Red (40 page)

But he couldn't. Not after what he'd put her through.

It took him another fifteen minutes to begin drifting again. They fell asleep like that, wrist to wrist.

CARLOS COVERED the ground in a steady, fast walk. The moon was high enough to light his way, which made the going easier than during the first hour of darkness, before the moon rose.

He traveled alone because this issue of Thomas Hunter had become a very personal matter, and also because he knew he could deal with the problem without ever revealing the full truth of what had happened in the house.

In his hand he held a receiver that accepted a signal from the woman. They'd sewn the transmitter into her waistband a week earlier—no reason not to keep very close tabs on such a valuable asset. If and when she discarded the slacks, he would have a problem, but until she reached a town, she wouldn't have the opportunity. And based on their course, that wouldn't happen before morning.

They had stopped. Even at this pace he would reach them in a matter of hours.

He lifted his hand and touched his neck again. The blood had dried; the cut was hardly more than a scratch. But the manner in which he'd received it played heavily on his mind.

As did what Thomas had said about his own demise after his usefulness had expired. He'd considered the possibility that Fortier would simply dispose of him once the man had what he wanted—there were never guarantees with men like Fortier.

But Carlos wasn't a man without his own plans. This development with Hunter could actually play into his hands. For one, it gave him a perfect reason to kill Hunter once and for all. But it could also ensure his own value until he had the opportunity to take out both Svensson and Fortier. He would tell them that before dying Hunter had confessed something new from these histories of his, a major coup attempt immediately following the transition of power to Fortier. They would keep him alive at least long enough to head off the coup.

Hunter would make no such claim, of course, but there was some truth in the statement. There would be a coup attempt.

Muslims, not a godless Frenchman, would end up the winners in this war of Allah's.

Fortier wasn't the only man who knew how to think.

20

THOMAS GASPED in his sleep and was instantly awake. He jerked up.

Black. Silent.

He blinked and strained for sight. The walls slowly came into focus. Monique was in the bed beside him, breathing steadily.

No, not Monique. Rachelle, who'd cried herself to sleep last night after learning the truth about her brother, Johan.

An ache ran up his forearm and he felt his wrist. Bruised and cut. Yes, of course—the handcuffs they'd placed on him were too tight and had bit into his skin. There had been blood on his wrists. He had bled here as well.

The events of both worlds crashed in on him. He'd escaped with Monique and was sleeping under a boulder in the quarry, desperate to dream so that he could come back here and deal with the betrayal.

He swung his feet out of bed, grabbed his boots and clothes, and sneaked into the main room without waking Rachelle. Leaving her alone without a word for the second time in a week struck him as possibly cruel. Yet he didn't dare wake her and run the risk of her interfering with such a perfect plan. What he had in mind had a ring of lunacy to it, and Rachelle would undoubtedly hear that ring and call it out.

Mikil, on the other hand, would jump at the chance.

He dressed quickly, slung his sword over his shoulder, and slipped into the cool morning air. The overcrowded village was still lost in deep dreams of the day's unusual events and the evening's high-pitched celebrations. They'd roasted a hundred goats along the shores of the lake as was the custom on the second night. The dances had gone late, and the talk of Justin and Martyn had gone later.

The warrior from Southern was defended as vigorously by some as he was chastised by others. The idea of peace with the Horde, regardless of the circumstances, was offensive to most. Even Justin's supporters agreed on one thing: If the Horde did march on the forest, it would probably mean that Justin had betrayed them. But not to worry—their hero of the Southern Forest would never betray them. When he said he would broker peace, he had only true peace in mind.

Why Thomas hadn't realized earlier the truth of Qurong's words, he didn't know. Perhaps because his dreaming had confused his mind one too many times. Maybe because he was so taken aback by Martyn's true identity that he couldn't keep his thoughts objective. Either way, he was sure that if he told the counsel what the Horde leader had said in that tent, they would rally an army to head off Justin and Martyn's plan for “peace.”

He found Mikil in deep sleep and woke her with a gentle shake. She bounded out of bed, sword in hand.

“It's me!” he whispered.

“Thomas?”

“Yes. Hurry, we have business.”

“The scouts have reported in?” She rushed to the window and peered past the shutters.

“No. No word. Hurry.”

“Then what?”

“I'll tell you on the way. Meet me at the stables.”

He ran for the Guard stables at the edge of the village and was there when she caught up to him.

“Where are we going?”

“Shh, keep quiet. What would you say if I told you that Justin might have betrayal in mind?”

“I would say this is old news. You've learned something new?”

He opened the stable gate. “Saddle up. I'll explain when we're clear.”

They walked their horses past the main village entrance, then mounted and rode into the forest.

“Tell me,” she demanded, glancing back. “What is it?”

“I dreamed.”

“That again. Fine. What did you dream?”

“I dreamed of what I overheard in Qurong's tent.” He told her again, word for word, and explained his logic.

She kicked her horse, surged ahead, and then turned it back. “I knew it! He'll be the end of the forest! How many times did I warn you?”

She was right. His silence was confession enough.

“We have to stop this!” she said.

“Why do you think we're on horses before dawn? We ride to the eastern desert, where Qurong last camped. If I'm right, he will still be there, maybe even closer.”

“What, you plan on the two of us taking on the whole army?”

“I think our scouts will find that Justin was right: The Horde has gathered in larger numbers than we've guessed. For all we know they have an army to the west, waiting until our preoccupation with the east bares our flank. That would be Martyn's kind of strategy.”

“Then you're thinking of negotiation? That's the same plan Justin has! No, Thomas. No peace!”

“I'm thinking that Martyn will listen to another proposal. One that will turn the tables completely.”

THE SUN was hot.

Monique opened her eyes. Sun?

Light streamed through shutters, exposing a thousand particles of lazily floating dust.

Where am I?

I am home.

Who am I?

You are Monique.

She pushed herself to her elbow and blinked. She wasn't entirely herself. Or she was
completely
herself.
Rachelle.

She lifted her hand and moved her fingers. She was Monique, and she knew that she had to be dreaming while sleeping under the boulder next to Thomas, but she also knew that she was experiencing much more than just a dream. Amazing. This was how Thomas felt when he woke.

She'd dreamed of Thomas's other world because she was holding his hand while she slept? And she was dreaming as Rachelle because she believed that she was connected to Rachelle? It was about belief, Thomas had said. She was sharing Rachelle's life.

Does this mean it's all true? Everything Thomas said is true?

She knew the answer immediately, because as Rachelle she knew this reality was as real as France or Bangkok. What else did Rachelle know?

My husband's name is Thomas. And I have children.

She twisted to his side of the bed. “Thomas!”

But Thomas was gone. Of course, he always woke early. She knew that too. She knew that he was only home one out of every two days because he was the commander of the Guard, a mighty warrior and hero whose name was practically revered in all of the forests.

Her husband, a mighty warrior.

She knew that he had fought Justin yesterday and lost. And she knew that the Horde general, Martyn, was her own brother, Johan.

Rachelle swallowed and set her feet on the floor. This was how Thomas had first felt, waking up in the black forest fifteen years earlier. He'd tried to make her understand, but only now could she. Only he'd awakened without any memory because of his fall.

He'd fallen in the black forest and as a result began dreaming of the histories. This was the reality; that was the dream. She was sure of it. At least at this moment she was sure of it.

Her wrists hurt. The handcuffs. They'd drawn blood, and Thomas said that blood was special. They'd fallen asleep, hand in hand, her wrist touching his. It was why Monique was dreaming of Rachelle at this very moment. It was how she had dreamed of Monique before. She'd cut her shoulder on the door and it had bled in her sleep next to Thomas. A connection had been made in their blood.

Her children . . .

She threw off the blanket, donned a long-sleeved blouse to hide her wrists, and hurried from the room. She found Marie exactly where she expected to find her, digging through the fruit basket for a choice nectar.

“Hi, Mother.” Her daughter yawned. “Papa's gone.”

“Yes. Your brother's still sleeping?”

“That's all he does anymore.”

“He's a growing boy.”

She hurried to his room. Yes, indeed, there lay Samuel, arm hanging over the edge of his bed, lost to dreams of fighting the Horde with a sword as tall as he. She walked over and kissed the back of his head.

She was living a second life! In an instant she'd become a whole new person. She could smell Tuhan blossoms. Someone was cooking meat. Laughter drifted in from outside. Everything felt new. This was the time of the annual Gathering when the streets would be full of dancing and stories and the drinking of ale. And she was a magnificent dancer, wasn't she? Yes, of course she was. One of the best.

Her heart was having a hard time keeping up. She understood why Thomas was so persuaded. She had to find Thomas and tell him about this immediately!

Marie had found a large yellow nanka, and its juice ran down her chin.

“Don't be a pig, Marie. Wipe your chin.” She looked at the living room.
Her
living room. Thomas's second sword, which normally leaned in the corner, was gone. Odd.

“Do you know where Papa went?” she asked Marie.

“No. He left early. Before the sun was up. I heard him.”

Rachelle froze. His words to her in France echoed through her mind.
I'll have to go after Justin to do that,
he'd said.

After Justin?

He'd gone after Justin! Justin was with Martyn. They would be with the Horde. For the second time this week, he'd left her sleeping while he sneaked off on some harebrained mission that only a man as stubborn as Thomas could take beyond mere fantasy.

Justin and Martyn had gone east, according to the scouts. East toward Qurong's army.

She hurried to the bedroom and completed dressing. If Justin was with Martyn, then he was also with Johan. Did Thomas mean that he was going after her brother?

What if he meant to kill Johan, thinking that in doing so he would kill Carlos? But he couldn't do that. Johan was her brother! They'd all lost family to the Horde fifteen years ago, when Tanis was deceived, but they dealt with it as part of a great tragedy. The thought of losing her own brother to her husband's sword now brought a small panic to her chest.

She had to stop him! And even if he hadn't gone to kill Johan, she had to tell him that she now knew. She was Rachelle. She was Monique! Without a doubt, they were connected.