Shield of Fire (A Bringer and the Bane Novel) (33 page)

Chapter Thirty

Rhys circled the clearing and spiraled lower to gently place Ravyn on the ground. Before touching down, he shifted to human form and dropped the last few feet.

Luc and Siban rushed from the trees.

“You found her.” Luc skidded to a stop, his excitement flagging as his gaze fell upon the knife in Ravyn’s chest. “No.”

Rhys swallowed the denial he wanted to shout to the world. How could she be dead? He rubbed his hands over his face and struggled to find words—any words—to explain how he’d failed her yet again.

Siban stepped forward and knelt next to Ravyn’s body. Rhys tensed, not wanting the Tell to touch, or even look at her. She was his, in death as in life. He’d take her back to Alba Haven to be buried so she’d always be with him.

Before Rhys could stop him, Siban gripped the hilt of the knife and yanked it free. Rage flashed, and Rhys launched himself at Siban, wrapping his hands around the Tell’s throat. Nobody touched her. Nobody but him.

The men careened backward, rolling across the ground until Rhys came up on top, pinning Siban to the ground. Siban clawed at Rhys’s fingers, mouthing words he couldn’t push past Rhys’s crushing grip. Somebody had to pay for her death—and his failure.

Luc tackled Rhys, knocking him sideways, breaking his hold on Siban’s throat. They tumbled to the ground but Rhys jumped to his feet. Luc grabbed him around the knees and knocked him to the ground, facedown.

“Rhys, calm down,” Luc shouted. Rhys twisted and took a swing, but Luc dodged his fist by an inch. “He didn’t mean any disrespect.”

Anger clouded his judgment and the dragon pushed for retribution. Somebody had to pay.

Luc held him down. “Tell him, Siban. You didn’t mean any disrespect.”

Rhys reached for the Tell, but couldn’t move with Luc’s body on top of him. He clawed at the earth and fought against his friend’s weight.

“She’s not dead,” Siban rasped.

Luc relaxed. “What?”

Rhys tossed his friend off him and crouched, ready to launch himself at the Tell again.

Siban struggled to sit and pointed to Ravyn. “She’s not dead.”

The words leeched through Rhys’s rage. Slowly, they merged, made sense, and drained the anger from his body.

Luc ran to Ravyn. He touched her skin and pressed his ear to her chest and smiled. “She’s alive.”

Rhys raced to them and skidded next to Luc as he dropped to his knees. He scooped up Ravyn, and realized for the first time she was still warm and pliant. Relief swamped him. Praise The Sainted Ones, he’d been given a second chance. His mind raced. He would have to heal her.

He rose and cradled her in his arms, swearing he wouldn’t fail her again. Not waiting for his friends, he jogged toward Illuma Grand. His long strides ate up the distance as he tore across the open field, onto the manicured lawn, and up Illuma Grand’s front steps, taking them two at a time. He raced down the winding corridors to Ravyn’s room. Footsteps echoed behind him, letting him know Luc and Siban followed, but he didn’t slow.

He kicked open her door and lay her on the bed, where he knelt beside her.

She was alive.

Luc and Siban entered, shutting the door behind them. Rhys jump up and bound into his room to grab his healing pendants. He slipped one over his head and ran back to Ravyn’s side to hang the other around her neck. This would work. She would be all right.

The ancient chant tumbled from his lips, calling to the healing spirits to take from him and give to Ravyn. He closed his eyes, opened himself, and waited. No healing light or comforting breeze entered the room. He chanted louder, willing the spirits to help. Still, his request went unfulfilled. He clutched the pendant and squeezed the metal, raising his voice yet again. He commanded the spirits to answer his call.

Silence.

Minutes? Hours? He didn’t know how long he chanted and still they didn’t come. He felt his hope ebbing and desperation rolling in on a new wave. He had to heal her. It was his duty. It was his obligation. It was his only hope from his endless loneliness.

Luc placed a hand on his shoulder. “Rhys?”

He ignored him and continued to chant. Why weren’t the spirits answering? They had to save her. His chant turned to a plea, beseeching them to not abandon Ravyn or him.

“Rhys,” Luc said again.

He opened his eyes and stared at her still form. She wouldn’t die—couldn’t die. The thought that he’d lost her and found her only to lose her again drove him to the edge of madness.

Luc’s hand slipped from Rhys’s shoulder. “Now we just have to wait.”

Chapter Thirty-one

Ravyn opened her eyes and stared at the gray ceiling. Was she dead? She turned her head, expecting pain, but experienced no discomfort. Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the familiar gray-colored walls, and Rhys.

She must be in paradise if he was here with her. She closed her eyes and strained to remember what had happened. Angela…the dagger…and then…nothing.

How in The Heavenly Saints had Rhys rescued her from the Shadow World?

She smiled at his slouched form. He slept in a straight-backed chair with his feet propped on the bedside table. His breathing moved in a shallow rhythm. She wondered how long she’d been unconscious, and how long he’d been here. Cradled lovingly in his lap lay his father’s journal.

“Rhys.” Her throat burned and her mouth ached as she spoke his name. Clearly, she’d hit the ground face-first when she passed out. “Rhys.”

He stirred and opened his eyes, looking at her but not seeing her.

She smiled and his eyes widened.

“Ravyn.” His voice hitched, thick with emotion. His feet thumped to the floor as he scooted forward to kneel beside the bed. His fingers threaded through her hair, sending tingles of warmth through her. “I thought I’d lost you.”

A lump formed in Ravyn’s throat as she wrapped her hand around his and held it to her cheek. Calloused skin brushed tender hands, an affirmation that she wasn’t dead.

“Almost,” she said.

He brushed her hair from her face. “Why, Ravyn? Why did you stab yourself? I saw you …I thought you were de—” His voice broke.

She shimmied into a sitting position and clutched his hand. “Not dead. Resurrected.” Excitement cleared the fog from her mind. “Rhys, the dagger, it’s an immortal weapon.”

His brow crinkled. “Immortal?”

Ravyn nodded.

He shook his head. “How did you know?”

She pointed to the journal he still held. “He wrote about it. There was a drawing and words. I didn’t understand until I released Angela’s soul. Haven’t you ever noticed how it binds to your hand?”

Rhys looked lost. “I thought I imagined it.”

Ravyn shook her head. “These are our people’s weapons. It’s like they recognize us. The soul isn’t trapped forever inside the Bane. With immortal weapons we can release them. I released Angela’s soul. And I think we can bring the mix-blooded Bringers to full power.”

“You’re not sure?”

“No, I’m not. I stabbed one of the demons at the inn, but his soul didn’t release. I don’t know what the difference between him and Angela was.” She wanted Rhys to believe her but she was running on gut instinct, remembering how the dagger had felt so right in her hand, as if the knife guided her. “I believe with the words in the diary and the dagger we can resurrect the Bringers to full power. You were stabbed by Vile, but the words were never spoken. That’s why you didn’t die as a child, and that’s why your powers were stronger than most.”

He stared at her for a few seconds. “‘Resurrected by the blade.’ My father said that to another man once. Could it possibly be?”

“We’re living proof.”

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “But how do we know for sure?”

“I guess we get some willing soul to let us test out our theory.”

Rhys cocked a brow. “Let us stab them? Who would be stupid enough to do that?”

Ravyn shrugged and flinched from the pain at her back. “I don’t know, but when the time is right we’ll know.”

He sat utterly still, contemplating the thought.

“You saved me,” she said. “Thank you.”

A shadow ghosted across his expression. “I should have done better.”

She touched her finger to his lips. “No, you saved me. From the first night we met you’ve been saving me from the demons, and from myself.” She caressed his face. “From being lonely.”

He leaned in and kissed her. Her mouth burned but she didn’t stop, willing to endure discomfort for more of his kisses. Never would she hide her feelings for him. Life was too short and love too precious.

She broke their kiss and hugged him. “I love you,” she whispered.

He pulled back and stared.

She held her breath, wanting to hear the same from him, but she’d accept his feelings, no matter what they were.

“I thought I had lost you. And when I believed you dead, I wanted to follow you beyond the Veil. You are everything to me, Ravyn, but the words pale when compared to how I truly feel.”

Her nose tingled as tears welled in her eyes. “I’d still like to hear you say it.”

He smiled. “Ravyn, I love you, now and forever.”

“That was worth dying for.”

“Indeed.”

She shifted again and sat upright. As he slipped his arm around her waist, she winced.

He loosened his hold. “Are you hurt?”

“My back feels like it’s on fire.” Ravyn held out her hands for help and stopped, her eyes rounding at the sight of her hands. An angry tattoo of a sun burned bright on each palm. She turned her palms toward him. “What are these?”

Rhys smiled. “The sign of the Redeemer. My mother had them, and I found the symbol in my father’s journal.”

“I’m a Redeemer?” Though she’d happily embrace the powers of a healer, the label didn’t feel right somehow.

He gave her a sly smile. “That’s still undetermined.”

“But I have the symbols.” She bit her lip and flinched.

Rhys’s smile widened.

“What?”

He held out his hands. “Nothing. Let me help you up.”

She stood for a few seconds before she felt sturdy enough to release his arm. She still wore her leathers, minus the boots, and other than the burning on her back and her lips, she felt good. “Can you help me off with this?”

She raised her arms and Rhys slid the tunic over her head and laid it on the bed. He palmed her shoulders and turned her back to him to get a better view.

“Do you see anything?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Take this off.” He ran his hand across the linen harness. “I want to get a better look.”

She untied and unwound the straps, letting him help her with the garment. She pressed the material to her bare chest and hunched her back toward him. “Am I hurt? Is it bad?”

He ran his finger in stinging loops across her sensitive skin.

She jerked away from his touch.

“I wouldn’t say injured, really.”

She craned her neck, trying to get a look. “What is it? Another hole from a talon? It really hurts.”

“Oh, I know it really hurts.”

Was that amusement in his voice?

Rhys guided her to the mirror on the front of the wardrobe. “Look at yourself.”

She squinted at her image and leaned closer. “What is that?” She licked her thumb and rubbed at the blue line running from her bottom lip to just above her chin. A biting sting spread across her lower lip. She leaned closer to the mirror.

He captured her gaze in their reflection and smiled. “It’s the mark of the Tell.”

Ravyn’s eyes widened as understanding dawned.

“I’m a Tell?” She shook her head. “But how can that be? I thought I was a Redeemer.”

He smirked.

With a slow pivot, she twisted toward the mirror and gasped. The image of an orange and red phoenix danced across her back. Its tail feathers caressed her left hip and its beak touched her shoulder. She backed up a few steps, drinking in the image of the bird. She turned to him. “It’s like yours.”

He nodded.

“Am I a Shield?” The words sounded right.

“As much as I hate the thought of you being a protector, there’s no denying the brand.”

“But what about the other tattoos? Why do I have those?”

He shook his head. “Maybe you have the powers of all three groups.”

“Can that happen?”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to wait and see what develops.”

She stared at the bird, unable to tear her eyes away. “Why the phoenix and not a dragon?”

“Each Shield is branded with something particular to their nature. For you, fire is not only a weapon, it is what you can become.”

“I don’t understand.”

“When you need to, you will become a phoenix.”

She backed closer to the mirror, examining every inch of her new brand. “But that’s impossible.”

“Trust me—it is not impossible.”

Something in his voice drew her attention. His arms were crossed and legs in a wide stance, his defensive pose. “Do you…your dragon…can you…change?”

He nodded.

She shook her head, trying to grasp the full scope of her lover.

His gaze narrowed, as if he expected her worst reaction.

“Rhys.”

He tensed at her tone.

“That’s amazing.”

His stance relaxed, and he lowered his arms to his side. “Really?”

“Yes.” She turned her attention back to the mirror. “I seem to be afflicted with the same malady. This is truly amazing. I can’t wait to transform and…oh.”

“What is it?”

“I’m going to have to fly.” Her stomach churned. “I don’t like heights.”

Rhys chuckled. “You’ll do fine. I’ll teach you everything I know.”

Again, it was like seeing him for the first time. “We could fly together.”

“Yes.”

She hesitated. “Could you give me a ride?”

His deep chuckle rumbled and the world seemed right again. “Whenever you want.”

Ravyn liked the way he said that, sexy and loaded with innuendos. The journal rested loosely in his hands. She pointed to the book. “Did you read your father’s diary?”

He nodded. “Most of it.”

“He loved you and your mother very much.”

“I see this now. I think I always knew, but guilt plays strange tricks on a person’s mind.”

She walked to him and twined her fingers with his. “You couldn’t have stopped Vile from killing your parents.” Her voice cracked. “He said he killed mine also.”

He held her gaze. “Maybe he lied.”

She shook her head. “I pray he has—for all our sakes.” She paused. “Vile said my father was King Janus.”

Rhys’s eyes grew wide. “King Janus?”

She nodded.

“Another blow to the Bringers if he is dead.” He cupped her cheeks in his hands. “I’m sorry about your parents.”

A weak smile was the best she could muster. The thought of never seeing her parents upset her. Odd, how losing someone she never knew could still hurt so deeply.

Rhys sobered. “I’ll make him pay. I’ll hunt Vile down myself and bury my father’s dagger so far inside him there’s no possibility of him resurrecting.”

Plans and ideas formed in her mind. “Rhys, if the dagger exists and it is an immortal weapon…”

“Then the legend of the immortal arsenal is probably true,” he finished.

“We need to find them.” Her mind raced with the possibilities. “Finding the weapons could turn the tide against the Bane.”

“Yes, but our first order of business is to figure out what we know and decide who we can trust.”

She perched on the edge of her bed. The road before them branched in many directions. “I only wish we’d known about the dagger sooner.”

“There are a lot of things I wished I’d known or done sooner.” He sat beside her and ran a finger along her jaw.

Warmth spread through her. She captured his hand and kissed his fingers. “We’ve been given a second chance. No regrets.”

He smiled and stroked her cheek. “No regrets.”

“How did you find me? Even as a dragon, that wouldn’t have been possible.”

“Icarus.”

Surely she hadn’t heard him correctly. “What?”

“He helped me find you and even helped us escape.”

She shook her head. “Why?”

“Greed. He wants the Bane throne.”

She sneered. “He is the worst of them all, using whatever means necessary to get what he wants. I hate him.”

Rhys didn’t contradict her, only stared at her. Finally, he said, “Powell is dead.”

Ravyn blinked, waiting for some emotion—anger, elation, pity. But she felt nothing but numbness. “Who killed him?”

“A demon, I think. We found him dead in the clearing from where you’d been taken by Icarus.”

He watched her. Should she be angry that she hadn’t delivered the killing blow to Powell and avenged Angela? “Good,” she said looking at Rhys. “It’s a fitting death for him. Poetic in a way.”

“Yes, killed by the beast he served. So you’re not angry that you won’t get your revenge?” he said.

She shook her head. “Life is a sacred gift given by the Universe. I am not so prideful as to feel cheated because I wasn’t the one allowed to take his life, even if I hated him. Being spared such a gruesome task is a blessing, not a slight.”

“Not all in your position would feel the same way.”