First Of Her Kind (Book 1) (15 page)

Donovan watched dispassionately as Colm lifted Ciara’s unconscious form and carried her from the room. Allowing her to be with the General, alone and unwarded, had been a dangerous gamble.

"You could have killed her," he remarked.

"You put her here," Bolin said, his voice thick.

He stood by the fireplace, one hand against the mantle, staring into the low flames. Donovan could feel him crumbling, and it sent a thrill through him.

"Are you enjoying your time with Haracht?" Donovan poured two glasses of wine from a decanter on the low table and handed one to Bolin. It had been a long time since he had enjoyed the company of such a challenge. The last time they had met, they had nearly killed one another.

Bolin gave the wine a skeptical look and ignored Donovan's question. "Now what?"

Donovan smiled. "We continue our game. Unless you are willing to concede?"

That got him a narrowed, side-long sneer. No wonder men willingly followed him to their deaths. Donovan suspected that, even were the General not Sciath na Duinne, he would have commanded the respect and adoration of the populace. Something which made the man an even bigger thorn in Donovan’s side.

"I have never been able to understand your reluctance to give in when all odds are stacked against you. Do you not see there’s no way for you to win here?"

Bolin, stoic as ever, did not reply.

"You want her power as badly as I do," Donovan said. "Your unwillingness to admit that is what eats at you. What would you do with it if you had it, I wonder? Keep it to yourself? Offer it to the Emperor, or your blessed mother Goddess?"

"If it were possible to destroy it, I would."

Donovan arched a brow. That thought had honestly never occurred to him. "And kill the girl in the process? I do believe there may have been a time when you would have done that, before she became more than just a vessel in your eyes. We both know that is no longer a possibility."

Bolin turned his head, his eyes cold, and much more lucid than Donovan had hoped. "Do we?"

Donovan counted his ability to read people as one of the many things at which he excelled. The General, however, caused him to second guess that ability.

CHAPTER
TEN

Every beat of Ciara’s pulse echoed as a drum beat in her skull. A drum beat laced with lightning, compounded ten-fold with her first attempt at opening her eyes. She didn't even want to consider thinking, not until the drumming dulled in intensity. Even then, she exercised caution when she tried to replay events in her head.

There had been dinner. Her attempt afterward at . . . what? Had she really thought she could use her earth magic against Donovan? She reached up to touch the pendant at her throat. It lay nestled there, cold and heavy, rising and falling with her breaths.

The breath caught and she covered her mouth with her hand at the memory of Bolin’s lips on hers. Ciara moaned. "Goddess’s light, what have I done?"

And then Bolin had sent her sprawling with nothing but a couple of words.

"I wouldn't think too harshly of the General, daughter."

Ciara lurched upwards, and almost lost her balance along with the contents of her stomach as she gained her feet too quickly. Donovan leaned against the open door, arms folded across his chest. "He was merely holding to his oath to keep you safe."

Ciara plopped back onto the couch and lowered her head to her hands. She squeezed her eyes shut. "Laying me flat is his way of keeping me safe?"

"In this case, yes."

Dora curtsied her way past Donovan, set a tray on a table next to the couch, then curtsied to Ciara and darted out. Donovan indicated the steaming cup with a tip of his head.

"Medicinal," he said.

Ciara frowned at it.

"If I wanted you dead, I would not bother with poisoning your tea." His eyes glittered. "I would merely allow the General do it for me."

Her head snapped up. "He wouldn't."

Donovan shrugged. "Perhaps not yet." Ciara hated that smug expression. "But I have almost succeeded in breaking him. You, my dear, have helped greatly in that regard."

Outstanding. Ciara reached for the mug with shaking hands. They steadied after her first swallow, though the sweet tea couldn't quite cut the harshness of the bitterwort. A good choice if she remembered her herbal studies correctly.

"I trust he confirmed what I told you?"

Ciara cradled the cup in her hands, absorbing its warmth, and stared into the depths of it as though it held the answers she sought. "What do you want from me?"

"Just what I have told you. Let me guide you in the use of your true power. It is, after all, my legacy. If the General has his way, you will be secreted off to the Sisterhood. They would strip you of your birthright, and turn you into just another of the Goddess’ hags."

Ciara looked up at him. "And what would you have me turned into?"

Not even the flicker of an answer. "What would you choose?"

"I would choose to be free."

"And free to you means what? Exactly?"

Away from you, sounded too harsh and cold even given the circumstances. She shrugged. "I don't know. Exactly."

"I see." The corner of his mouth twitched downwards. "You will have to tell me when you decide. Until then I think I will continue to make your decisions for you."

"What about Bolin?"

Finally, the familiar flash of light across the
midnight sky of his eyes. "The General and I have much history. None of it good. I should have killed him when the opportunity presented itself. I suppose I should kill him now. And perhaps I may. To save you. Does the thought sadden you?"

"What do you think?" she snapped.

"I think there is more to your concern for the General than you are willing to admit. Or even, perhaps, than you realize. I also think you have much to learn in the manners of a lady, as well as the control of your power. Perhaps the two will go hand in hand." He pushed off the doorframe, and she tensed. "I leave you to your tea. As you are my daughter you are not a prisoner here. The servants will do as you bid them, within the scope of their instructions. I trust you to use your best judgment in your actions."

He put a lot of faith in her, considering Ciara’s best judgment of late hadn’t been all that good. The tea provided an excellent distraction for her. She made a pretense of stirring it, and blowing on it, taking another cautious sip as she willed him to be gone. She tried very hard to look everywhere but at him.

"Lady?"

And then she did, only because she had to, into the darkness of his eyes. So black, and so alive with fire and light.

"You will not seek out the General."

No threat, merely a cold statement.  A chill slid through her, into her core and past her earth magic. It touched the wilding and Ciara jerked. Hot tea sloshed over her hand as that power flared in recognition. Ciara made a desperate grab for the wilding, and its dark strands slid through her grasp. She pulled it back, forced it down within the circle of her earth magic, and glared up at Donovan.

His lips curled. "You won’t disappoint me."

* * *

Donovan despised gazing. He considered it nothing more than an old woman's pastime. But he despised being summoned like some common lackey even more so he took his time responding. The image of the ancient crone wavered as he trailed a finger insolently across the surface of the liquid in the bowl.

"You have something for me," she said, and it had the sound of a demand.

"Perhaps." He normally considered it unwise to provoke her, but he took his pleasures where he could find them. Within the walls of his fortress Donovan enjoyed a certain amount of immunity. "It will take some time to prepare."

"I have nothing but time," she replied, her voice heavy with bitterness. "You, on the other hand, are running short."

"Am I?" Donovan circled the bowl on its pedestal, and, not for the first time, considered knocking it over. He would not possess one at all if not for the crone. She could not leave her swamp prison, and Donovan had little desire to visit her there, which made the gazing bowl a necessity. "Then for your sake let us hope I do not run out too quickly."

Even though many leagues separated them, Donovan swore he could smell the rot and decay that surrounded the crone. She had been imprisoned in the swamp for so long now she had become more a part of it than the trees that grew there.

"Watch yourself, Lordling," she warned. "Altering our bargain would not go well for you."

"What makes you think I would alter our bargain, Crone?"

Her laughter sounded like the creaking of dry branches. "Do you think I can't read you, even from here? You would be wise not to forget the length of my reach."

Donovan sneered, making sure he did so out of her view. "It would be like forgetting to breathe."

The water in the bowl splashed violently against the sides, and droplets sprinkled the floor. "Do not test me!"

"Never."

Her ancient eyes narrowed. "You're keeping something from me."

Donovan's heart paused. He didn't normally give over to worry. The crone knowing who, besides the girl, currently resided within the walls of his fortress, could push him to do so. He schooled his expression into something that passed for a smile. "All in good time. You will not be disappointed."

"I'll hold you to that."

Bubbles broke the surface of the liquid before it smoothed once again, showing nothing but a reflection of the ceiling. Donovan curled a lip at it. If dealing with the crone would ensure his success, it would be worth the price. She had been ecstatic, in her own way, to hear Donovan had found his offspring. How much more grateful would she be when he succeeded in breaking the General -- a delight all its own -- and the Sciath na Duinne bowed to him and not the Goddess?

* * *

Ciara waited on the couch for some time after Donovan left before she placed her mug on the tray and crept to the door. She held her breath, her ear pressed against the smooth wood to listen, before easing into the dim hallway. The latch clicked loudly when she pulled the door shut behind her and Ciara tensed, trying to hear past the thumping of her pulse in her ears. What had Colm said about the fortress? If you knew where you wanted to go, and you were meant to go there, the fortress would guide you. That meant she could dismiss any hope of it leading her to Bolin.

She rubbed her palms on her thighs. "Let's start with something simple then." She took a deep breath. "I'd like to go to the stables."

She waited for some sign the fortress had heard her request. When nothing happened she began to walk, letting her feet chose their own path. The ever present magic trailed across her skin like an errant breeze, but gave her no indication if the turns she made were right or wrong.

There were wards everywhere, and Ciara began to realize they were set by the fortress itself and not by Donovan. The place pulsed with an uncanny consciousness that tickled the hair along the back of her neck and set her nerves on edge. It harbored no maliciousness or overt evil, but likewise, held no warmth. It cared little who walked the halls, or who lived or died within the thick walls, only that once within, they did not leave without its master’s consent. And though Donovan currently held that title, Ciara got the distinct impression he hadn't always done so.

A wide staircase led her down several flights, spilling into an atrium filled with the bright trickle of water and the scent of greenery. Massive beams crisscrossed the vaulted ceiling and fractured the sunlight coming through the windows.

Ciara tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth. She had two choices:  A corridor to one side beyond the small garden and its burbling fountain, or a closed door that broke the flow of the room's smooth, rounded walls on the other.

She flicked her gaze from the corridor, to the door, and back again. By all the unholies, she'd have more luck finding her way around Guldarech -- blindfolded.

She sighed and crossed the polished, tile floor, pausing by the door. Her fingers prickled as they curled around the latch, and the sensation raced up her arm. Ciara shuddered. She swore she heard the sound of cold laughter echo around her.

"Damnation." Her voice bounced among the streams of dust-speckled sunlight at the atrium's height and back again. She cast an anxious look over her shoulder, half expecting to find someone there.

A warded door usually meant something valuable lay beyond it. That something could be Bolin. As she pondered the possibility, the cold, slick metal beneath her palm turned hot, and Ciara yelped and tried to jerk away. But the wilding swept up and reached out, manifested in a glow of red shot with black. Ciara pulled back -- or tried. She couldn't get her hand to release the latch. She grabbed her wrist with the opposite hand and forced her elbow to bend, drawing her arm back and cradling it against her stomach. The wilding crackled and hissed as she fought for control. It screamed -- a shattering cry that pummeled her with the force of a blow and left her momentarily blinded as pain exploded behind her eyes.

Ciara staggered away from the door, and the wilding instantly quieted. She stood for a long moment, just breathing, and rubbed her hand where it burned. Why the fortress had led her to that door would remain a mystery. Ciara had no desire to touch it a second time.

She glanced down the corridor. The only light came from the opening at the far end and from what she could see, there were no doors anywhere along its length, something which gave it a whole new charm. Ciara made her way slowly at first, and then with more speed as her nerves got the better of her. She swore when she burst out of the corridor to find another set of choices -- two stairways, each curving upwards in opposite directions.

"All I want is to get to the damnable stable," she muttered. "And you're not going to take me there, are you?"

"Perhaps you were not sincere in your request."

Ciara didn't need to turn to recognize the owner of the voice behind her. When she did, she hoped the smile she wore passed as genuine. "I'm trying to find the stables. I wanted to check on the horses."

"Indeed?" Donovan quirked a dark brow at her. "It did not occur to you I have grooms and stable hands?"

Ciara shrugged. "I’m used to doing things for myself." She gestured back towards the atrium. "Is that the way?"

She braced for the flash of anger but it didn’t come. Donovan merely studied her a moment longer, the corners of his mouth set in their customary upturn. "I think it is time for your first lesson."

* * *

"You’re not a very convincing liar," Donovan said.

"Does that bother you?"

He didn’t answer. He had led her to a library, the door hidden behind one of the staircases, and directed her to a padded chair by the fireplace. He remained standing, his back to the fire, watching her.

More accurately, reading her. Ciara scowled when she realized the fact and blocked him from digging any deeper into her thoughts.

He nodded. "Good. Lesson one. But you need to be much quicker. In the space of time you were open to me, I could have done much harm."

Not a comforting thought.

"You should have been quicker in your reactions on the road as well," he said.