Kinshield's Redemption (Book 4) (47 page)

Cirang went to one knee at their feet, her head bowed. “I’m sorry, Your Majesties, for what I’ve done. I only hope you can forgive me.”

“We’ve got dozens more people to cure,” Gavin said. “You’re not relieved yet.”

That evening, he enjoyed the company of his family at dinner, laughing and telling stories about their adventures with a light heart and clear conscience. Under the table, Feanna held his hand like she was afraid to let it go. She was unusually quiet, occasionally glancing around the table at the children and lowering her bloodshot eyes when GJ met her gaze. Gavin knew he was going to have to address her lapse in judgment in telling the boy about his father’s indiscretion, but the day had been long. The matter would keep for another day.

That night, with his wife curled contentedly in his arms, he slept more soundly than he had in weeks.

Chapter 62

With the Baron Flisk’s grudging assistance—and his presence under guard—Gavin took Daia, Cirang, and four of his battlers to Ambryce. He argued it would be easier and less disruptive to learn the traveling magic himself, but the Baron claimed that to grant him that power, he would have to sacrifice one of his Callers, which he refused to do. Even an offer of gold did nothing to sway him, and so Gavin resolved to inconvenience the Baron whenever he needed to cross great distances quickly.

It was painstaking work, traveling back and forth from the blue realm to the yellow to find the complement for each person, but holding the Baron hostage kept the Callers cooperative. They even helped him find the complements he needed and brought them to him, so that all Gavin had to do once he entered the yellow realm was to ask the individual’s name, return to the blue realm, and summon him or her to Ambryce. Cirang re-etched the rune after each cleansing with Daia pouring the water over the stone while Gavin rested between journeys.

One by one, he restored the kho-bent people to their natural zhi-bent state, starting with his two First Royal Guards Anya and Mirrah. The process took several days, all the while having to put up with the Baron’s indignant ranting. Every day, after fifteen or twenty trips back and forth, Gavin released the Baron and collapsed into bed, waking the following day less rested than he’d have liked but ready to begin again. After everyone was restored, Gavin once again enlisted the Baron Flisk’s aid to spirit him and his companions back to Tern.

Gavin found his children and nephews sprawled across the floor in the family room, where Feanna was reading a book aloud to her captivated audience.

“Uncle Gavin,” GJ cried. He sprang to his feet and threw his arms around Gavin’s waist, inciting a storm of children to welcome him back.

“You’re looking haggard, love,” Feanna said with her brow wrinkled in concern. “You should rest for a few days.”

She was right. Gavin caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window. The face staring back at him was more like his father’s than his own, weathered by the years’ worth of essence he’d sacrificed to right his wrongs.

She took his hand and led him to a plush chair, into which he sat with a groan of exhaustion. Jilly climbed into his lap and snuggled against his chest, unmindful of his sweaty stench. The children laughed and chattered while Feanna massaged his shoulders and neck from behind. To have his Feanna back was all he really wanted, but she was kinder since the exchange, as if she were trying to make up for all the venom she’d spat while she was infected with kho.

“What did I miss while I was gone?” he asked.

The room grew quiet, and the children looked at each other, each waiting for another to speak.

Liera walked in then, and looked around, smiling in wary anticipation. “Why is everyone so quiet?”

“Liera, why don’t you tell Gavin what he missed while he was gone,” Feanna said softly.

Gavin raised his eyebrows in encouragement.

Liera turned around and, not finding what she was looking for, stepped out of the room to beckon someone with a finger. Holding Keturah by the hand, she came back in.

Oh hell,
Gavin thought. How much did she know? “Liera, I—”

“Gavin, I believe you’ve already met Rogan’s daughter, Keturah—the daughter I wish he’d given me. Her natural mother passed away, but with the king’s blessing, I would like to call her my own.”

“Oh!” He cleared his throat, taken aback by her greathearted gesture. She’d talked for years about having one more child, a girl, but it never came to pass. “You got my blessing. Guess you’ll be calling me Uncle after all, Keturah.”

Feanna leaned over him, embracing him from behind, and kissed his scarred and unshaven cheek.

There was one last thing Gavin needed to do before he could put the matter to rest once and for all: set the Guardians’ souls free.

They’d resisted that notion out of fear, but he wasn’t confident they would still see things the same way, now that their essence was mostly drained. He would at least give them the choice.

When everyone was asleep that night, he snuck out of the palace, returned to the midrealm, and dug up the box.

“Guardians, you’ve repaid me for pulling you out o’the wellspring. I’ll release you now, if you want me to. Your souls can be reborn and live whole new lives.”

“We no longer wish to be constrained to this existence. Release us, Emtor. It would be a kindness.”

He took the Nal Disi in his two hands, saw their essence, and pulled. They didn’t resist this time. In fact, they pushed their essence into him, filling him completely. For the first time in weeks, he felt vibrant and strong. The last of their essence, too much for Gavin to use, spilt into the cool night air.

Thank you, Gavin Kinshield.

The Nal Disi crystal glowed more brightly for a moment before its light winked out forever.

Chapter 63

After a long three days of travel across the Quirjan Sea, the ship docked, and its queasy passengers rushed to disembark. Cirang had expected the king to send battlers after her for stealing a horse and escaping his justice, but she made it to Nilmaria without incident. Glad to be on solid ground once again, she looked about while waiting for her mount to be unloaded from the ship’s cargo hold.

Port Ysana was a pleasant city where several cultures mingled. She remembered seeing it for the first time when Tyr had left his village in search of a cure for his son’s illness. He’d been naive like a child. The open sensuality and drunkenness that had so shocked and disgusted him seemed mild now.

People gaped at her as she rode through the brick-paved streets, especially the Nilmarions, who believed women were intended to serve men, cook and clean for them, and bear their children. Though she’d traded her mail and sword for passage, Cirang had the thick muscle of a battler which, to a Nilmarion, looked grotesque.

She left Port Ysana behind and rode into the heart of Nilmaria. The landscape grew warmly familiar as she neared her destination. The forest was thick with two different kinds of oak trees, tall, dark cypress, cedars, and firs. Her hands ached to feel their wood once again, yielding to her knife and chisel. She relished the scent of home in her lungs.

At last, she rode into the village on its packed dirt roads, past the gaping onlookers whose names she ticked off in her mind. Anen Rin, Tyr’s best friend since childhood, stood protectively over a girl on the cusp of womanhood.
That can’t be Ina
, she thought. Ina had been only a child. And her baby brother Tinyet was now a strapping youth with the same mischievous eyes that had many times incited Tyr to accept Anen’s dares and earn a thrashing.

Cirang lifted a hand in wistful greeting as a tear leaked from her eye and wormed its way down her cheek. She’d missed so much life here.

The clan chief stopped on the road ahead and squinted at her. These eight years had aged him more than they should have. “Good day, stranger. Are you lost?”

People began to gather, curious about the strange woman in their midst.

“Good day, Chief Oman,” she replied in a Nilmarion accent. She climbed down from her mount but kept about a dozen feet between herself and the clan chief. “No, I’m not lost. I’ve come to see Sithral Brae and Siong.”

“How do you know them?” he asked.

“I’m Sithral Tyr.” When she realized how mad that sounded, she added, “Er, his friend, that is. Tyr’s associate.”

Several onlookers snickered.

The chief scowled. “Sithral Tyr was exiled from this village years ago. We have no desire to conduct business with you.”

“Yes, I know. Much has happened in these eight years. His wife and son deserve to know what fate has befallen him.”

“What token have you brought as proof of his death?”

How could she have made such a stupid mistake? Perhaps because Tyr wasn’t truly dead, it didn’t occur to her that she would need a token to lay upon the pyre in place of his corpse. She should have searched the weeds for his remains, though the bones would surely have been picked clean by the birds and flies, and anything of value taken by plunderers. She should have brought one of his prayer tokens from the hidden cellar. She had a box he’d carved—the one that had contained the serragan powder she’d used to escape from Kinshield—but it wasn’t a personal effect. It was one of many such boxes he’d carved to sell. “I have none, only the story of how he met his end.”

“Stories aren’t proof,” the chief said. “Why have you come here speaking of the dead?”

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I only wished to see Siong and Brae.”

“Begone, woman, and don’t return unless you bring proof of Sithral Tyr’s passing. Until then, he cannot be put to rest. This is our way.”

“Wait,” a woman’s voice cried from the gathered crowd. She pushed her way past Tyr’s neighbors Calyr and Vildur.

“Siong!” Cirang cried.

She was slightly taller than Cirang, and strong, not like a battler, but like a woman who worked from sunrise to sunset. A thin bolt of white now streaked through her hair on the right side, but it was her eyes that had changed the most. No longer doe-like, they were clear and determined. Cirang felt proud of her for the inner strength she must have developed to raise their son alone.