Shield of Winter Page 15

  And the darkness rose to claim her once more.

  Back in her room, Alana gasped awake, the dream still clinging to her. Heart racing, she smiled as she recalled her other self’s screams, the despair that had filled the girl as she took her precious Devon for herself.

  “Alana?”

  She jerked as a voice spoke from across the room. Sitting bolt upright, her hand fumbling for the sword she kept beside her bed. Her eyes swept the darkness, searching for the intruder, as her hand wrapped around the sword hilt. Beside her, the bed was empty, but the voice was not Quinn’s. He wouldn’t dare try to approach her yet, not until the light of day. Yet still, it sounded familiar.

  “Who’s there?” she hissed, rising naked from the bed, sword in hand.

  A lantern was unshuttered, illuminating the faces of Devon and Kellian. Alana’s mouth dropped open, words slipping unbidden from her mouth. “Devon, how are you here?”

  “Nice to see you too, Alana,” Kellian muttered as he moved forward, carrying the lantern. His eyes were drawn to the sword in her hand. “They gave you a weapon?”

  Alana looked at the blade, then back at the two of them, lost for words. Slowly she closed her mouth. Despite herself, she felt a sudden sadness, a terrible regret for what would come next. “You should not have come here,” she heard herself saying.

  “Nonsense, princess,” Devon replied. “We came to rescue you.”

  She shook her head, her sadness welling. “But I don’t need rescuing, Devon.”

  The big man frowned, and Kellian shifted on his feet. “What’s going on here, Alana?” the innkeeper asked. “Why do you have a sword?”

  Alana placed the blade back on her bedside table. As she did so, the realisation she was naked gave her pause. The men seemed to realise it at the same time, and averted their eyes. Her cheeks flushed and she quickly pulled a sheet around herself. Then her anger flared.

  What did she care for modesty? She was Alana, Daughter of the Tsar, Princess of the Empire. She took what she wanted. She didn’t care what anyone thought of her!

  Yet when she glanced back at Devon, the warmth in her cheeks grew, and she kept the sheets wrapped around her.

  “Is Braidon okay?” she whispered, seeking to distract herself from the heat in her stomach.

  “He’s safe,” Devon replied, stepping closer. “We knew you’d never forgive us if we brought him along, so we left him with Enala—Tillie, I should say…there’s a lot to catch you up on. Anyway, she will protect him. And teach him to use his magic.”

  Alana nodded, before the meaning of his words struck her. Her head snapped up, a sudden fear clenching at her chest. “No!” she hissed. She grabbed Devon’s hand. “He can’t…” she trailed off, unable to express where her terror had come from.

  For a moment, a memory flickered to life, rising from the missing gaps in her past. She saw Braidon sitting on the lawns of the garden, his eyes wide with dread, but it faded again before she could grasp its meaning. She cursed beneath her breath.

  “No?” Kellian asked, frowning. She noticed his hand had dropped to the short sword he wore on his waist. “What’s wrong with you, Alana?”

  Heart hammering in her chest, Alana clenched her eyes closed. Emotions whirled inside her mind, pulling her in every direction, threatening to tear her apart. The memories of her time with Devon and Kellian were strong, and though that part of herself remained locked away, she could not forget the kindness these men had shown her. Looking at them, she saw again how they’d protected her, how Kellian had argued on her behalf, how Devon had faced down a demon for her.

  And she realised no one in her life had ever shown her such loyalty.

  “You shouldn’t be here, either of you,” she said quietly.

  “You shouldn’t be here either, princess,” Devon said. Tentatively, he reached out and patted her shoulder.

  A sad smile touched Alana’s lips. “You’re wrong, Devon,” she murmured. “This is exactly where I’m meant to be.”

  “What?” he whispered.

  She looked up at him, her eyes misting despite herself. “I am the Tsar’s daughter,” she said. “This is my home, my life.”

  Devon frowned. He shifted on his feet, towering over her. “No, you’re wrong,” he said. He reached out again, but she flinched away. “He’s placed some spell on you–”

  “No, Devon,” Alana said sharply, cutting him off. “It was me that placed a spell on you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She forced herself to laugh, to ignore the light in his eyes. The harsh sound echoed off the walls as she spoke. “That is my power, Devon. I manipulate the minds of men. That is why you helped me, why you have crossed the Three Nations to find me.” The lie tasted foul on her lips, but she needed them gone, before someone discovered them here. She knew she should turn them in, and yet…

  “Go!” she said quickly, even as part of her screamed for her to stop them. “Leave me!”

  Devon stood in silence, his eyes sad, staring down at her, and for a second she thought he would obey. Her heart wrenched with the pain of loss. Then he shook his head.

  “No,” he said quietly, sitting on the bed. “I’m not leaving without you.”

  A sudden hope swelled in Alana’s chest, but as he touched her, her mind shifted, her anger rising. She opened her mouth to warn them, but her jaw snapped closed before she could voice the words. Rage filled her, at her weakness, at her hesitation.

  “Very well, Devon,” she said.

  Smiling, she faced them, letting the sheet fall away. Devon rose cautiously, his cheeks red as he kept his eyes averted from her nakedness. “Alana, what…”

  “Get back, Devon!” Kellian said, stepping between them and forcing the hammerman back.

  Before Kellian could retreat, Alana stepped forward and placed her hands on his chest. The magic rose within her, the Feline roaring, but she thrust it aside and drew the power to her, pouring it into the helpless innkeeper.

  Kellian stiffened, his eyes widening as he tried to pull away, but it was already too late. Her magic rushed through him, overwhelming his thoughts, replacing them with her own. He sagged, and the light went from his eyes. A cold smile on her face, Alana stepped back.

  “Kellian, my dear,” she said quietly. “Be so good as to secure Devon for me.”

  “What–?” Devon began.

  Before he could finish, Kellian twisted towards him. Moving with frightening speed, he leapt into the air and drove his boot into the side of Devon’s head. The blow sent the hammerman staggering back. Losing his balance, he tripped over the sofa and went crashing to the floor.

  Kellian followed after him, but Devon surged to his feet, and a meaty fist caught the innkeeper in the stomach. Kellian doubled over, but recovering quickly, he spun on his heel and lashed out with his other foot. The kick went low, sweeping Devon’s legs out from beneath him. As he crashed to the ground, Kellian surged forward, his boot slamming down into Devon’s face before he could raise a hand to protect himself.

  Groaning weakly, Devon slumped back to the ground and lay still. Kellian stood over him, statue-like, his hawkish eyes watching intently for signs of movement.

  Alana sighed as she strode across to them and looked down at Devon. “You should have left, Devon,” she said, a smile twitching on her lips.

  Behind her, the doors to her room burst open and guards rushed inside. Swords rasped from sheaths as they saw Kellian beside her, but he did not react. Blades extended, the guards advanced on him. Alana stepped between them, eyes flashing with rage.

  “You’re a little late, boys,” she snapped.

  The men paused, frozen by the sight of the naked princess standing before them. She glanced back at the two men, Devon unconscious on the ground, Kellian still trapped by her magic. Smirking, she waved at the guards.

  “Get them out of my sight.”

  Chapter 24

  “Are you ready, Braidon?” Enala asked, her eyes shining in th
e moonlight.

  Braidon sat across from the old woman, seeing the compassion in the softness of her face, the deepening of the wrinkles around her lips. Idly he wondered what had driven her to take him under her wing. There were other Magickers in the city, Magickers less important to the city than she was, who could have been spared to teach him. Yet Enala had never so much as suggested the idea. Perhaps it was their shared journey, their flight across the Three Nations that had bound them together.

  Either way, he wasn’t about to question it now.

  Rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes, he forced his fear back into its cage. They were sitting out under the stars, the cold kept at bay by the flames burning in Enala’s palms.

  “Okay.”

  He nodded, and closing his eyes, Braidon sought out his calm centre. It was not an easy task—not after having his entire life turned upside down. Delving down into the darkness, he found himself questioning every memory, every thought. How did he know this was really the right course of action? Was this what he would have done before, in that other life he could not remember?

  For a moment, confusion swamped him and he started to panic. His chest constricted, and he found himself hardly able to breathe. Gasping, he sucked in another lungful of air, his hands gripping hard to the rock beneath him.

  “Focus, Braidon. I believe in you.”

  Her words sliced through the panic, though he still felt lost, alone amongst the chaos of his mind. Who was he? What was true, what was false?

  His sister’s face sprang into his thoughts, crisp and clear, a smile on her pale lips, her eyes shining.

  I love you, little brother.

  Braidon’s shoulders swelled as the words swept through him. He clung to them like a lifeline, the one immovable fact in his unstable past. Instinctively, he sensed the truth behind the words, that their love for one another had in fact been real. Everything else might be false, but Alana was truly his sister.

  Holding the image of her in his mind, he allowed all other thoughts to fall away. Slowly he found himself drifting, and a strange otherworldliness came over him, as though his spirit were no longer weighed down by the trappings of his body. Opening his eyes, he looked on the familiar darkness, his spirit a flickering light alone in the void.

  Except he wasn’t alone.

  Turning his eyes outwards, he saw the distant white glowing in the distance, and felt the old fear return.

  I need you, Braidon…

  He could no longer tell whether his sister’s words were real or imagined, but her voice gave him courage, and he shot towards the distant light. It swelled before him, as though it already sensed his approach, could taste its victory. He watched as it shifted, growing larger, changing, until the awful Feline stood, jaws wide, its roar sending ripples through his very soul.

  The need to flee rose within him. He shook as the beast approached, the great claws reaching out. His fear was like a tangible force now, turning his strength to water, his courage evaporating like smoke before the breeze. As it had so many times before, it filled him, demanding he turn and run.

  Please, Braidon…

  Trembling, fists clenched, Braidon stood his ground as the Feline stalked forward. He could sense its hate, its raw hunger radiating out before it, surrounding him, threatening to tear him down. Yet still, he did not move.

  Now it stood directly over him, its breath hot, the light quivering dangerously behind its monstrous eyes. Leaning down, it roared, the sound sending vibrations down to the very core of his being. Closing his eyes, Braidon waited for the end to come.

  Nothing happened.

  After a long moment, he opened his eyes again. He flinched as he found the creature’s giant maw mere inches from his face, and for a second it seemed the Feline would lunge forward and tear into his flesh. He was gathering himself to bolt when he heard his sister’s voice again, crisp and clear, rising from the vaults of some memory.

  I believe in you, Braidon.

  He froze. A snarl of hatred came from the Feline, but still it did not move. Slowly Braidon’s fear seeped away, fleeing out into the void. His legs ceased to shake, and as he drew in a breath, his spirit swelled. He felt himself growing in size, fuelled by his courage, even as the substance leached away from the beast.

  Reaching out, he touched a hand to the Feline’s mane. As his hand met the creature, it burst asunder, collapsing in on itself, becoming a swirling pool of light that stretched out before him. Pure heat washed across him, gentle and reassuring. He thrust his hand deep into the pool, and felt a surge of power, the crackling of his magic’s energy as it filled him…

  Back on the mountainside, Braidon opened his eyes, and smiled.

  “I did it,” he whispered.

  Enala sat across from him, her aged face stretched with worry. She straightened at his words and leaned forward, staring intently into his eyes.

  “Is it truly you?” she asked.

  “It’s me, Enala,” he replied.

  Within, he could feel the magic swirling, its power spreading to fill every inch of his body. But he no longer sensed a threat from it. Amidst the darkness of the void, he and it had become one, their purpose joined as the beast finally recognised its master. Its power was his to command now.

  Working by instinct, Braidon concentrated on the ground beside him, imagining a replica of himself sitting there. Light flickered, and an image sprang into life. Braidon jerked as he suddenly found himself staring into his own crisp blue eyes. It was like staring into his own reflection.

  “Wow,” he murmured, glancing down at his own hands. They were aglow, a bright white flickering out to dance alongside the fire in Enala’s palms.

  The flames died away, and Enala embraced him. “Well done, Braidon,” she whispered. “I knew you could do it!”

  Braidon smiled, and the image of himself vanished. “I’m glad someone did. I thought the beast had me for a moment!”

  “But you faced it down!” Enala replied. “You stood your ground like a man. You should be proud.”

  “It was Alana that gave me the courage.”

  Enala reached out and gripped his shoulder. “Never forget the power of love, my child. There are some who believe the world should be governed by fear and pain, but in my life, I have found the bonds of love to last far longer. The Tsar’s people may fight for him out of fear, but should his power abandon him, so will they. The Northlanders love their Queen—they will fight for her to the end.”

  “It may come to that, because of me,” Braidon whispered.

  “No, my child,” Enala replied. “War was coming whatever we decided. But perhaps we can find a way to change that, when we reach your sister.”

  “So you’ll come with me?”

  “Ay,” Enala whispered, her eyes turning to the dark slopes far below. “I should have returned to Ardath a long time ago, when my brother stood against the Tsar. As it is, I fear I will be too weak to make a difference now. Only time will tell.”

  “I don’t know what I’ll do when we get there…” Braidon murmured, his heart sinking. “I don’t even know how to find Alana.”

  To his surprise, the old priest smiled at that. “Don’t you worry about that, my child,” she replied. “Leave the planning to me.”

  Chapter 25

  For the second time in as many days, Devon woke to a pounding in his head that made him wish he’d never left Northland. Opening his eyes, he watched as strange squiggles of light danced before his eyes, slowly fading to darkness. Blinking, he waited for his vision to clear, but the black remained. For an instant, he wondered if he was dead. Then a low groan came from his right, the rattle of chains from his left. The cold stones beneath him seeped through his leggings, and the stench of what smelt like an open sewer wafted in his nostrils. Retching, he rolled onto his side, and the world finally began to take shape through the gloom.

  Concrete walls surrounded him on three sides, a row of bars on the fourth. Beyond the bars he could see candles flicke
ring down the length of a corridor lined with a dozen more cells. Turning away, he ran his gaze over his own cell, and noted he had two companions in the darkness. The first was an old man, his ghostly white hair long and filthy, his skin hanging in bags from his face. The man was asleep, his soft snores whispering lightly from the stone walls.

  The other occupant was Kellian. Devon’s heart beat faster as he remembered their confrontation with Alana, how Kellian had turned on him at the woman’s command. A knife twisted in his chest at her betrayal. Taken by surprise, Devon had hardly been able to get in a blow before Kellian overwhelmed him. His friend was unconscious now, and Devon prayed to the Gods that whatever spell Alana had worked on him would wear off by the time he woke.

  He shivered at the thought. Alana had magic! With a single touch, she had taken control of Kellian. His mind reeled at the implications, returning to her words in the darkness of her room.

  I am the Tsar’s daughter. This is my home, my life.

  No, it couldn’t be true. He knew her, knew her heart. It wasn’t possible for her to have worked such a deception on them, not through all those long days of travel. And then there was Braidon—sweet, innocent, Braidon. He could not have pretended…

  And yet, what else could explain her sudden power? Could the woman they’d met have been an imposter?

  The thought gave him hope, yet he knew it wasn’t true. Alana had recognised them—he had seen it in her eyes. And she had begged them to flee, to leave her behind, before it was too late. In his stubbornness he had refused to listen, to believe her, but the truth had been laid bare now.

  I am the Daughter of the Tsar.

  He shook his head. It couldn’t be true. And yet…he turned the words over in his mind, reliving the events of the past few weeks through different eyes, seeing again how Quinn had seemed to recognise her back in the temple of Sitton, the lengths he and the Tsar had gone to capture Alana and her brother. Demons and dragons had been sent against them, yet none had attacked Alana or the boy Magicker directly.