First Of Her Kind (Book 1) (21 page)

His apology rendered her speechless and the heat went out of her. She averted her gaze, and reached up to caress the pendant. Her brow furrowed when she looked up at him, emotion swirling in the depth of her eyes. She reached behind her neck and unclasped the pendant's chain. Taking Bolin's hand in hers, Ciara laid the necklace in his palm, and curled his fingers closed over it.

"I want you to have it," she said, and looked anywhere but at him.

The pendant nestled warm against his skin, as warm as her hand covering his. Neither one of them moved for far too long. Bolin cleared his throat. "Ciara."

She backed away, and shook her head. "No. Just keep it." She turned, her face hidden from him. "I’ll see to the fire."

* * *

Oh, of all the idiots on the Goddess’s green earth, Ciara must surely be the queen. She had told herself she'd be strong enough to face off to Bolin and get answers. That she'd be more than just so much baggage perched on Sandeen’s rump. Then she turned around and handed him the most precious thing she had.

Why?

Why, why, why had she given him the pendant? Had he asked for it? Had he forced her to hand it over? No. He’d asked to use it. Something he hadn’t done in the first place. And instead of just telling him yes -- as if no would have worked -- she gave it to him. Then, to make matters worse, she stood there holding his hand like a lovesick girl, not daring to breath. If the Goddess had any love for Ciara, she would make the whole thing never to have happened.

But the Goddess had about as much love for Ciara, as Ciara had for her. So, like every other embarrassing moment in her life, she would just have to accept it.

When she finally calmed down enough to stop gathering wood, and her arms had about all they could carry, Ciara turned back to their makeshift camp site. She dumped her armload of wood in the spot Bolin had cleared. When she finished arranging it, she sat back on her haunches, only then realizing she had no way to start a fire.

She looked up at Bolin. "He’s warded my earth magic. He told me he wouldn't remove them. That I'd have to do it myself. I thought, away from him, away from the fortress -- I didn’t think they’d hold."

Her chin quivered to match the waver in her voice. Why did it matter anyhow? Hadn't she repeatedly denounced all affinity with anything even remotely having to do with the Goddess? So why did it feel like part of her was missing?

She looked up at Bolin, and her eyes burned with unwelcome tears. "Could you-"

She looked at the pile of wood as Bolin hunkered down across from her. She shouldn't be asking him for anything. He looked a mess, and probably felt worse than that. She met his gaze. "Can you remove Donovan's wards?"

Bolin shook his head. "Not if he’s warded you against me as well."

"Would you at least try?" she whispered.

He rubbed a hand across his chin. "I'm not sure it'd be wise."

She blinked. A tear spilled over, and she wiped it hastily away, but not before Bolin saw it. She couldn't remember a time when her earth magic hadn't been a part of her, but she could barely feel it now. She didn't have anything left of her mother and her aunt, besides the pendant -- and now she didn't have that, either. It felt like losing them all over again.

Bolin sighed. "If I try this, you can't fight me. Do you understand? No matter what happens."

Ciara nodded.

"No matter what," he repeated.

"I won't." She’d be as still and quiet as a rock if it meant Donovan’s hold on her would be broken. Even if it took every bit of self control she had, or Meriol ever wished she had.

But still he hesitated, his expression unreadable in the dim moonlight.

"Please, Bolin."

The breeze pushed her hair across her face, and she brushed it away. The night became unbearably quiet. Sandeen’s harness and the sounds of him pulling up and munching the short grass were the only sounds. Ciara held her breath. She didn't want to plead with him.

Bolin nodded, and Ciara let the breath out in a gust. He moved closer and sat in front of her, taking her hands in his. His gaze locked with hers. Goddess’ light, she hoped she could hold the contact long enough. It felt as though he could see her very soul -- every thought, every emotion that raged through her. The magic of the pendant flowed around them, a familiar, warm touch against her skin that helped calm the frantic racing of her heart. In Bolin’s hands it seemed brighter, and so much stronger.

Ciara felt Donovan's wards tremble as Bolin drew close -- a spider-light quivering along her nerves. She twitched and his grip tightened. Beyond the wards lay her now silent earth magic, and beyond that the coiled mass of the wilding -- Andrakaos. She couldn't stop herself from thinking his name and he lifted his shadowed head. Ciara tensed. Too late she tried to push his name, and the image of him, out of her thoughts.

Be still
, Bolin reminded her, his mental tone as sharp as if he'd actually said the words.

The wilding -- it helped if she thought of it as that -- no longer had bindings on it. No wards surrounded the ethereal chamber, and it uncoiled as Bolin drew near. Curiosity and desire swept through Ciara, and her mouth went dry. The rush of emotion whipped around them like a gust of wind but Bolin ignored it. He reached out to touch the wards, and they crackled and hissed. The wilding edged closer. Bolin ran his hand across the surface of Donovan's handiwork, and Ciara trembled as though it were her skin he caressed. He began to whisper -- a cadenced chant Ciara's ears couldn't decipher. The words took shape. They moved around him in a gentle, easy flow, surrounding him as he eased past the wards.

Warmth flowed through Ciara's body as Bolin stepped into the glow of her earth magic, followed by a torrent of sensations that threatened to overwhelm her. It felt -- right -- a sense of completeness, as though some part of her had been missing until now. She wanted to hold onto that feeling, to hold onto Bolin and never let him go. They belonged to one another.

Without warning he raised his hands and shoved outwards. Ciara felt Donovan's wards bow, but they didn't give. Words swarmed around Bolin like gnats -- old words, powerful words. Ciara couldn't understand them, but she could feel them. They reached deep inside her, and resonated like a drum beat that rose up through the earth.

Andrakaos knew the words.

Bolin shoved against the wards again, harder. A slender crack fractured their surface, and with a sound like shattering glass they blew outwards. Ciara cried out. Curiosity and desire turned to red hot anger and ripped through Ciara with the force of a tempest. The air sucked from her lungs. She made a desperate grab for the wilding, but Bolin got there first.

He stood motionless in the face of Andrakaos, as the pendant's magic and her own earth magic spun gossamer threads around him. Bolin lifted his hand and the anger subsided. Andrakaos stretched out for his touch, and a fist closed around Ciara's heart. Her throat tightened. Bolin meant to take her power just as Donovan had warned her he would. He meant to claim it for his own.

But while Bolin stroked Andrakaos with one hand, he quietly called Ciara’s earth magic to his other. Free of its bonds, it came to him. As gently as if he handled a baby, Bolin encircled Andrakaos with it, all the while murmuring soothing words. They flowed through Ciara like a lover's touch, and the wilding sank back into its coil without a fight.

Ciara gasped, and jerked back into the here and now, blinking Bolin’s face into focus. He'd asked her something. "Wha -- what?" She started to shake.

"Are you all right?" He rubbed the back of her knuckles with his thumb, real concern on his face.

"I . . . think so."

He ducked his head to catch her eye, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Ciara?"

"I'm all right," she said. "Really."

But he held her gaze a moment longer before dropping her hands. "Good." The mask snapped back in place. "Then I believe you can light the fire now."

* * *

Flames leapt across the wood with a whispered word, and Ciara settled cross-legged beside it watching Bolin as he patrolled the perimeter of their small camp for the fifth time. As he turned the firelight glinted wetly on his tunic and Ciara's breath caught. Goddess's light, she'd done nothing to tend to his wounds. She got to her feet and intercepted him when he would have made another round, taking him by the arm and leading him toward a fallen log.

"Sit," she said. Amazingly he did, without argument. And he did nothing to stop her when she lifted his tunic to inspect the cut across his stomach. Dried blood crusted the edges, but his pacing had reopened it. "There isn't much I can do without water or bandaging."

"It'll have to keep until tomorrow then. There's a river we'll be crossing by mid-morning. We can take a rest there."

He sounded drained, and Ciara studied his face. His eyes were shadowed, with deep lines etched at their corners. She shook her head. "I have my earth magic back thanks to you. I can at least start it mending and ease the pain."

He sighed and looked about to object, then changed his mind. "Nothing more."

"Nothing more," Ciara agreed. She took his hand and stood. "You should lie by the fire."

Ciara's stomach knotted as Bolin did as she directed. It seemed -- unnatural -- for him to be so quietly agreeable. She sat with him, taking his head in her lap and smoothing the damp hair from his forehead. He closed his eyes and Ciara felt the tension slide from him as she called up her earth magic and began to weave the threads of a spell that would start healing the wound. His chest rose and fell in a deep, steady cadence and the strain left his face. Ciara added in words to fight off infection and to calm the fever brewing in him. When she would have searched out other injuries, Bolin reached up and drew her hand from his forehead.

"Enough."

"You need-"

He opened his eyes, rolling them back to look up at her. "Enough."

She frowned. "I don't think I've ever met anyone as stubborn as you."

"I have."

Ciara made a face, but stopped short of sticking out her tongue. She slid out from under him and went to tend the fire, piling more wood on it before finding a relatively comfortable spot to stretch out beside it. Bolin had curled one arm back under his head and closed his eyes. Ciara could feel the thrum of magic like a soft breeze in the dark as he drew from the pendant to set the wards. He should have been using some for himself.

"Bolin?" Ciara knew he wouldn't give in to sleep that quickly, if at all, and couldn't fight the urge to ask at least one of the questions buzzing in her head. "Is the Goddess really your mother?"

"Rumor has it," he replied without moving.

"You mean you don’t know?"

He rolled his head on his arm to look at her, and the firelight reflected in his eyes. "Did you know who your father was?"

"Well, no," she said. "But that’s different."

"How so?"

"A lot of people don’t know who their fathers are, but usually everyone knows their mother. Who raised you?"

"Many people."

"You don’t have a family?"

"Not as such. No." He rolled his head back, but his eyes remained open, staring at the sky. "As an infant I was raised on the Isle. Much of my youth was spent in Galys Auld before going into the service of the Emperor. I was not all that much younger than you are now."

Which statement begged another question. "How old are you?"

He turned his face back to her. "Older than you." A ripple of humor touched his voice.

"And you never took a wife?"

The humor vanished, and he stiffened and looked away.

Goddess’ light, could Ciara be more of a dolt? "I’m sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

"You should get some rest, Ciara." He sounded angry, but not at her. "We’ll need to leave before sunrise."

She wanted to kick herself. Donovan had been right. If she couldn't control her mouth, how could she ever hope to control her magic? She had learned more about Bolin in one short conversation than she had over the course of three years. Then, as usual, she had pushed too far, and he had shut her out. By everything holy and not, she really needed to work at holding her tongue.

It would surprise a whole long list of people if she could actually manage it.

* * *

A mental nudge to wake quietly but lie still invaded Ciara's sleep. She lay on her side facing the glowing remains of the fire, her arm numb from being twisted behind her head. Bolin hunkered down beside her. She could feel the tension in the hand resting lightly on her shoulder as he stared off into the night.

"What's wrong?" Ciara whispered.

"We need to go," he said, his voice pitched low enough Ciara had to strain to hear him. A trickle of unseen fingers raced across her skin as his wards trembled. His hand tightened briefly on her shoulder. "Stay here."

He slipped away without a sound, the thick, preternaturally still night swallowing him. Ciara climbed to her feet, suppressing a groan as stiff muscles unknotted. Sandeen stood on full alert behind her, his ears flicked ceaselessly, and he shifted from foot to foot.