Veil of Shadows (39 page)

“I thought magic was fairly commonplace in Anqar.”

“It was until the past few centuries. But it has weakened.” Xanthe stroked a hand down the neck of the baern, paused a moment to murmur to the big beast. “By kidnapping witches, they bolster that power and the magic remained level, but it is nowhere near as common as it once was, according to the histories.”

“Then how come you’ve never seen it?”

He shot her a dark glance. “Because I chose not to. I do not relate
magic
to pleasant things, Captain Caar.” A muscle jerked in his jaw and he muttered, “At least not until I met you.”

Blood rushed to her cheeks, and she turned away. Cold, that bone-deep, aching cold settled inside her once more. “Don’t keep up the charade . . . Xanthe.” Staring off in the trees, she added, “There is no need. The commander isn’t going to chase away his wife’s brother if it’s clear you mean her no harm.”

“Charade.” He rasped something in Anqarian, too low, too harsh for her to understand, but when she glanced at him, his face was impassive. “As you wish, Captain.”

“How long have you been looking for Lee?”

“As I said, until right before my father died, I had no idea she still lived. Laithe and I were led to believe she died when she was a child. After my father died, I made plans to come here.”

Disbelieving, she turned and stared at him. “You are telling me you have only been in Ishtan a couple of months?” Lee’s father hadn’t been dead for long before the Gate fell—Syn
knew
that because Lee had only first met him just days before the collapse. “There’s no fucking way. You speak my language too well, and you know your way around weapons too well.”

“My mother would only speak to me in this tongue. As my father would only speak Anqarian, I learned both when I was very young.” He jerked a shoulder in a shrug. “It has been years since I have needed to use it, but I never forgot it. A boy isn’t going to easily forget the language used when his mother tells him she loves him, right before she uses that same tongue to tell him good-bye.”

There was pain in his voice. Syn stared at him and wondered if he even realized it. Naked, raw pain, the kind that consumed, threatened to destroy. “You loved her.”

“Even Warlords, even Battlelords, know love, Captain.” A bitter smile curled his lips. “We may be just a bare step above animals to you, but we know how to love.”

His gaze lingered on her and then he mounted the baern. “Come. I’m sure you would rather be free of my presence, but I’ll not leave you alone here.”

“Morne said it was safe.”

Xanthe’s mouth twisted in a smirk., “The healer can get fucked sideways. I care not what he says. I’ll take you to the camp.”

“And then what?”

He paused and looked at her. “And then . . .” He blew out a breath and said, “And then, I do not know.”

Words burned on her tongue. Questions. Demands. But if she voiced them, they would reveal too much, and she was terrified of stripping herself bare before him.

He already had too much of her soul, too much of her heart. He’d had her trust as well, and though some part of her understood why he’d remained silent, her trust had been shattered. Syn doubted she could take any more pain from him, not if she wanted to stay sane.

So instead of voicing the questions, giving in to the demands, she clicked to her baern and pulled the reins around, guiding him down the path that would lead them home. “So if you can’t do magic, does that mean you can’t open a Gate?”

“None from Anqar can tap into the Gate magics now. Not since the fall.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.” She frowned as he fell into line in front of her. His gaze never rested, she realized. Constantly, he remained alert and he carried that long blade of his even as he rode, as though he was ready and expecting an attack. “Could you use the Gates?”

“When they were still stable, I could travel through them, as the lower soldiers or demons could. But no, I cannot raise them. I never learned how. Trying to forge a Gate without training is sheer madness.”

Syn smirked at his broad, unyielding back. “Lee managed.”

“Lee is . . . unique,” he murmured. In a quiet voice, he added, “But then, so are you. It would appear to be something many women of your world have in common.”

“Considering you’re used to women who probably broke under slavery, it’s no surprise we seem unique,” Syn said, her voice bitter. Women like her mother . . . Had her mother broken? Lee’s mother hadn’t. She’d stayed sane, stayed strong enough to give birth to two sons, and she’d passed along some semblance of decency to them. She stayed strong and after she had a baby girl, she’d known she would have to flee if she wanted anything better for that girl. Although it had meant leaving her sons behind.

“Not all of them broke.” Xanthe brought his baern to a stop and guided the mount halfway around, staring at her. “I will not defend the actions of my kind—we’ve enslaved your kind to suit our own needs, desires. There is no way around that. Some did suffer, I do know that. But not all were mistreated. My father, in his own way, did love my mother. He grieved when she disappeared, even as he raged at what he viewed as a betrayal. But he sought her, and if he’d found her, he wouldn’t have punished her for fleeing him. He did care for her.” Once more, those big shoulders moved in a restless shrug and he said, “Perhaps had they met in a different world, a different life, she might have even returned his affections. He wasn’t a dishonorable man.”

“Yet he had no qualms stealing women away from their homes, their families.” Syn stared back at him. “Because of men like him, my world has suffered.”

“I will not deny that. Our world might have perished long ago had they not found a way to keep the bloodline of the Warlords strong.” He glanced around, staring at the trees, the way the sun slanted through the leaves. “Your world is softer than mine, Syn, even with the war. Anqar is a harsh realm, often pitiless. There are places where the demons outnumber people by a hundred to one—just keeping that threat contained is a task you may not fully comprehend. We keep the demons in check through magic and strength of arms. Without Warlord strength, without the magic of the seers and sorcerers, they would have wiped us out.”

He stooped down and caught a fallen leaf. It was still green and he stared at it with something close to wonder before looking back at her. “Until I entered this world, the only place I saw such greenery was in the royal gardens of the High City. Much of our world is arid—the rain you often curse, my kind pray for. Without those skilled in earth magic, many of our cities would have died because the well waters dry up and the earth workers are the only ones with the ability to call it forth from deep within the earth. Yes, we raided your world to save ours . . . but when faced with extinction, people will do much to live, will they not?”

She couldn’t even begin to figure out an answer to that. Staring at him, she shook her head, searching for something,
anything,
to say. “Did it ever occur to them to
ask
for aid?”

“And after the way our ancestors had used your world for sport when they first discovered how to use the lines connecting our world, do you really think anybody from Ishtan would have listened to a plea for help?” He gave a humorless laugh. “You and I both know better.”

“There is no defending what your kind has done to mine,” she whispered.

“No. There is not. But take heart, Captain. Now that the pathways between our worlds are broken, unless some miraculous change has taken place in the past few generations, it is unlikely my kind will survive much longer. The magic will weaken in a few generations; then it will begin to fade away.” He absently twirled his knife, spinning it in patterns with deceptive ease in the sunlight that filtered through the leaves. The rays caught on the blade’s edge, flashing silver at her. “Once it is gone, my kind will have nothing more than steel to protect themselves against the demons. For some of those demons, steel is not enough.”

“You’re telling me you think they’ll all end up dying in a few generations?” she asked, doubtfully. He was exaggerating—had to be.

“Unless the magic remains strong, yes. They’ll die.” He sheathed the blade and once more turned the baern around. “The Warlord lines, the sorcerer lines, the seer lines and the commoners.” He shot a look at the sky and then said, “We have tarried long enough. You need to return to the camp.”

Syn scowled at him. “I’ll tarry as long as I damn well want. What are commoners?”

Impatience crept into his voice and he asked shortly, “Are you truly so interested in the culture of slavers, Captain?”

No—yes—hell.
Glaring at his back, she gritted out, “I’m trying to
understand
.”

“Understand what?”

“All of it,” she snarled. Kicking a leg over Kerr’s neck, she dropped to the ground and stormed off the trail, through the undergrowth, until she reached the deep slope of the mountain. Staring down, she focused on the camp, made herself take a deep breath. “I know Morne. I never knew what he was until a few months ago, but I know him—and I’d trust him with my life. Lee is part Warlord, yet she’s one of the bravest, kindest souls I’ve ever met. And then you show up. You and your brother . . .” Frowning, she turned and started as she realized he was standing only inches away.

He caught her arm, drew her farther away from the drop-off. Heat flared where he touched her, and even though he dropped his hand immediately, it seemed as though she could still feel his touch.

Shaken, she shoved past him. “So he really is your twin? You look nothing alike.” She gave him a skeptical look and added, “You don’t look anything like one from Anqar.”

“You haven’t seen the families outside the magical lines.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Those with magic in their blood tend to be more fair. Some think it is the constant contact with magic, rather like the sun bleaches the sand over time.” He flicked a glance at her dark hair and shrugged. “But if that is the case, it only affects those in Anqar. Those without magic look the same as those you’d find here, all shades of skin and hair and eyes.”

“So does that mean you don’t have any magic in your blood?”

“I said those with magic
tend
to be fair, but that doesn’t mean all.” He flexed his hand, held it open with the palm facing down. “There is magic somewhere inside me, enough to let me sense yours, but I cannot use it. Even if I hadn’t made a vow, I never learned how to train it—I learned how to suppress its very presence.”

Syn shuddered. She couldn’t imagine doing that. It hurt to even think of it. “Wasn’t that rather extreme?”

“The only magic inside me and my brother is the magic of the Gates—the ability to call them forth. Since I had no desire to call them forth, it wasn’t extreme at all.” His fingers flexed; then, slowly, he curled his hand into a fist and lowered it to his side.

He stared off into the distance. “I did not come to this world with the intent to deceive anybody—not you, not my sister, nor any other witch, any of the soldiers. I simply came here to see if this sister of mine truly did live here, and if she did, I only wanted to protect her.

“But I did mislead you.” His gaze returned to hers, deep and intent. “At any time, I could have told you what I was, who I was. I chose not to.”

“Because you didn’t want to get thrown out of the camp, away from your sister.”

“No. I would have found a way—I’d heard of your commander. Brenner is a wise man, willing to do whatever he must to keep his soldiers strong and ready. More, I’ve come to realize there is nothing he wouldn’t do to protect his wife. If I had gone to him, it might have taken time, but he would have realized I could be . . . useful.” Moving closer, he reached up, tracing one finger down her jaw. “I did not tell
you
because I didn’t want to see the look in your eyes when you knew. But it happened anyway . . . and it was worse, because I wasn’t the one to tell you the truth. I would beg your forgiveness, if I thought I deserved it at all. But I do not. I hurt you, and for that, I’ll know regret every day for the rest of my life.”

Regret. Pain. Longing. Worse, so much worse, but Xanthe didn’t tell her that. Instead, he backed away. The longer he was this close to her, the harder it was not to touch her. Not to skim a hand through her short, silky hair and pull her against him. He needed to be away from her, because being this close and knowing he no longer had any right to hold her was more pain than he could handle.

Mounting the baern, he waited in silence, hoping she’d finally asked her fill of questions. To his relief, she mounted as well and they continued the trek back down the mountain. Off in the distance, he could hear others, the men Kalen had left behind to keep watch. As they drew closer to the camp, the men fell into place behind them, following them back to the main gates. By the time they reached the camp, twenty men were behind them. Enough of an audience—possibly the reason Syn had given up on her incessant questions.