into the room and set it at the head of the table. He huffed and removed a white rag from his pocket to dab his forehead.

Willa smiled sweetly at her husband. “Could you close the door before you sit down, dear?”

He seemed to melt under his wife’s gaze and hustled to do her bidding. “Of course, my sweet.”

The couple reminded Rhys of his parents. Always a tender smile, always supportive and caring. In his experience, that type of relationship was rare. A tinge of envious warmth spread through him. His gaze shifted to Ravyn.

She watched the couple, her brows slightly knitted. What stirred in that mind of hers? She kept it tightly locked, never allowing anybody beyond a certain point. He understood her reluctance to trust others, but he didn’t like that it ruled her life and actions. One day she would have to open herself to what she was and trust her instincts. But he couldn’t make that decision for her, and if shutting out the world—shutting out him—was how she needed to deal with her situation, he’d accept her choice. He wouldn’t like it, but he’d do anything to ensure her safety.

His heart ached at the thought of leaving Ravyn behind. He pulled his gaze from her and turned his attention back to Orvis, a small attempt at regaining control of his frustration.

The innkeeper wrestled his ample frame into his chair, looked around the table, and smiled again. “Now, why are we all here?”

Rhys looked to Willa for the answer. After all, she’d been the one to corral them into the library.

She pointed an accusing finger across the table at him and Ravyn. “These two were attacked by the Bane today, just beyond the cemetery.”

“Really?” Orvis said. “How many?”

“Lots,” Ravyn piped in. “Hundreds.”

“Hundreds?” Orvis and Willa said in unison.

“Not hundreds,” Rhys interjected. “Maybe fifty.”

Ravyn harrumphed and crossed her arms.

“Still, fifty against two is very impressive,” Orvis said.

“Yes. Quite impressive. Speaking of which,” Willa said, “I think it’s time we stop tiptoeing around what we know and exchange information.”

Rhys took note as Willa shifted uncomfortably in the chair.
She’s got secrets.
“Why don’t you begin, Willa?”

She cut a glance to Orvis. He responded with a quick nod of encouragement. Not surprisingly, he shared in the information his wife was about to reveal.

Willa folded her hands in her lap and leaned back against her chair. “I’ve known for quite some time that you are a Bringer, Rhys.”

He tilted his head in acknowledgment but didn’t interrupt.

“Over the years, I’ve come to realize you’re different than most of the Bringers I’ve met,” she said. “All except one—my first husband.”

Her words shot through him. He leaned forward and placed his palms on the table. “What do you mean?”

Orvis patted Willa’s hand. “Go ahead, dear. He needs to know.”

She stood and walked to the bookcase to remove two small leather-bound books. She returned to the table and sat, gripping the journals with a protective ferocity. Her gaze snared Rhys’s. “My first husband was a full-blooded Bringer, but he was killed by the Bane—as were my two daughters. That was fifteen years ago.”

“Fifteen years ago?” Rhys asked. “But I thought the last full-blood, aside from me, was killed over three hundred years ago?”

“The originals who stayed after the war were killed. But my husband wasn’t one of the originals.”

Ravyn shifted to sit forward and prop her elbows on the table. He glanced at her, his mind struggling to comprehend what Willa was telling him. His chest tightened as Willa slid one of the books toward him, its worn leather all too familiar to him. His voice pushed past the lump forming in his throat. “Where did you get this?”

“What is it, Rhys?” Ravyn said.

He continued to stare at Willa. “Where did you get this?”

Willa held his gaze. “From my husband.”

Orvis stood and took his position behind his wife’s chair. Whether in support or protection, Rhys didn’t know. He reined in his emotions, not wanting to scare his friends. He needed answers. If the book in front of him was any indication of where this conversation was headed, he wasn’t sure he could be responsible for his later actions.

“It was given to him by a monk,” she continued. “A Brother Archibald, I believe his name was.”