The Stones of Resurrection Read online

  Baehlon stiffened, but then said in an even tone, “Valterys, the Overlord of the West, and if I knew the answer to why he wants the sword or what it was doing hanging over young Hayden’s chest, I wouldn’t be sitting here watching you sleep.”

  “I don’t have the answers, either.” She scooted to a sitting position, wincing at the slice of discomfort that shot from heel to thigh.

  “Is it bad?” Baehlon’s large hands hovered above her leg. “May I?”

  She nodded and pushed the blankets off her body. He gently prodded the mottled skin around her heel. “You’ll be sore for a few days, nothing more.” His glance flicked to the weapon. A slight tightening of his full lips and a twitch to the corner of his mouth marked his reticence.

  “You don’t like the sword, do you?”

  “It’s a mystery to me, and that makes me nervous. I make it my business to understand weapons, but this, I just don’t know.”

  The metal called to her still. A song of yearning playing constantly in her mind. She had to forcibly shut it out.

  “I’ve never met a knight before.”

  “What makes you think I’m a knight?” The velvety softness of his tone held a hint of humor.

  “Besides Rhoane, you’re the only one with a sword, and Faelara called you, ‘Sir.’”

  “Just because you can’t see their weapons, don’t think they are unarmed.”

  “You mean they have special powers, right?”

  “ShantiMari? Yes, they have that, but never assume that kind of power will protect you. There’s something to be said for a nice bit of steel.” He glanced warily at the blade, distrust dancing at the edges of his irises. “Faelara has at least six daggers hidden in her skirts, and Myrddin never travels without two throwing knives up his sleeves.”

  “I’ll remember not to piss them off.”

  “If that means not vex them, then that might be for the best.”

  “It does,” she said with a weak laugh. “You’re pretty cool for a knight.”

  His mouth quirked in question.

  “Where I come from, that’s a compliment.”

  “Ah. Then you’re pretty cool for an Aelan.”

  She played with the lace edge of the sheet. “You’re not Aelan?”

  “Of course not. My mother was Geigan and my father Danuri.”

  “Ah, right.” She pretended to understand.

  His chuckle was like a chimney, billowing puffs of laughter. “In a few moonturns, this will become second nature to you. Can you walk?”

  She swung her feet over the side of the bed and stood, placing most of her weight on her good foot. “I think so.”

  “We should break our fast. Faelara would like to leave for Paderau today.”

  Taryn stepped around him, swallowing down the ache that swelled up her leg to twist in her gut.

  “Taryn.” Baehlon stopped her with the single word. “What possessed you in there?” He cocked his head toward Hayden’s room.

  “He asked for help.”

  “Who? Rhoane?”

  “No, the guy. Hayden.”

  “Ohlin’s teeth. Did it occur to you that you might get hurt?”

  “Yes, but he was going to die.”

  Baehlon stared hard at the sword before turning back to her. “The next time you’re feeling heroic, alert us first, okay?”

  “Sure thing. Not a problem.” It wasn’t likely she’d find another young man with a sword hanging over him, after all.

  Baehlon moved in step beside her and placed his fingertips at the bend of her elbow. That slight touch, barely felt through her blouse, held immense strength, and a silent promise that he’d never, ever let anything happen to her.

  Chapter Nine

  Rhoane stood with his back to the room and watched the couple as they strolled along the formal gardens below. Through the open window, he caught phrases of their conversation. Each time he heard Taryn’s rich laugh, he flinched. Dressed in the late duchess’s clothing, she looked like her aunt’s twin. If Hayden saw the similarities, he didn’t show it, but then, Rhoane didn’t think the young lad saw much beyond Taryn’s golden beauty.

  “Ready?” Baehlon’s deep voice startled Rhoane.

  His friend stood in the doorway with a crossbow dangling from one hand, Rhoane’s longbow held out for him in the other. “You convinced Faelara to leave tomorrow, then?”

  “Taryn could use a day to recover. Plus, it gives us time to refresh our stores.”

  Baehlon held something back, but Rhoane didn’t press. Whatever Faelara’s reasons for delaying their journey, he was thankful Taryn had one more day before the inevitable. For today, she was just a girl strolling the gardens with a boy. In a few weeks’ time, she would be a princess with the future of Aelinae resting on her royal shoulders. Rhoane took one last look at the garden before turning from the window and taking his bow from Baehlon.

  They passed Hayden’s room on the way to the back stairs, and Rhoane had to suppress his gag reflex. Baehlon didn’t flinch at the stench of stale poison and vile ShantiMari, but to Rhoane’s acute olfactory senses, it was overwhelming.

  “Seems a bit odd Valterys would poison the sword, don’t you think?” Baehlon asked, taking two stairs at a time.

  “He is desperate. I have found those are the most dangerous types to encounter.”

  “Something’s not right here, but I can’t figure out what.” Baehlon shook his head, his braids flailing in every direction, a chorus of bells tinkling. “Why now? Why Hayden? If he wanted the sword, he only needed to find someone of the Blood to take it.”

  “Not just of the Blood. The stipulations are not clear, but the sword would only accept a bearer it felt worthy,” Rhoane reminded him.

  “She really doesn’t know, does she?”

  They reached the kitchen door, and Baehlon held it open for Rhoane, piercing him with a look that begged to be defied. Rhoane stepped through to the outer courtyard, shaking his head.

  “When Faelara told me Taryn had no idea of her identity, I thought she was jesting.”

  “What changed your mind?” Rhoane asked, unconsciously scanning the gardens for Taryn.

  “The sword. The girl would have to be mad to attack that thing like she did. When she held it…” Baehlon exhaled slowly. “Rykoto’s balls, I’ll never forget that sight. She fairly glowed with power.”

  “She will be needing you to instruct her how to use it.”

  “Aye, that she will. And happy to do it, I’ll be, but I don’t suppose her learning will stop at swordplay.”

  Rhoane gave a curt nod in agreement and led them toward a thick forest north of the house, away from the gardens. “That is where it will begin. Myrddin wants me and Faelara to show her how to wield ShantiMari once we are in Talaith.”

  Baehlon boomed a spurt of laughter. “I think I got the easier of the tasks. Has she told you anything of where she’s been all these years?”

  “Not much, but I have had glimpses, and I do not mind telling you, the place looks terrifying.”

  “You’ve eavesdropped on her thoughts?”

  “Not exactly.” Rhoane held up his hand, and the runes shone bright in the morning sun. After a few moments, they faded back into his skin. “I try to block the images, but they come too fast. She has no idea.”

  Baehlon nudged his friend in good hearted ribbing. “About the eavesdropping or what those fancy pictures on your hands mean?”

  Rhoane blanched at the forthright question. “Either.”

  “I hope I’m not around when she finds out. That girl’s fearless and reckless. You better watch yourself.”

  “Yes, I know. Thank you for your support.”

  Taryn’s laughter drifted on the breeze to where he and Baehlon stood. Hayden and Taryn were a perfect couple. Both tall, with shining hair. Hers long and hanging loose down her back, his shoulder length in the latest fashion. Rhoane tried to stop the nagging thought, but it entered his mind like a worm all the same. Taryn was young and beau
tiful—she could love anyone she pleased—and she wasn’t bound by an oath. Wasn’t bound by a promise not only to her goddess but to her very soul. If she desired, she could choose Hayden to be her life mate.

  A spike of jealousy pinched his heart, and he turned toward the trees.

  “She watches you when she thinks you aren’t looking,” Baehlon said in a somber tone, his eyes serious and full of concern.

  “Yes, I know. She suspects I am withholding information from her.”

  “You are, and it isn’t just who she is. You could tell her how you feel about her.”

  Rhoane sighed and motioned to the garden. “She has enough to cope with at the moment. What she needs now is friendship and people she can trust. Anything more will come with time.”

  Baehlon clapped him on the back. “I don’t know if I’d wait too long, my friend. Young Hayden doesn’t seem to think the same as you. When we get to Paderau, it will only get worse. All those lords with nothing to do but find a wife. Once they learn who she is, she’ll be more sought after than a Danuri hildgelt.”

  Baehlon had managed to uncover Rhoane’s deepest fear. “If the gods will it, then I have nothing to worry about. I will not have her come to me out of obligation.”

  “Suit yourself. I’m just saying a word or two of encouragement might not be a bad thing. Ignoring someone generally doesn’t foster romantic feelings.”

  Damn the man and his honesty. It was true; he had been avoiding Taryn. His feelings for her were too raw, and he needed space and the normalcy of his friendships with the others. When he was around Taryn, all he could think about was the soft curve of her neck or the way her hips moved when she walked. The sound of her voice sent sparks through him like volcano flares. When he first saw her in the cavern, all doubt of whether he could fulfill his part in the prophecy vanished. His heart was hers before she ever spoke a word to him.

  “It is complicated, as you know.”

  “Look, man,” Baehlon said, turning to face him. “I’m the last person you should take romantic advice from, the gods only know, but you and Taryn are the future of this world. Whether you want to accept that or not, it’s true. She needs you. More than you’ll ever understand.”

  “To instruct her, I know.”

  “I’ve read Verdaine’s prophecy. I know damn well it’s more than instructing her.”

  Rhoane let his thoughts brush against Taryn’s for the merest moment. The desire to eavesdrop was too great. He cut the connection and blocked her from his mind, leaving a shallow opening for her protection.

  “We should see about catching our dinner,” Rhoane said, trying to change the subject. But Baehlon put out a hand to stop him.

  “You’re my friend, Rhoane. You know I support you in everything, but if Valterys infects her mind with his Black teachings—”

  “I know my duty,” Rhoane interrupted. No one knew the prophecy as well as he did. “If it comes to that, I will kill her.”

  Chapter Ten

  Never in her life had Taryn longed for modern conveniences as much as she did that night at dinner. After spending much of the day wandering the gardens with Hayden while he talked nonstop about people she didn’t know and places she’d never been, all she wanted was a tumbler of whisky, a hot shower, and some painkillers. Her heel throbbed with a devious constancy that distracted her just enough to be bothersome. She had to be careful how she placed her foot to avoid the point of impact or a slice of fire would ravage her leg.

  “You’re not eating,” Duke Anje whispered. “Faelara will not be pleased.” A smile crinkled the edges of his dark eyes, giving him a softness she liked.

  Taryn forced several forkfuls of the delicious meal down before pushing a root vegetable around on her plate. The others weren’t interested in what she ate, at least not at the moment. They were too concerned with other things she should or should not be doing. Things like learning to dance and using the sword. Or not wearing the torn leather pants Rhoane had given her; instead, she’d wear some of the late duchess’s clothing. Above all, she must appear proper.

  Taryn stabbed a ruddy looking vegetable. “Wear this, say that, blah, blah, blah. I’ll wear what I damn well like, thank you very much. And live where I choose, not in some bloody palace.”

  Of them all, only Duke Anje heard her. “Don’t let them upset you. Once in Paderau, we’ll get you fitted for clothes that are your style. As for lodgings, I hope you’ll stay in the palace as my honored guest.”

  She couldn’t refuse his kindness. “Of course I will. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

  “Not at all.” He motioned to the others, who continued speaking as if she and the duke weren’t in the room. “They have your best interests in mind, do not doubt that.”

  Beneath their words existed an undercurrent of another, secret conversation, one she was not privy to. The looks they gave one another did not match the spoken discussion, and the death grip Rhoane had on his fork gave away the ruse. Despite Duke Anje’s fatherly scowl, Taryn pushed away from the table. Rhoane glanced up, but she avoided his look as easily as he’d avoided her the entire day. The slice of misery had nothing to do with her foot as she walked with forced steadiness into the library.

  Once certain she was alone, she slouched into a chair, rubbing her heel absently as she took in all the books amassed on the shelves. It would take her two lifetimes just to read them all.

  “If your foot is bothering you that much, you should have Faelara make you a concoction for the pain,” the duke said from behind her.

  Caught, Taryn turned to face him and smiled her best can-we-keep-this-between-the-two-of-us smiles. “And here I thought you liked me.”

  His chortle made his belly jump, which in turn made Taryn giggle. “They’re dreadful, aren’t they? Let’s see if I can’t ease your burden a bit.” He sat in the chair opposite and took Taryn’s foot in his hands. After several minutes of his massaging, a sharp prick burned her heel. Instinctively, she flinched, but he kept a hold of her.

  “This is odd,” he mused. “There doesn’t seem to be any more poison, but I can feel something…just here.” He gently pressed with his thumb. “Hold onto the chair. This might sting.”

  Before she could protest, the duke ground his finger into her flesh, mumbling indecipherable words with a set cadence to his speech. Hot turned to cold that blurred into pins and needles before finally settling into a comforting warmth. A smattering of sweat on his forehead caught the candlelight, deepening the frown that cut between his dark brows.

  “What was it?” Taryn asked, her voice unsteady.

  “I don’t know, and that concerns me.” Remembering himself, he said to Taryn, “Nothing for you to worry about, though. I believe I got the last of it. Here,” he placed her foot on the floor and stood with his hands held out to her, “let’s give it a test.”

  Taryn took his hands in hers and rose slowly, still placing most of her weight on her good foot. Gradually, she eased more weight to her right until she stood balanced on the two. No ragged shots of pain raced up her leg, no throbbing from her heel—only a slight tenderness remained.

  “Oh, Your Grace, thank you.” Impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

  “Please, call me Anje.” His eyes clouded as he gazed at her. Again, she sensed there was something more happening, something she wasn’t invited to share. A breeze swept through the room, rustling the pages of a nearby book, and Anje cleared his throat.

  “You don’t happen to have any whisky, do you?” Taryn asked, hopeful for at least one comfort from home. “It’s a drink, strong, burns your throat in the most delightful way.”

  “I think I have just what you need.” He moved to a sideboard and poured a dark liquid into two glasses. “To you, my brave and beautiful friend.” He handed her a glass and smiled at the clink the crystal made when they touched.

  “To you,” Taryn raised her glass, “my healer.”

  The drink slid down her throat with a satisfying
burn. It wasn’t her favorite scotch, but it would do.

  “Well?” Anje asked when she finished her glass.

  “Just what I needed.”

  “Would you like another?”

  She did, but she politely declined. “I can barely ride a horse as it is. Being hungover won’t help.” She thanked her host before heading upstairs.

  The faint scent of roses lingered in her room, and she stood for a long time at her open window, gazing out at the lovely garden and hills beyond. If she’d had a choice, she would’ve asked that they stay there, at Ravenwood. From what Hayden had shared, life would be quite different in Paderau, and Taryn had had enough change already.

  When she closed her eyes to sleep, a dark face with a blood soaked smile and hair the color of a raven’s wing teased the outer edges of her dreams. The night passed in a fitful attempt at rest.

  WHEN Faelara came to wake her, dawn was just breaking over the mountains. Exhausted, crabby, and out of sorts, Taryn met the others in the stables, where the duke presented her with a gorgeous white mare named Ashanni. Gentler than the frisky Cynda, Anje assured her the ride would be much smoother.

  His generosity touched her. “Thank you, but you didn’t have to. Cynda was fine.”

  “Perhaps now you will have a second glass of dreem with me.” He gave her a wink then led his gelding out of the stables.

  Hayden stood nearby, a question in his eyes.

  “What?” Taryn demanded.

  “You drink dreem?”

  “Yes, I drink dreem. Is there something wrong with that?”

  A wide smile broke over his face. “Not at all. You are certainly a curious one, my new friend.” He left the stable shaking his head.

  As Rhoane passed, Taryn asked quietly, “What’s the deal with dreem?”

  “Not many ladies like such a strong liquor.”

  “Good thing I’m not a lady then.”

  Rhoane stifled a laugh as he led his horse to the courtyard. Taryn stared after him, completely perplexed.

  “We’d like to leave sometime today, if you don’t mind.” Myrddin’s chiding spurred her to clamber into the saddle and join the others as they rode away from Ravenwood.