Torn: Bound Trilogy Book Two (16 page)

“The people you’ve killed might disagree with that assessment,” I said. He didn’t reply to that. “So who does know the truth?”

“Magic hunters learn it after we pass training and initiation. The old king knew. I don’t know whether my father has enlightened King Haleth yet.”

“What about historians?” I thought of my uncle Ches, who spent so much time in Ardare, working for the king. He had married a woman with suspicious gifts relating to plants, had lost two children under mysterious circumstances, and had never taken his family to the city where others might have seen that they weren’t normal. Not the actions of an ignorant man.

“Some,” he said. “Most of that information isn’t available to scholars. We’re now being even more careful about that, removing old documents from private collections and libraries.”

He seemed so relaxed in giving me this information. It gave me hope that perhaps his attitude toward me was softening.
No
, I realized. Not softening. It simply didn’t matter to him. My breath caught in my throat as I realized that he felt comfortable telling me all of this because I would never have a chance to share it with anyone. He planned to see me dead, and as far as I could tell he had no problem with the idea.

He gripped my horse’s lead-rope tighter. “You’re never going to understand, are you?”

I decided I wouldn’t let him see my fear. “I doubt it. Callum, would you ever have told me all of this if we’d been married?”

“I hoped I could. You seemed so open-minded, and I thought you might understand. Support me. It seems I was wrong on that, too.” He shook his head, slowly and sadly. “Things are changing, Rowan. If you could see the danger, we could help you.” His eyes filled with concern. “We could take this burden from you, remove the magic. You could be an example. Give the land hope. Think of the babies that could be saved if we make this work.”

It shamed me that a tiny part of me wanted to hear him out. I could live. I could see Aren again if I made it out of Darmid alive, though I wouldn’t be the person he’d grown to love. I could have a long life instead of a few miserable days in some dank cell. And all it would cost me was a gift I’d never asked for. That and my integrity, and the world that had opened up to me when I learned what I was.

My magic twisted inside of me. I thought of Aren, of Griselda and Albion, people who had given so much to help me become my true self. I pictured the magic-users killed by these hunters, the faces on wanted posters in Lowdell. My lost cousins. I would not turn my back on them, no matter what the cost.

“I’m not interested.”

“You’d rather die than become a normal person?”

It was my turn not to respond. His gaze turned to a glare, his lips compressed to a hard line, and he signaled for the others to rejoin us.

We stopped for the night at an inn in a small town. Everything there was built of brick or stone, and it gave the place a cold feel that I immediately disliked. The inn was a busy place, but they made several rooms available and served hot stew and fresh bread, and didn’t ask questions. I imagined that Callum’s gold went a long way toward all of that. I forced myself to eat, though my stomach protested. If I escaped, it might be a long time before I had another good meal.

There wasn’t a single sympathetic face among the men at the table, and I gave up searching. I located all the potential exits, then kept my head down and sopped up the last of the gravy in my bowl with warm bread.

“I heard it was a blummin’ massacre,” said a voice in the corner, and I turned my attention to the conversation.

“You can’t trust the news from over the border, though,” responded a rough-voiced fellow.

“Still, if it’s true, that’s a shame. I mean, not that I care for Wanderers meself, but I never minded that lot when they came by. They’d almost made it over the border, too.”

I glanced over in time to see the rough-voiced one, a dirty fellow in a faded brown shirt, nod toward the magic hunters. “They’d have had no peace here. Not with that lot around.”

I turned to ask these strangers what Wanderers they spoke of. Surely not the group who had helped me and Aren. Callum grabbed my arm and squeezed until I turned to face the table again. “Mind your business,” he muttered.

I looked around the room. There had to be some way out. Some way to use the crowd. Griselda could have created an illusion, frightened them into confusion. Aren could have bent their minds, started a riot and slipped away. My magic wakened.
Perhaps I could…

Callum didn’t stop his conversation with the hunter on the other side of the table, even as he pressed the tip of his dagger into the soft flesh beneath my ribs. I turned my thoughts back to non-magical means of escape, and my magic quieted.

And then it was time to go to bed. We’d be on the road again early in the morning.

My hands remained unbound, but Callum held tightly to my right wrist and guided me up the stairs. He stopped to let me use a windowless toilet room before turning in to a small bedroom filled with a large bed, a washing basin, and an opaque screen in the corner. The only window was high on the wall and too small to climb through.

Callum folded his arms over his chest and watched as I scanned the room. He closed the door, then sat on the bed to remove his boots. “Keep those clothes on. I don’t have anything else for you to wear.”

“You—you’re staying in here, too?” I asked, trying to seem unconcerned.

“Funny, isn’t it? If things had gone as they were supposed to, we’d be married by now, and you’d have been sharing a bed with me since midwinter, at least. Now you’re with me against your will, and I can’t risk leaving you alone to piss without worrying that you’re going to disappear.” He stood and walked barefoot toward me, and I stepped back until I hit the wall. He reached out to cup my face in his hand. “You should have been mine. Sweet Rowan.” I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. He rubbed his thumb over my cheekbone, tenderly, then pushed me toward the bed. “Get in.”

“No.”

“You’re not in a bargaining position. I know what you’re thinking, but you have nothing to worry about. You assume too much about your own appeal if you think I’d defile myself with a magic-user. We’re only sharing the bed so you don’t get any ideas about leaving. Don’t make me angry, though. You’ll regret it.”

I stood there for a minute, deciding whether I believed him. In the end, I sat down and took my boots off, then slipped under the uppermost blanket. He left the room, telling someone outside to keep an eye on the door.

Callum returned a few minutes later and closed off the oil lamp. Silence followed, and then he climbed into the bed. My muscles twitched as the lumpy mattress shifted under his weight.

“Go to sleep,” he muttered.

I didn’t think I would, but I must have drifted off. I woke to the feeling of a hand running from my waist down over my hip and resting on the outside of my thigh before retracing its journey back up to my ribs. Callum sighed, then rolled away from me.

I lay in the dark, eyes wide open and unseeing, waiting, but he didn’t touch me again.

A few silent tears fell onto my pillow before I could convince myself that it wouldn’t help to lose control. All I wanted was to be back in Belleisle. Memories of my last night with Aren burned vivid in my mind. I remembered sleeping with one of his arms thrown over my body, holding me close, and drew comfort from that even as the memory deepened my regret over leaving the island.

At some point I drifted off again, and Callum shook me awake as the sun rose outside of that tiny, useless window.

“Move,” he said, and I did. If I was going to escape, it wouldn’t be there or then. I’d have to wait and see what came next.

A
fter I left
the Brothers I tried to forget everything Phelun had said, to let go of the way I’d felt when I woke. Betrayed. Confused. Enraged. I couldn’t examine my own feelings without remembering how Phelun had connected them to the way I hurt others, and so I refused to think on any of it.

I managed to forget while on the road, where the physical tasks necessary for survival distracted me. But in quiet moments of the evening, after I’d put away the maps the Brothers gave me, when I lay on my back, looking at the stars, I couldn’t help but remember. Phelun's words crept into the corners of my mind, into my bones, drawing me to the conclusion he hadn’t had to state aloud.

I am a monster.

I focused instead on my plans. Travel to the town of Stenbrach in Durlin, locate my uncle, and see what he knew about my father’s disappearance. Perhaps it would be nothing, but I had nowhere else to start.

Even when I tried to think of more pleasant things, I found I couldn’t escape. The only memory of Rowan I could bring to mind was the look on her face when she realized the full extent of what I could do to people. She’d been horrified, heartbroken, because by then she’d had feelings for me that didn’t line up with that reality. Then the words of Mariana and Arnav, the mer elders, came back to me.
You will have to learn again who you are, decide for yourself what it is you value, what you live for when your family isn’t all you have and are.

So who am I?
I wondered.

I’d spent several months not using my most powerful skills, but I’d still known they were there, available whenever I chose to defy rules that only bound me because I allowed them to. And I had been miserable. Even when I took the task more seriously and genuinely tried to reach the potential Rowan saw in me, I had felt like half of myself. I couldn’t live like that, denying my nature and my gifts. True, I’d hated myself for things I’d done while in Severn’s service, but at least I’d felt alive then, and useful. I’d been doing what I was born for, though it had hurt people. And I couldn’t regret hurting people who deserved it.

But not everyone did. Had I stayed with him, Severn would eventually have sent me against Albion. I would have gone, not knowing that the man was my grandfather, not caring that he was kind, or that he spent his life educating young magic-users, or that he would never use his power against me the way I would have against him. I’d have done my job.

I rolled onto my side and used my arm to block out the moonlight, but still sleep wouldn’t come.

Perhaps I wasn’t the best judge of how my power should be used. Maybe Phelun was right, and it always did harm, no matter how careful I tried to be. I’d thought I wouldn’t harm the shopkeeper, hadn’t I? Just a little push, enough to get me what I needed and leave her unharmed. Though I’d be more cautious about small magic in the future, I couldn’t say it wouldn’t happen again.

But to give all of that up would mean losing myself, turning my back on the things that made me feel most alive. Was it possible for a man to draw moral lines in the dirt and refuse to cross them when he’d already been leagues past? And if so, did I want to?

In the end, I changed into my eagle body to get a respite from the questions, and slept. We travelled through the day, and I spent the next night the same way when late snows blanketed the ground in a thin layer of white.

I found the road to Stenbrach early in the morning of my third day out from the monastery, and soon after topped a hill above the town, which spread before me in a shallow valley. I glanced up at the sky, where clouds gathered again, higher this time. I urged the horse forward, toward what I hoped would be shelter and safety.

That would depend entirely on whether Severn had convinced our uncle that I was the enemy.

There weren’t any people out that I could see. Smoke rose from several chimneys in town, smudging the gray sky. No wheel tracks over the fields, though a few cut through the already-melting slush on the roads. I had never visited my uncle, but it was easy enough to identify his estate on the outskirts of town. I found his house at the end of a long, winding drive, a white stone building with large windows and a welcoming porch. I tied my horse to a hitching post and climbed the wide steps to knock at the front door.

There was no point sneaking around. Either he’d help me or he wouldn’t.

A well-dressed servant answered the door. He looked me over, taking in my rough clothing and the shaggy horse I’d left in the yard.

“Xaven Tiernal?” I asked for my uncle.

“May I say who’s calling, sir?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Who is it, Stanwold?” A young, female voice.

The doorman turned to answer. “He won’t say, miss. I don’t believe your father is expecting anyone?”

A pretty face appeared beside him, bright-eyed and framed by brown hair that curled over her shoulders, probably a few years younger than I.

“Good afternoon,” she said. “You have business with my father?”

“I have. Is he here?”

“It’s all right,” she said to the servant, and he stepped aside. She turned back to me and smiled. “Won’t you come in?”

“I’ll alert your father, then, and have someone see to the horse.” The doorman walked stiff-backed up a wide, curving staircase.

The young woman watched him go, then turned back to me with a friendly smile and clasped her hands in front of the full skirt of her blue dress. “You seem familiar to me.”

I gave her a pleasant smile. “I’m sorry I can’t say the same.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly, but seemed more curious than suspicious. I saw enough without prying to think she meant me no harm.
Not that that means much…

“Follow me, please.” She led me into an elegant parlor where a small fire burned in the hearth. A few chairs covered in striped fabric sat in the center of the room, arranged for conversation.

“You must be cold,” she continued. “Shall I call for tea while you’re waiting?”

“That’s kind of you. Thank you.”

“We do try to be hospitable.”

My cousin leaned out the door and spoke to someone, then came and sat down beside the fire. Hard as I tried, I couldn’t remember the names of any of my uncle’s children, whom I had never met.

I took the seat opposite her, facing the door. I reached out with my magic, trying to sense any other presences, anyone hiding, any possible traps. There was nothing. I settled back into the chair, but kept myself ready to act if necessary.

My cousin seemed completely at ease in the company of a stranger who, I realized, must be looking fairly rough after several days on the road. I wanted so badly to take a look inside of her mind, to see what was right there on the surface, but couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Damn you, Phelun.

Her relaxed attitude told me she believed she could handle trouble if I caused it. But then, any man who had survived growing up in my father’s family would make sure his children were as competent as he. Though I remembered my uncle as a kinder man than my father, he’d had great strength in him. I wondered what it would be like to grow up with a father like that, competent but pleasant. It didn’t seem to have hurt this woman.

“My name is Aren,” I offered.

“That’s why you seem familiar, then,” she said, and nodded.

“Have we met?”

“No. But you remind me of your father.”

A maid entered, carrying a tray with a pot of tea, three cups, and a few sweets and sandwiches. She wore a black dress and a neat white apron—nothing odd about her appearance, save for the faint blue tone to her skin. I didn’t stare, or ask. She left us alone again. The scent of hot tea and fresh ginger-bread drifted from the tray, and I realized how hungry I was.

“I’m Morea,” my cousin said.

“Pleased to meet you. You know my father, then?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, and poured two cups of steaming tea into delicate floral cups. Her posture was perfect, her motions elegant. A well-bred young lady. I was glad her father hadn’t sent her to live in Luid, as other wealthy families did with children they hoped would make powerful connections there and marry well. It never failed to ruin them.

“We visited Luid several times when I was a child, and your father came here...oh, a few years ago. Before he went away. Is that why you’re here?”

“That’s part of it. Do you know where he was going?”

The cup and saucer felt ridiculously fragile in my hands. I waited for her to sip her tea before I tasted mine. It was strong, prepared the way they did it in Luid, with a spice mix and warmed milk already added. I did miss these little luxuries.

“I didn’t speak to him,” she said. “He was quiet. Kept to himself, except when he spoke with my father.”

That didn’t sound like the Ulric I remembered. He was loud, powerful, commanding. Intimidating. Not quiet.

“My father will be here soon, I think.” Morea set her cup and saucer on the table and leaned back in her chair. “Do you need anything else?”

I wanted a bath, a shave, and a good meal, but said, “No, thank you.” Accepting hospitality was one thing. Demanding it was quite another.

When my uncle entered the room, he looked just as I remembered him from at least a decade before. Tall, gray-haired and thickly bearded, he wore a perfectly tailored vest to accommodate a prominent belly. The man had little magic in him, but it seemed to be enough to keep him healthy.

“Aren,” he said, and offered a friendly handshake. “It’s been too long. You’ve grown.”

“You haven’t,” I replied, and he laughed.

“I hope not.” He patted his stomach. “But I don’t expect this is a social visit.”

“No. You’ve heard about what’s been happening with me, with Severn?”

Xaven poured himself a cup of tea. Morea stood and moved to another chair so he could sit next to the fire while we spoke. “I’ve heard many things,” he said. “We received word months ago that we were to alert Luid if we heard from or saw any sign of you. The explanation was simply that you’d been convicted of treason and were to be returned for sentencing.”

“Should I be prepared to leave in a hurry, then?” He wouldn’t have told me about the order if he planned to obey it. Still, I did another quick check to make sure no one was listening in.

Xaven waved his hand through the air, dismissing the idea. “Not at all. I’ll confess that I’m curious as to what happened, but your brother...” He shook his head and added a heaping spoonful of honey to his tea. “Things have not been good. I don’t know what you did, but I’m choosing to stay out of it, either way.”

“If you don’t tell him I was here, you’ve already become involved. Probably on the wrong side.” I didn’t know how much he knew about the situation, and didn’t care to share more than I needed to. “He didn’t lie to you. I betrayed him. Disobeyed orders. Stole from him, I suppose.”

“The girl.”

“So you do know something about it?”

“There were rumors. Where is she?”

“Somewhere safe. For now, at least.”

“Hmm.” He didn’t have to ask why I’d have saved someone from my brother. “So you left, you’ve stowed this other person away somewhere, and now you’re back here. Why? I’m afraid if it’s shelter you’re looking for, I won’t be much help. I’m happy to let you stay overnight, but it’s too much of a risk to myself, my family, and my household to let you stay longer. If Severn knew—”

“I know. I wouldn’t ask that of you.”

Morea stood. “I’m going to speak with Stanwold. He’ll tell everyone that we have not had a visitor today.”

“Thank you, my dear,” Xaven said.

“She’s a good girl,” he told me after she left. “Helpful, too.”

“Gifted?” I hadn’t felt magic in her, but it would have made sense given her lineage.

He took a long sip of tea and raised an eyebrow over the edge of his cup. “Not a Sorceress, no. A Potioner, and talented enough that Severn would drag her off to Luid if he knew. Gods know how he would use her.”

“You’re right to keep her out of that, especially now.”

“Indeed. You wouldn’t remember her, I suppose. Your father and I had very different ideas about raising children, and we kept all of you apart when my family went to the city. It’s nothing personal against you. I hope you understand that.”

“Of course. Even if it were personal, I would understand. My family is a terrible influence. On anyone, actually.”

He nodded.

“I’m not here to request aid,” I continued. “I only wanted to ask whether you had any idea where my father might have gone when he disappeared. After he left, no one could find any record of his plans, and he didn’t send word. If Severn knows, he never told anyone.”

“You don’t think your father told his advisers?”

“If he did, it didn’t matter. I think most of them were working for Severn before Ulric’s disappearance, and those who didn’t support Severn are long gone.”

Xaven frowned. “It’s a terrible thing. My brother and I were never close, especially after he took the throne, but it saddened me to have him go missing. All things considered, you know.”

“You don’t have to hold back. I think we have the same thoughts on these matters.”

“Very well. Especially with your brother next in line. Is that why you’re searching for your father?”

“I don’t see any other realistic way to take the throne from Severn. Something has to be done. He’s planning a war with Darmid. He’s turning many of his own people against him, and I don’t think things are going to improve. I thought I knew what was going on in his mind, but I’m starting to see how wrong I was. So I’m left with finding my father, if he lives, and soon.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes, eating. I was still famished when the food was gone.

“Tell me,” Xaven said, “what do you know about your father? He’s only been gone a few years. I assume you remember him well.”

“Well enough. He didn’t have much time for me when I was a child, especially after my mother died. When I grew up, it was Severn who worked to develop my abilities, not Ulric. I saw my father in council meetings, though I wasn’t a member at the time. They allowed me to sit and watch proceedings there, and when he held audiences. It was all much less exciting than I’d expected it to be. I remember him being efficient. Cold. Hard.”