First Of Her Kind (Book 1) (16 page)

Ciara shuddered as the memory rushed back. "I shouldn't have killed those men."

Donovan cocked his head. "No?"

"I’m not a murderer."

"There is no murder in dispensing the Emperor's justice."

Ciara swallowed. "Perhaps not, still-"

"No. You must be quicker in your reactions. But first you must be trained. Do you not feel how your power has come alive here?"

'No' made it as far as her lips, but not past them. It would have been an out and out lie and, as Donovan had just pointed out, Ciara didn't do that well. She also couldn't hide the fact she'd become more aware of the wilding here than she ever had been before. Or it had become more aware. In either case, Ciara had all she could do to keep it confined within the circle of her earth magic.

Donovan wrinkled his nose. "You would do well to relinquish that." Eavesdropping on her thoughts again. "The Goddess’s magic is good for nothing other than healing and casting. It did not save you on the road. Nor did it lay the Sciath na Duinne flat in your aunt's funeral grove."

"How did you know about that?"

"There is little you can keep from me."

"If Bolin is what you say, how could I have done that to him?"

"I suspect he was unprepared. Or did not believe you would strike out against him. His trust of you almost proved his undoing. It’s a shame you held back."

"Is that what you want?" Ciara stood. "Do you want me to use my magic to kill? I won't do it. I promise you that."

"Sit down."

And she did, without meaning to. Her muscles strained as she tried to push back out of the chair and found she couldn't.

"You attacked me in my very hall," Donovan said. "Would you kill me to save the General?"

She could feel the wilding welling up inside her, keeping pace with her rising anger. The two fed off one another and Ciara suddenly realized Donovan knew that. That’s why he prodded her. He wanted her to lose control.

Ciara forced herself to be calm and sank back in the chair. "What do you want with Bolin?"

She expected anger, but this time he showed little of the impatience he had on earlier occasions when she’d asked about Bolin. "There are numerous possibilities. I hope the General comes to see the benefits of cooperation, but as you know, he is incurably stubborn."

"He’d rather die than give in to you."

"Then so be it. But I think he will fight to stay alive. He is bound to you, Daughter, by his word and his duty, among other things. To die would be to go back on one and neglect the other. I have never known him to do either of those things."

"Then what makes you think you can get him to do it now?"

He didn’t answer. Instead he asked, "Do you understand nothing can hold you here?"

Her jaw dropped. "You'd let me go?"

"No."

"But you just said-"

"I said nothing can hold you. Your power is as great as mine." Donovan's eyes glimmered at the confession. "But you lack the control and discipline to use it against me. So you will remain imprisoned."

"Don’t you think," Ciara said, "it might be dangerous to tell me all this?"

"It is only dangerous to give the archer arrows if he has the skill to hit his target," Donovan replied. "You may leave this place. Find your way free of this fortress. But until such time, you will learn to embrace what you are."

"And if I choose not to?"

The way Donovan merely watched her and didn’t answer made her nerves twitch.

He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, not saying a word. Not, she realized, attempting to pry into her thoughts. Rather, he opened to her. Ciara hesitated. The thought of trying to read him terrified her. Then again, she might never get another chance, and curiosity overrode uncertainty. She focused on his eyes, and wondered if his magic caused those midnight black pools to seem as though they were always alive with light. Taking a deep breath, she reached out, but stopped just at the edges of his power. Donovan made no attempt to prevent her.

Ciara had never seen so much magic, but then again, she knew little of it beyond what she possessed. The mage priests at Guldarech were always warded, and though she knew their gifts to be of a different sort altogether, they never allowed anyone to explore it. Not as Donovan offered now.

As different as earth magic and mage magic were to each other, Donovan's rose above both. Wild, exhilarating, yet immaculately ordered and carefully controlled. It reminded Ciara of Sandeen -- all muscle and quiet strength seething just below the outward calm. Bolin, through patience and discipline, had taught the stallion to harness his fury, and use it only when needed. Sandeen had learned not to let the fire in his blood rule him. If not for that, there would be few who could hold him.

So it was with Donovan’s magic -- a superb thing, achingly beautiful. Like the fortress, it exhibited no overt malice. No innate evil. It merely . . . existed. And if the vessel it existed in proved strong enough to control it, the magic could be made to do its bidding. If not, the vessel would be destroyed and a new one found.

And that terrified Ciara. What if the wilding were like that? What if it destroyed her to be free? How would she stop it?

Donovan’s power swirled around her like mists off the river, and Ciara found herself abruptly in a vision not her own.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Meriol came to Bolin next. That made it an illusion then, because Bolin hadn't died. Though Goddess knew, the prospect held growing appeal.

He frowned when Meriol bowed to him. "Don’t."

"You are Sciath na Duinne," she replied, and it perplexed Bolin that her voice held a note of anger. "Why didn’t you tell me what you were?"

"I didn't choose to be what I am." He felt unnaturally stiff and haughty as he looked down at her.

"But it's what you are. You can't be anything else."

He looked away from her. "I’ve managed."

"You should have told me," Meriol persisted. "Ciara would be safe now."

"Or dead."

"You couldn't have killed her."

He looked back at her, and met her grey eyes with a look that had chilled many a grown man. "Killing is what I’m good at."

"What? This?" Meriol waved a disdainful gesture at the field below. They were on the hillock again, overlooking the battle. "You are a General of the empire. You lead men."

"To their deaths," he said bitterly. This exhausted him. He much preferred the physical torture because that kept his mind from returning here.

"You couldn't have killed Ciara," Meriol repeated. "Together we could have guided and trained her. Why did you do nothing?"

The carrion crows had begun their circling. Bolin watched their dark, lazy spirals as they played on the currents. They would land soon and begin squabbling over remains. He sighed. There had to be a reason he kept coming back here. Something Donovan wanted him to see or remember.

"Will you protect my daughter?"

Bolin had to look at who stood beside him then, and for a heartbeat he thought it might be Ciara. But this woman -- strong, beautiful, and full of the Goddess’ light -- stood shorter than Ciara. Her features were softer, and her auburn hair more neatly brushed and braided than he’d ever seen Ciara’s.

Banners snapping in the wind drew his attention back to the field.

"Why here?" he asked Donovan.

"It is your choice," came the reply.

Bolin shook his head. "No." The late morning sun couldn't totally pierce the heavy smoke and fog that lay over the dead and dieing. "I should kill you."

"Undoubtedly. It is what you are good at."

Then they were facing one another in a stone courtyard, no sun overhead, just a grey sky. Shadows moved within the colonnades that surrounded them. Bolin had gotten used to the blindingly fast shifts of time and place that came with the visions. He hefted the sword in his hand to test its balance. Not his, but wonderfully crafted, light and strong, made of good steel, and it fit his hand well. The blade whistled as he swung it in an arc through the air. He felt good. Free of pain. Focused. He shifted his balance to the balls of his feet.

A fool hoped it would be a fair fight.

Donovan had never been even half as good a swordsman as Bolin, relying on less personal skills. He had either gotten worse over time, or purposely made his moves slow and clumsy. It didn’t matter. This time Bolin wouldn't spare him as he had in the past. Even if the death came only in the ethereal world Donovan had dragged him to.

His opportunity came almost too quickly. Bolin should have mistrusted it. He swung his sword overhead in a fluid motion he’d no intention of stopping. As he brought the weapon down, clear hazel eyes and a wild tangle of brown hair took Donovan’s place and Bolin hesitated.

Donovan’s thrust came blindingly fast and accurate -- up under the ribs with a quick twist straight to the heart. Bolin let out a breath, most likely his last and dropped to his knees. He felt amazingly little pain, for which he was grateful. Not for himself, but for all the men he had killed with the same move. He wouldn't have wanted them to suffer overmuch.

His face tilted up, the bloody tip of Donovan’s sword under his chin. Donovan’s eyes were so full of light they glowed. They swallowed all else in Bolin's vision.

"I merely needed to be sure."

"Of what?" Bolin said, surprised he had the strength for words.

Donovan smiled. "Your weakness."

* * *

Ciara hurtled out of the vision with such force it made her stomach lurch and sent the room into a violent spin. She shot out of the chair toward Donovan, with no idea what she intended, and landed back into it just as quickly. She struggled to breathe as she strained against his invisible hold.

Her temper flared. It was just a vision, she told herself, nothing more. But she had felt the life go out of Bolin as surely as if it had been her own.

She gasped for air and pushed her earth magic aside as though it were an errant child in her path, shattering the carefully laid wards that caged the wilding. Donovan wanted her to embrace her other magic? Now seemed as good a time as any. She gave no thought to what she did. Grief and blind rage drove her.

The wilding engulfed Ciara in a whirlwind of fierce emotion. She felt no panic as she called it from its prison and stretched her arms wide to welcome it. But the strands of power were slick and singed her hands as she wrestled to hold them. Just as she grabbed hold of one, it would slither through her fingers, only to snake back and fight her. Controlling the wilding absorbed all her concentration until the seething blackness became all she could see.

It wanted her to give herself over and stop resisting:  To make a leap of faith and allow the magic to guide her. She could strike out with it then and free them both. She could kill Donovan just as she had the men on the road.

Swirls of red and black filled her vision, and her body resonated with desire. Unlike Meriol’s funeral grove, no wall of the Goddess's making hemmed her in here. Nothing prevented her from losing herself to the wilding’s call. And she would lose herself. Ciara could feel it. The wilding would devour her leaving nothing behind.

Then, like a whisper in a storm, a familiar presence drew near. He quietly gathered together the broken bits of the wards that had bound the wilding, and began to weave them into a vast net. The wilding turned its attention to him. This one knew how to call it with the words of the ancient ones. Why then, did he rebuild the cage? A scream of defiance ripped from Ciara's throat.

"Don’t!" Bolin said, and he sounded far away, so faint Ciara could barely hear him above the raging of the wilding.

But she could feel him and what he did. A part of her longed to help him, but too much of her existed only within the wilding now. The rush of anger became a roar, like some mighty mythical dragon, as Bolin stood suddenly before her. He didn't even flinch in the force of that rage, but stepped to the edge of the fury and swung the net of earth magic over his head, letting it loose as the wilding lunged toward him.

The wilding struck out in an attempt to rend the net. But Bolin had made the working too strong, infusing it with more power than the original ward had possessed. It settled over the darkness, and like water on flame, quenched the fiery emotions.

Ciara sucked in a great, shaking breath, as the library regained solidity around her. Donovan hadn’t moved, and his expression looked like to be carved of stone.

"Your cooperation," he said, his voice flat "for the General’s life."

Ciara trembled. Donovan's words barely made sense to her. She blinked at him. Her head felt as though it wanted to split open, and she wished it would do just that. She flexed her fingers, sore from gripping the arms of the chair, and tried to ease the stiffness out of them.

"I hate you," she said through clenched teeth. She couldn't keep the tremor from her voice.

He raised a dark, slender brow. "I hardly expect you to embrace me. Hate is as good a place to start as any. It shows you have passion, if nothing else."

"I want to see him."

Donovan inclined his head slightly in acquiescence.

"And you swear to me," Ciara’s teeth chattered uncontrollably. "Swear you won’t kill him if I agree."

"As I have said."

Only a fool would believe Donovan would keep his word. In as much as it served him, perhaps, and no further.

She pushed out of the chair, and her muscles quivered with the effort. She spent a little earth magic to fortify herself; just enough to make sure she could reach the door without falling. Or needing Donovan's arm.

* * *

Bolin watched the dying flames sputter and twist like the last of his hope. The thought of losing and becoming Donovan’s puppet bothered him more than death, and so he had asked the Goddess -- no, pleaded with the Goddess -- to take him. That bordered on cowardice, which he detested, and only added to the despair that gnawed at him.

If he'd have been stronger he would have taken the wilding from Ciara. But the small bit of magic he had stolen from Donovan's healer could only be stretched so far. And it became suddenly clear to Bolin why Donovan hadn't made any attempt to stop him. Donovan couldn't be called a fool. The same didn't currently hold true of Bolin. Donovan must have suspected Bolin had taken magic from the healer. He also knew Ciara couldn't control the wilding. It would have devoured her, and turned her into something even Donovan might have had a hard time reckoning with. And so he had allowed Bolin to intervene and so exhaust his meager resources.

A well-played gambit on Donovan’s behalf.

Bolin sighed and arched his back to ease the stiffness, wincing as raw skin stretched and cracked. He knew they were coming long before the door opened but didn’t turn his head when they entered the room.

"Bolin." Ciara's voice sounded hollow.

He blinked, his attention locked on the fire. The fact he didn’t move stopped Ciara’s forward progression short of where he stood. Donovan hovered protectively at her side.

"You shouldn’t have brought her here," Bolin said.

"She insisted," Donovan replied, managing to convey his boredom with the whole event in those two words. "She needed to know you were still alive."

"I’d prefer to be dead."

"No doubt. But she feels otherwise. For myself? Alive, you will always be a threat, even when you are totally mine. Dead, you are no use to me, but no longer a threat."

"It must be very difficult for you."

Ciara shivered. Bolin didn’t need to look at her to know that. He could feel everything about her as though he were in her skin. "You should get her to your healer." He slid a glance Donovan’s way, being careful not to look at Ciara. "She’s about to keel over."

"I doubt it."

Bolin shrugged, and returned his attention to the fire. "Your choice."

"Yes, it is. I wager the two of you have much to discuss, so I shall leave you to it."

Bolin stiffened and panic swept over him like a winter wind. Donovan felt it, Bolin couldn't prevent that. He had become as deeply aware of Bolin, as Bolin had of Ciara.

"That wouldn’t be wise." Bolin could barely get the words out, though he tried to make them sound indifferent. Goddess's light, he couldn't do this again.

"Perhaps." The door closed behind Donovan, but his presence lingered in the corridor.

Bolin hadn't felt such sheer terror since his first battle, and he fought the tremor that threatened to take hold. He rolled his shoulders back and drew in a short, hard breath. Even from across the room Ciara’s scent filled his senses, and his pulse quickened. He closed his eyes and forced himself to be calm. When the tension began to subside and he could relax his taut muscles, he turned a guarded glance Ciara's way. She stood rooted in place, trembling, her eyes glazed over and her face pale. As he watched she wavered unsteadily.

His arms were around her before he even realized he had moved, and he caught her before she hit the ground. She made a half-hearted attempt to resist when he guided her to the edge of the bed and sat her down. He dropped to his haunches in front of her, and took her hands in his. They were frigid. He recognized the look on her face; he'd seen it far too often on the faces of injured men, not all of whom made it through the night.

"Ciara?"

Shock and exhaustion -- the battle she had fought shouldn't have been done by someone so young and untrained. Damn Donovan to a thousand and one hells. If he wanted her dead he should just kill her and be done with it. All she had been through in the last few days had come crashing down on her. And Donovan had warded her now as well, stronger than Bolin thought necessary. That couldn't be helping her any.

"I’m an idiot," she said. Her teeth chattered, and she refused to meet his gaze.

"Aye, you are," he agreed.

She drew her hands from his and wrapped her arms around her body, then tucked her legs up, and curled onto the bed like a baby. "I should’ve listened."

"That, too." He stood to pull the coverlet off the other half of the bed and fold it over her. The spark had left her. "You need rest."

Her eyes had already closed. She had nothing left to fight with. "We need to get out of here," she whispered.

Bolin sighed, and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Later."

Send your healer. Now
, he said silently, knowing Donovan listened.