Chapter 16
For months, I am at Riahn’s mercy as she trains me. I sweat in the sun while she attacks me relentlessly. I stalk in the shadows at night as I refine my stealth. Occasionally she leaves on a mission without me, with the excuse that I’m not ready. But she always comes back to inflict more torture.
And to leer at me with her hungry eyes.
We work our way north and cross the boundary into the midlands. Eventually, we meet up with the rest of her assassin team. Kian, Westin, and Gilmar. The men are as peculiar as Riahn, but at least they don’t have a thirst for light as the demon does.
They are half-emrys.
And they have dragons. Which speed our travel along.
By late summer, Riahn lets me come on missions. Whenever she receives a message from Meuric, we fly off into the night to kill some unsuspecting soul. Kian grumbles about toting me along on his dragon, but it can’t be helped.
I don’t ask if our targets deserve to die. It isn’t our place to ask. Just to do.
When did I become this person?
I’ve already taken so many lives that one life blurs into the next. It almost doesn’t matter anymore. My days are spent on the road. We’re lucky to sleep in a few inns some nights, other nights it’s around campfires. I can’t say I don’t hate the warm summer nights under the stars.
Our missions take us all over the country. To the cool north and the shores in the east. My favorite parts of the country are the ones that remind me of home.
Highlands with wind.
Summer morphs into fall. Sometimes it’s hard for me to tell, depending on where we are in the country, but this night is mild. We’re in Angharad, a temperate climate.
Gilmar stirs dinner over the fire. Kian is ribbing him about how his last meal tasted like mud.
“He’s not wrong, you know.” I sit against a log near the fire, relaxed and reclining.
“Look who’s not getting anything to eat, then.” Gilmar flings a scalding spoonful in my direction. It spatters across my forearm as I block my face. I growl as my skin burns. “Watch it!”
Gilmar and Kian laugh as Riahn materializes from the trail to the river, dabbing at her face with a towel. She was washing off blood from her latest kill. “I’m starving. You better not be wasting food.”
I scoop the clump off my arm and hold it out. “You want the first taste?”
She scoffs as she eyes me. “Don’t tempt me.” She’s talking about tasting my light, not the fine culinary specialty Gilmar made.
I’m used to her innuendoes. I shrug and lick the bite off my finger. “Just as I thought. Mud.”
Gilmar chucks the spoon into the pot and starts toward me. “I’m going to show you what mud really tastes like.”
I jump up and back away, giving us room to spare. I can never tell when Gilmar is messing around or if he’s actually trying to pulverize me.
I think it’s a little of both.
His right fist comes toward my face, but I block it. We exchange a few punches before he gets the upper hand and grabs me in a chokehold.
For some reason, my vision blurs as pain rips through my lower abdomen. I cry out and drop to my knees, bringing Gilmar along. He topples over me and drops his hold. “Hey, my cooking’s not really that bad!”
“No. It’s not the food.” The pain releases, and I suck in a breath. I lean on my hands and knees, panting.
Riahn crouches next to me. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” I rub my stomach. “I’m okay now.” I stand.
“Nice try.” Gilmar thwacks me on the back. “You’re just trying to get out of a walloping.”
We settle down to eat. Westin slinks back into camp. He says he has business to attend to, meaning a pretty lass to bed. “Sup,” he murmurs in greeting as he takes a bowl from Gilmar.
“You just missed Seafarer wimping out on a fight.” Gilmar passes me a bowl.
Another pain cuts across my belly, and I drop the dish. I freeze, with my mouth gaping open, staring at the stew splattered in the grass.
“Hey, if you don’t want to eat it, just say so!”
“What did I say about wasting food?” Riahn smacks the back of my head. I roll over onto my side with a moan.
“I don’t think he’s messing around,” Westin says.
My head swims while my stomach contracts with agony.
“Well, it can’t be my cooking,” Gilmar says. “He only had one lick earlier. It couldn’t have hit him that fast.”
Sweat breaks out on my brow. The pain subsides, and I push upright with shaking hands. “Must be some sort of food poisoning. Maybe something I ate for breakfast.”
Kian slips over and grabs my chin. He is our resident healer. As stern and as gruff as he is most of the time, he doesn’t mess around when it comes to illness. Kian closes his eyes and does what I know is an internal scan with his light. When he’s done, he pushes my chin away and returns to his stew. We all stare at him as he takes a bite.
“Well?” Riahn asks.
“Nothing’s wrong with him. He’s faking it.”
I scoff and lean back against a log. I’m not in the mood to argue. Everyone else eats in silence. I hear nothing but the click of their spoons on the bowls, and Gilmar’s groans of satisfaction. Apparently, he appreciates his own cooking.
Riahn taps my foot with hers. “Get some rest. Maybe whatever this is will be gone by morning.”
I grunt and head to my bedroll. As soon as I lie down, pain grips me again. I try to breathe, but can’t draw a full breath.
Breathe, Niawen, breathe, I hear a man say. Someone is coaching her. Encouraging her. She gasps in a breath at the same time I do. We can hardly move.
Niawen?I manage to squeak out. What’s going on? I should have realized this was referred pain from our emotional bond.
The pain subsides, and we both suck in air. Kenrik? she whispers. I’m sorry. It’s labor. Try to block me. Please. Caedryn will find out. I can’t block while I’m in pain.
It’s too late, Kenrik, Caedryn wheezes, as out of breath as both Niawen and I are. I feel her.
No. I groan. No.
By rights, I would have been the one to feel this anyway. She’s my wife. That’s my child. We made bonds.
You don’t have them anymore. I have them.
Half of them, he snarls. You’ve never taken her in your arms as I have.
Shut up!
Open your sight to her, Caedryn says. Show me what she sees. Tell me what you hear.
Another pain slices through me. I curl into a ball. My sight takes me far away, to the inside of a cramped cottage. I recognize the face that stands over me. The fur trader. A friend of Niawen’s. Owein.
The fur trader. Interesting, Caedryn mutters as he sucks in a breath. It gives me great satisfaction to know he’s feeling this all as well. Show me more.
I can’t deny him. I can’t block. I try. I shake my head as I will the light fused to my mind to deny Caedryn access.
Sheep bleat nearby. A cool breeze stirs across my face from an open window. The sun’s rising.
Caedryn laughs. You’ve just sealed Niawen’s fate, young prince. She’s in Brenin’s realm. They are a few hours behind me. The sun rose here hours ago. I thank you.
Go to hell!
“Kenrik.” Riahn kneels over me. “This isn’t food poisoning. What is it?”
“It’s Niawen. The woman I have a bond with. She’s in labor.”
She snorts. “And you can’t block her.”
“I’m not like the half-emrys. I’m not always good at blocking, and apparently labor is not something a man should ever feel.”
“Westin,” she calls. “It’s emotional pain.” She chuckles. “Our dear seafarer is giving birth.”
Kian and Gilmar both break out in laughter.
“Settle in.” Riahn waves Westin over. “You’re in for a long night.”
“No.” I grunt. “No. I deserve to feel it. I deserve to feel it all.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. What about this Caedryn you told me about? You don’t want him to feel her.”
“It’s too late,” I grumble. “It’s too late. He knows.”
“Well, then, just take a rest. Nothing you can do to change that.”
Westin sits near my head and presses his palms to my scalp. “You so owe me.”
A warmth courses through me. I relax onto my back, and my body goes slack. I lose all connection with Niawen and Caedryn. I don’t feel anything.
I hear nothing but the crackle of the campfire. A meteor streaks overhead as a tear leaks from my eye.
I am sorry, Niawen. I am so sorry.