Halcyon Rising (2 page)

“Rhoswen.” His soft, deep voice brought back memories of happier times. Once she had cared for Trevelan very deeply. He’d been chosen as her mate and, when the time was right, they would be expected to have a child together. But during the last few years she’d grown dissatisfied with their relationship, wishing for something she couldn’t even name. “They don’t deserve it.”

“Neither do you,” she whispered, horrified. “Not if you’re willing to go to such lengths to take it.”

His expression grew cold and remote. “I’m sorry to hear that. Given our…association, I’d expected more from you. I thought to have you at my side when we Surfaced for the last time.”

She shivered. The friend she’d always taken for granted had vanished, replaced by a stranger she no longer recognized.

Tension seethed between them as he docked the craft on the seaward side of the islet, leaving little visible above the waterline.
The Dolphin
would remain hidden from anyone on the beach, but they had a long swim ahead of them.

“We’ll continue this conversation later,” she promised as she slid out of her seat and opened the hatch. The salty tang of the sea filled the air, and she welcomed the sharp scent after so many months of the city’s processed, sanitized ventilation. “Secure the vessel. I’m heading for shore.”

He glared at her but didn’t protest. Perhaps he needed some time to himself as well. Grabbing her waterproof pack, she pushed through the hatch and leapt nimbly to the rocks a few feet away. She drew a deep breath into her lungs then dove cleanly into the churning surf.

The swim exhausted her, as it always did. Swimming in Halcyon’s calm, temperature-controlled pool was far different than battling her way through the icy waves of the Irish Sea. The briny seawater filled her nose and stung her eyes as she sliced her way toward shore. If not for her thermal wetsuit, she’d have frozen to death before she made it halfway.

Once she reached dry land, she sank to her knees and struggled to catch her breath. Unfamiliar scents and sounds assaulted her senses as she searched the water for Trevelan, wondering what was taking so long. He should have finished securing the submersible by now, but she saw no sign of him.

She hoped he didn’t plan to be difficult because of their disagreement. Even though their intimate relationship had ended years ago, she still considered him one of her very best friends. They’d never argued before.

Surely, his earlier comment had been a very poor jest. She refused to believe he meant to implement his plan. No matter how much he hated the people who inhabited the Surface, he could never condone genocide.

“By Jesu, men! We’ve found ourselves a selkie!”

The deep, booming voice took her by surprise. She whirled toward the sound and found half a dozen armor-clad barbarians on the beach behind her. Panic swept through her, and she cast another desperate glance toward the rocky outcropping. Where was Trevelan?

“Look at her.” The nearest one’s eyes widened with a mixture of fear and curiosity. “She’s bewitched for certain.”

She backed away, her gaze darting from one hulking man to the next, trying to decide which one was their leader. How had they gotten so close without her hearing them? She hadn’t yet changed from her wetsuit to something more appropriate and knew no Surface woman would ever wear such skintight fabric. Worse, one of the men picked up her pack and rifled through the contents.

What he found would be impossible to explain.

“Grab her,” ordered the man with the pack, making a quick warding sign in her direction. “Be she selkie or witch, Lord Simon will want to see her.”

Fortunately, none of the men seemed eager to act upon his order. Instead they stared at her as though they feared her nearly as much as she feared them. Knowing she’d never have a better chance, she took advantage of their momentary lapse and dashed toward the water.

She wasn’t fast enough. One of the men tackled her from behind, his tremendous weight sending her sprawling face first into the rocky sand. Pain and terror ricocheted through her. To her knowledge, no one from Halcyon had ever been captured before. If they interrogated her, she might break and say something about her mission. If she told them about Old Halcyon, it would put her entire civilization at risk.

Her only hope was Trevelan, but what help could he be against these uncivilized brutes? He was a scholar, not a warrior.

The man who’d caught her dragged her to her feet. “We’ll take her back to Hawkesmere,” he told the others. “Lord Simon will know what to do with her.”

* * *

Hawkesmere Castle, a great fortress of stone, rose out of the dense forest and crouched upon a cliff overlooking the River Clwyd. Six white towers gleamed against the azure sky; pale sentinels of safety and protection in a land that had seen far too much of war.

The southeast tower, with its smooth, circular walls and vaulted roof, had stood upon this site for centuries, long before the rest of the castle had been commissioned by Edward I in 1286. Some claimed the strange building to be of Druid origin, some said Titania, Queen of the Fae, had once dwelt within.

The current earl, Lord Simon, had considered tearing the haunted place down. But when his younger brother, Sir Sebastian, had returned from years of war and imprisonment to claim the tower for his own, Simon had offered no protest. In fact, he’d ordered the priest to ignore the southeast corner of the castle, leaving Sebastian free to pursue his interest in alchemy and other blasphemous pursuits. He’d hoped that given enough solitude and time, Sebastian’s wounds, both physical and mental, would heal.

Today, however, Simon’s patience wore thin. He’d sent his page to fetch his brother hours ago — much to the lad’s chagrin — only to find the boy cowering in the Hall, having been refused entrance. Simon could have sent someone else, but acknowledged that the result would probably be the same. His resident ‘sorcerer’ retreated farther into his world of potions and elixirs with each passing day.

So it was that he found himself standing upon the tower steps, begging entrance into a part of his own holdings. “Sebastian!” he bellowed. “Open up, knave! I know you are there.”

On the second floor of the tower, Sebastian of Hawkesmere glanced up at his brother’s demanding bellow, then returned his attention to his experiment. Transmutation. Alchemy in its purest form. Lead to gold. Water to wine. If only he could transform the dark recesses of his soul—

“Sebastian! Open the door.”

With a sigh, Sebastian pushed away from his chemicals and powders, depressing the hidden latch in the floor that allowed the ground level door to swing open. The simple trick—a door seeming to open on its own—usually managed to scare the superstitious people of Hawkesmere away.

Unfortunately, Hawkesmere’s lord was not as feeble-minded as the rest. Simon had every right to demand entry into Sebastian’s tower, yet he seldom did. In truth, Sebastian only saw his brother on those rare occasions when Simon wished to impress some visiting noble with his wisdom and magic. The system worked satisfactorily for both of them. Sebastian did not mind putting on an occasional show, as long as Simon left him alone the rest of the time.

Simon entered the tower, slamming the door behind him before he strode up the stairs and into Sebastian’s workspace. A long sable cape swirled about his broad shoulders and obvious irritation flickered in his hazel eyes. “You ignored the page I sent to fetch you. And now you reduce
me
to begging at your door?”

Sebastian said nothing to appease his brother, but he did not do anything to annoy him further, either. In truth, a flare of guilt flickered deep inside him. During the last few months he had allowed his relationship with his brother to disintegrate to an alarming degree. Shoving aside his latest failed attempt to unlock the secrets of the sorcerer’s stone, he rested his hands on his worktable and tried to give Simon the attention he deserved.

After a long moment of expectant silence, Simon blew out an exasperated breath. “I need your help.”

Sebastian grinned. “I believe I can be of service. I have worked out an interesting little fire illusion—”

Simon waved an impatient hand, cutting him off. “I am not here about that. Some of my men were on their way back from the coast when they found a girl on the beach. They are convinced she is a selkie.”

“A selkie?” Sebastian frowned and returned his attention to his work. “I do not have time for such nonsense.”

“There is something fey about the maiden, but ‘tis her strange manner of dress and the odd things in her pack that concern me. I thought perhaps you might be able to discern the purpose of this.” Reaching beneath his cloak, Simon withdrew a long, cylindrical object made of copper.

Sebastian shot to his feet, intrigued. “May I?”

Simon nodded. “Be wary. The ends are made of glass.”

The tube was heavier than Sebastian had expected and unlike anything he had ever seen before. He held it to the light, then shook it gently. During the years he had spent at war in France, and later as the ‘guest’ of a Turkish sultan, he had come across many amazing things. But this instrument awed him.

“There is more.” Simon raised a brow in obvious challenge. “I divested her of all manner of unusual objects.”

“What do you wish of me?” Sebastian vowed to do whatever his brother desired, as long as it meant he would be given the chance to look over these items at his leisure.

“We need to know the purpose of these tools and discover who sent her to our lands.”

“You want me to question her?” Sebastian’s excitement faded. He had spent too much time as a prisoner to enjoy the prospect of visiting Hawkesmere’s dungeon. And if Simon had resorted to asking for his help, it probably meant the poor girl had already been tortured within an inch of her life.

“We questioned her, but she has not said a word. You know half a dozen tongues. Perhaps she does not understand us.”

“Perhaps.” Sebastian waved Simon toward the door. Despite his distaste for his brother’s methods, he could not resist this opportunity to increase his knowledge. “Lead the way.”

During the long trek from the tower across the bailey to the dungeon, Sebastian contemplated the copper tube, turning it this way and that as he tried to discern its purpose. Bringing one end to his eye, he stumbled to a stop, stunned when his brother’s head grew to ten times its normal size through the glass.

“It makes objects appear closer!” he exclaimed as they began the descent to the dank prison cells beneath the armory. “Ingenious.”

As they descended deeper down the stone stairwell, the familiar scents of piss and fear permeating the walls further sapped Sebastian’s enthusiasm. Though a thousand miles and half a dozen years separated him from his own imprisonment, the smell of Hawkesmere’s dungeon brought back unsettling memories.

He squared his shoulders and followed his brother into the rank warren of cells, determined to make his visit as brief as possible. He would speak with the girl, if he could, then convince Simon to let him take the rest of her treasures back to his tower for further study.

Simon came to an abrupt halt and gestured inside a cell near the bottom of the stairs. “She is within.”

In the far corner of the barren room, bound to a straight-backed chair, sat a girl of uncommon beauty. Hair the color of a full moon hung loose to her waist. Tears streaked her wan, perfect features, and her azure eyes brimmed with fear. Ebon fabric, smooth and bright as a seal’s skin, hugged every curve of her comely body, but the strange garment was torn in spots, showing ugly scrapes upon the white skin beneath. Her bare feet were bloody and battered, which led Sebastian to think the bastards had made the girl walk all the way from the coast.

Bloody savages.

Anger rose within him, chasing away years of apathy. He hated what had been done to this poor, defenseless maiden.

Fury gave way to resignation as he realized his self-imposed exile had come to an end. Though he did not wish to get involved, he could not stand by and do nothing. He could not allow her innocence to be crushed as his had been.

Somehow, he must find a way to help her.

Rhoswen shrank back in her chair as deep male voices echoed in the corridor outside her stone prison. Fresh terror welled within her. What new horrors lay ahead? She’d lost track of how much time had passed since her capture, but the march from the coast had been endless and exhausting. Somehow, she’d thus far managed to avoid rape, but had no idea how long her luck would hold.

Her fear ratcheted up another notch when she saw that Lord Simon, the leader of these barbarians, had returned. Dark-haired and fierce, his large body laden with armor, he cut a formidable figure as he entered her cell. He’d questioned her for hours already, watching her with those hawk-like hazel eyes, his anger and frustration growing with every minute she pretended not to understand him.

The other man wore the dark robes of a monk, his face hidden beneath a deep cowl. This was hardly the place for a man of God, yet she felt a small measure of relief at the sight of him. She sensed his gaze upon her, though he didn’t speak.

After several long moments, Lord Simon grew impatient with his companion’s silence. “You swore to question her.”