Chapter Eight
Stupid. That one word had been echoing in his head since he’d left the borders of Nàdair. Now he stood with his cloak pulled over his face, leaning against a tree just outside the main city of Levea. A place he’d often dropped off slaves.
Maybe he’d get lucky and she wouldn’t show up at all. Maybe she was too busy with her younglings, reading them stories, baking them sweets, whispering the same fairy tales his mother had so often whispered to him.
Alec was a fool. The only thing kidnapping the High Lady of Móirín was going to accomplish was inciting a war. The prospect didn’t sound . . . terrible under any other circumstances. But with her—he sighed and shook his head again.
Stupid.
Things had been complacent too long. The warriors were restless, seeking conflict where there wasn’t any. Sure, they had their occasional skirmishes along the borders, but it wasn’t enough. They needed a reason to fight. Desired it, even. Perhaps they were similar to humans in that regard.
Peace. It was always within their reach, yet never attainable. Maybe it had nothing to do with the myth about a queen for which they’d been searching for millennia. Maybe she and the gods had abandoned them because they couldn’t solve their own internal problems.
Rion stared through the trees toward the city and waters that had always seemed to call for him, as if beckoning him home. And watched a lone figure emerge from the gates.
***
Rion cursed himself for the hundredth time as he stared at the iron bracelets around the High Lady’s wrists. He’d lit a fire in the safe house and had draped a blanket over her torso and legs.
Now he leaned against the mantle, waiting for her to wake.
It had been too easy. He’d caught her warriors off guard with his magic and before any of them had realized who was attacking, he’d knocked them all out cold.
Rion grimaced at the bluish bruise on the back of Lillian’s neck. He hadn’t meant to strike her so hard. She’d turned on him and he’d just reacted, afraid to let anyone from Móirín put their hands on him.
Now, the High Lady sat in a wooden chair, her hands secured to the arms with ropes. Her head lolled to the side at an awkward angle.
He ran his hand through his hair and hissed through his teeth. He should have refused. He should have run to Saoirse and told her about Alec’s idiotic plan. Now it was too late.
Rion eyed the iron bracelets again. He couldn’t stomach the shackles. It was a risk, especially when they could be easily removed, but . . . this was Lillian. She’d likely never hurt a thing in her life. Putting the heavy metal around her wrists had just seemed . . . cruel.
Rion stared back into the flames, still debating whether he should just release her and disappear when her breathing changed.
He froze, waiting. Her eyelids fluttered open and she blinked a few times, groaning as she lifted her head and tilted it from side to side. Regret and guilt flared through him.
The High Lady of Móirín absorbed her surroundings. Her heart sped as realization of her predicament spread through her, but panic didn’t settle in. Not yet, at least.
She pulled at the ropes holding her in place, then her eyes landed on the blanket. The bracelets. Then finally him.
The pair stared at one another across the dark room, neither moving. She took him in slowly, from the blades strapped across his waist to the sand shifting at his feet.
Her nostrils flared as she scented the air.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said quickly. Not that he expected her to believe him. “As soon as Alec gets what he wants, I’ll release you and we can forget this ever happened.”
Anger pulsed from the female. Her brows knitted in anger. She scented the air again, opened her mouth, likely ready to call him every foul name known to their language, then hesitated. She sniffed the air again, studied his face, and Rion’s heart raced.
“I know you.” Her voice was soft. Surprised.
He shrugged and turned away. “Most do.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I know you.” She adjusted in her seat, as if trying to get comfortable. “You’re the one who’s been liberating Brónach’s slaves.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The scent of the lie floated between them. He only said it for those who might be listening nearby. Alec always had spies everywhere. Even in Móirín.
Lillian followed his gaze outside and seemed to understand. But to his utmost surprise, she relaxed in the chair.
“Interesting choice of . . . restraints,” she commented.
Rion didn’t meet her gaze. “I didn’t like the alternatives.” One of Alec’s slaves had given him a bag full of iron shackles. Rion had chucked it into the nearest river. “You’re a High Lady. You shouldn’t be in chains.” Rion only knew about the bracelets due to his mother. She’d often worn them to control her visions when they got out of hand.
“The thoughtfulness is appreciated.” She observed the room again, from the single door to Rion’s right to the lack of furniture save for a moth-eaten mattress in the corner. It looked more like a prison cell than a safe house.
“Could I request some water?”
He should have said no, especially considering where she was from, but Rion pushed off from the wall and grabbed his canteen. He poured a bit into a cup before approaching.
Lillian didn’t balk at his magic; she simply stared at it, as if curious. Without touching her, Rion lifted the cup to her lips and tilted it back slowly. He returned to his place by the wall once she’d finished.
“Is this about the land?” she finally asked.
Rion ran his hand through his hair again. “My brother seems to feel this is the only way to obtain it.”
She sighed. “I almost had my mate convinced to hand it over last night.” She shook her head. “When he discovers I’ve been taken—”
“I know.” Rion had never viewed the High Lord of Móirín as a gentle male. Alec had spoken to him before. He knew his mannerisms and yet he’d still done this. “Alec will probably try to cast the blame on me in the end.”
“He’s done that before?”
“Not to this extreme.” If Alec was able to convince the High Lord of Móirín that Rion had acted of his own accord, the male could likely demand Rion’s life in exchange for peace.
Alec would be more than happy to oblige.
“You’re upset with his decision.”
“It’s a common occurrence.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Is this what I have to look forward to when my daughters come of age?” Rion didn’t respond. “Though, I suppose your relationship with your siblings is somewhat strained due to—” she paused. “Circumstances beyond your control.”
“You could say that.”
She eyed him, watching, evaluating. “The slaves still protect you, you know.” Rion turned to her. “All these years and they’ve never once given you up. No name, no description. Nothing, no matter how much I beg.” She studied his reaction, but Rion kept himself still. “That first group,” she continued. “The female leading them. Cara. She’s much older now, but still runs things in her segment of the city. She started her own business. I thought you’d like to know. She opened a tea house and has three beautiful children.”
Emotion welled in Rion’s throat. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I thought you should know how much of a difference you’ve made. Many, not just Cara, have children of their own. Some aged, others didn’t, but they all live very different lives now. Their children live very different lives.”
They were free. Because of him.
“We don’t have to continue this, you know.” He turned to look at her. “I can tell my husband this is all just a big misunderstanding.”
“I’m sure he’ll listen.”
“He will to me.” The shift in her tone had Rion straightening. He had to remind himself that Lillian wasn’t just any female. “I’ll tell him the truth. About who you are and what you’ve been doing. He won’t hold you responsible.”
“And what do you want in return?”
“For you to come live with us.”
His head snapped up. “What?”
“You’re an outcast in Brónach, are you not? I’ve heard the rumors, and yet I see a very different male before me.”
“You don’t know what I’ve done.”
“I do. I’d venture to say I know more than most, given my position. I know about your trips to the border. I know how you’ve defended your people in secret. I know about the slaves.”
“Do you also know how many people I’ve killed in the process?”
“Are we going to start judging one another by the amount of blood on our hands? Because I believe I have a few centuries on you.”
Rion looked at the female, then to her hands. “I can’t imagine you have much.” He didn’t mean it as an insult and thankfully she didn’t take it that way.
She smirked. “Not in recent years. Not with my girls. But rest assured, I’ve seen my fair share of battle. My mate and I even fought alongside your parents at one time.” Rion’s heart skipped. “Our countries are allies, Rion of Brónach. There’s no reason we can’t remain as such.”
“What about the ancient texts?” he whispered.
“They’re stories. Let them stay stories.”
“You don’t believe?”
“I find it very hard to believe a male would risk everything—his reputation, his home, and his life—to free others if he was nothing more than an abomination.”
“Not everyone will share in your beliefs.”
She shrugged. “They don’t have to.”
“It might discredit you as their High Lady.” It was the whole reason he’d steered clear of Saoirse for so long.
“I’ve ruled our country for centuries. One incident isn’t going to change the people’s view of me.” Rion’s jaw worked. A new life. He could start over somewhere. And Saoirse would know exactly where he was. She wouldn’t have to worry.
“What do you say? We could liberate the rest of the slaves in Brónach together.”
“Alec won’t release them.”
“Maybe not at first, but we could set things in motion. I’m certain your sister will join us in the movement.” Rion couldn’t speak for her. Saoirse had always owned slaves, but she’d never mistreated them. She often punished those who did.
“She might, but you should know, the warriors of Brónach are looking for a fight. There’s already been blood spilled.”
“No permanent damage has been done. We can work toward rekindling our alliance. Perhaps we’ve been isolated from one another too long, especially with a new High Lord in place.” She sighed. “My mate and I should have pushed harder for meetings. Perhaps the fault lies with us.” She nodded, as if confirming something to herself. “We’ll see to it. We can make political statements, sentence those who have gone without proper punishment for their crimes. Maybe even change a few more minds about you. The former slaves will step forward. They’ll help you.”
“No one from Brónach is going to listen to a former slave, and Alec is just going to be pissed you didn’t return them.”
“But the citizens of Levea will. You forget, we have half-breeds and humans here who were born free.”
“And Alec?”
“My mate and I can deal with him. He’s young. I’m confident he can be swayed.” Rion wasn’t so sure. “Nothing happens overnight. It’ll take time, but we can start. You and I can begin making changes for those who can’t stand up for themselves.”
Change. The entire concept seemed too good to be true. To think the key to changing things could very well be in the hands of the female he been avoiding for years. A High Lady from a neighboring country.
“Even if all this works out, there’s still the fact that I stole you in the dead of night. I’m not sure your mate will be willing to forgive.”
She shrugged. “Then I guess you two will have to fight it out.” He blanched. “Not to the death, of course. I’ll be there to intervene if it comes down to it. Maybe you’ll get off with a right hook and that’ll be the end of it.” He couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.
“And you?” he asked. “Are you willing to forgive so easily?”
A flame flickered behind those blue eyes. Eyes that reminded Rion of the rivers circling their beautiful city. “I will do a great many things for the sake of freedom. And to be fair,” she eyed the bracelets around her wrists, then the blanket still draped over her body. “You did make an effort to ensure I’m comfortable.” She rolled her neck and winced. “Mostly.”
Rion grimaced. “I’m sorry for striking you. You surprised me and I thought—well, you’re a High Lady and I didn’t exactly want to be crippled for the rest of my life.”
“Smart on your part.”
Rion stared out the window, watching the swirls of snow drift by. If Alec had any spies listening in, then his brother would know of his involvement with the slaves soon enough, anyway. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair again.
“Just . . . give me a minute.”
“I’ll be here.”
Rion eyed her and smiled slightly at the humor in her tone. She was serious. About everything.
He walked into the small bathroom and splashed water on his face before leaning against the counter.
Freedom. Not just for the slaves, but for himself. A chance to be something more than just a feared weapon.
She was a High Lady. She had the authority and power to declare him anything she wished. And if the former slaves vouched for him, too . . . could his actions have very well ensured his own freedom? Would he get the life he’d always dreamed about? To be able to interact with others and walk the streets without worrying about his safety?
He splashed more water on his face, then looked into the old mirror hanging over the vanity. Rion studied those familiar eyes. The eyes of his mother.
If he ever saw her again, would she be proud of him? Could he make her proud by doing this?
Rion used his sleeve to wipe the moisture from his face and jolted from a loud noise in the main room. He sighed. She’d promised to be there but hadn’t promised not to escape.
Rion pulled his magic around his body, just in case, and opened the door.
The entire world he’d just fabricated shattered before his eyes.
He ran, moving faster than he ever thought his body capable, and slid to his knees at Lillian’s side.
Her wide eyes locked with his and he cupped the long slice across her throat with one hand.
“No,” Rion breathed the word, praying he could make it true. “No, no, no.”
Blood leaked from between his fingers and spilled out onto the floor. She reached for his face, for the tears forming, but her hand fell limp. The light faded from her eyes. Rion ripped her bonds away and pulled her against his chest, still clutching the fatal wound along her throat.
Less than a second. A heartbeat. A breath. That’s how long it had taken for the hope in his heart to shrivel and die.
The fleeting plans were gone. A new life for himself and others. Gone.
Her final breath left her lips, then a collective gasp sounded from the open door. Rion glanced up to find three of Brónach’s warriors peering inside. They looked at his hand, the sand snaking across the floor, the dead female in his arms who was meant to be his charge.
Fear filled the entire cabin and they backed away, staring at one another as if they didn’t know what to do next.
Rion looked down at Lady Lillian, then used his other hand to close her eyes. His body shook with rage and grief, but Rion forced himself to focus. He scented the air. Someone had managed to sneak inside. Somehow, they’d gotten past his guard. He hadn’t heard a thing.
There weren’t footprints and they hadn’t bothered to leave the knife.
Rion tried to calm the blood pulsing in his ears. He scented the air again—there. It was faint. Just a trace of shadow. Another minute and he might have missed it altogether.
Fiadh.
A shadow weaver.
Rion breathed it in again. Male. He hadn’t bathed in days and he smelled too much like flames and the mountain to be anything else.
Rion committed the scent to memory, carefully laid Lillian’s head against the floor, and stood. Rion was going to kill him. Kill and torment the male who’d dared to intervene.
A choked gasp had Rion spinning to face the door just in time to see a wall of ice barreling toward him. Rion jumped back, but deadly spikes followed his every move. He stumbled into the nearest wall and a shiver went through him when a roar shook the land itself.
The High Lord of Móirín had come for his mate.
A frozen spike buried itself in Rion’s arm and he winced. Water gathered around the male’s body, rising in a wave so tall it nearly touched the ceiling.
Rion didn’t waste time. He shattered the wooden planks of the wall behind him and jumped through, narrowly escaping the icy torrent chasing after him.
The High Lord roared again, this one full of pain and longing. Rion watched him fall to his knees at Lillian’s side. Saw him caress the female’s cheek with shaking hands, then bury his face in her hair as he drew her body into his arms.
Ice coated the floor beneath the male’s knees, the magic rapidly spreading to the walls and ceiling.
He looked so . . . broken at that moment. Not like a High Lord, but like a male who’d lost the one thing that rooted him to the earth.
Half the guards charged Rion, their own fury written plainly across their faces.
Gods above, what had he done?
Rion had taken her. He’d made her vulnerable, then he’d left her and she’d become an easy target.
Now, there was nothing to be done. No conversation he could have that might ease the situation.
Rion retreated, refusing to fight back.
The ground beneath his feet shuddered and Rion knew the High Lord was coming for him next.
He turned and ran straight for the mountains.
Alec hadn’t wanted a war, but a war was exactly what had just been started.