Blood of the Guardian Read online

  “Has Rikar said anything to you on the subject of his past?” Greer finally asked.

  Nolan pulled the blanket tighter around him. “He said he was dangerous, that many died because of him.”

  The muscles tightened around Greer’s mouth. “What he has told you is a truth, of sorts.”

  “It makes no sense,” Nolan said. “If he caused deaths, wouldn’t Brim take his powers away like he did with Alcandor?”

  “He did not kill directly.”

  That is exactly what Rikar said. “How does one kill someone, but not directly kill someone?”

  Greer stared ahead, as if trying to organize his thoughts. “Rikar has an illness … an obsession with women.”

  “An obsession? What do you mean by an obsess—” Nolan swallowed as heat rose to his face. “Oh.”

  “Rikar and I have argued much in regard to this topic. At first, he did not see the crime.”

  Nolan considered what Alcandor had done, about all the lives he’d destroyed. About Megan. And Emery. And even Kael. “How can he not see the harm in defiling someone by forcing them to do his will?”

  “He never resorted to control,” Greer said, “which is why we argued. He relied on manipulation and disguise; he would take the form of a human.”

  “I didn’t think you were allowed to be with humans, in … um … that way.”

  Greer scowled. “It is not a law, specifically. But it is not respectful. He claims he only helped them. In his mind, he served mankind, just as Brim created us to do. He would find the lonely women, the rejected. He would see those whose husbands neglected them, and he would take the form of their mate.”

  Nolan gawked. He almost hated to ask, but he couldn’t stop. “So how did it make him dangerous? How did it make him kill?”

  Greer leveled his white-filled eyes at him, sorrow emanating from his emotions. “Back in Faylinn, I told you what happened to those who bore the child of a Guardian. As careful as Rikar claimed he had been, he was not perfect. Those he planted seed into died, along with the unborn children.”

  Children, not child. How many has he killed?

  How many women? How many innocent lives? All because he couldn’t control himself? Rikar’s comments about staying locked behind bars made more sense now. Rikar knew what he’d done. He knew his weakness, and probably still desired it. So instead of wandering around the countryside causing more damage, he’d confined himself in a cage. And now he was free again.

  “We need to find him,” Nolan said.

  “Yes. We do.”

  They sat in silence, listening to the muted conversations of the Rol’dan on watch. Why had Greer made this a secret? Why hadn’t he told him until now? What changed? It was only after finding the evidence of Jezebelle’s resurrection that Greer shared. Had Rikar been abusing Jezebelle, too?

  “I did not share Rikar’s past with you at first, because I detest him, and I did not want to speak of his atrocities. However, with Jezebelle’s transformation, it brought forth a theory I have been pondering for quite some time. One that concerns you.

  “At first, I had thought your transformation might truly be an act of Brim. But now I am inclined to believe that not all of Rikar’s children died,” Greer said slowly, as if choosing his words. “Rikar could very well be Jezebelle’s father … and your father as well.”

  Nolan’s vision tunneled as the words sunk in. How could Rikar be his father?

  “You said your mother died when you were born?”

  “Yes … but … ”

  “And your father treated you like you weren’t his own?”

  Nolan’s head spun. He’d figured his father hated him because of his mother’s death. Had Rikar disguised himself as his father and, in the process, created him? Waves of nausea turned his stomach. Was it possible?

  Then Nolan remembered a discussion with Rikar. He’d asked him specifically about his family. About his hometown. His mother. The blanket slipped from Nolan’s trembling fingers and slid to the floor.

  “I suspected Rikar after your transformation, but dismissed it,” Greer said. “It was not until Jezebelle’s death and transformation that I believed the possibility. Why, of all places, did Rikar stay in the gypsy camp where another developed and transformed, as you did? Perhaps he identified Jezebelle as his child. I believe he caged himself so he could be near her. I cannot be certain, not without Rikar’s confirmation.” Greer stood. “I will track him. We will get our answers. I will leave now and meet you in Faylinn.”

  Nolan opened his mouth, but no words would come.

  Greer put a hand on Nolan’s shoulder. “Do not despair yet, Master Nolan. I could be wrong.”

  “And you could be right,” Nolan said, his voice low.

  Greer squeezed his shoulder. “We will know more once I have found Rikar.”

  The tent flap opened, and Kat entered, her face strained and pale. Shock and dread pulsed from her in thick waves. “I … I have bad news.”

  Nolan stared. What could be worse than finding out you’re a Guardian’s bastard and that you might have an evil sister you never knew existed?

  Kat met his eyes. “Nolan … the stones are gone.”

  Chapter Thirty

  EMERY FACED THE FIRE with the silk-trimmed blanket pulled to his chin. Megan could only see the back of his head and the gentle rise and fall of his breaths.

  She sniffed, wiping her nose on her own blanket. In the last week, she’d tried everything to get his attention. She’d found excuses to change in front of him, but after the first few times taking him by surprise, he always sensed her, always knew what she would do. And he’d conveniently found ways to leave the room.

  He had told her this would happen, that he wouldn’t be with her in marriage. She hadn’t believed him, not really. She’d thought a few weeks or so would change his mind. His past in the Rol’dan had affected him, but he would never share how or why. He’d done things. Things he’d been ashamed of. He’d stood by and watched murder and rape. Maybe he’d taken part in that, too. Was that why he didn’t touch her?

  She shook her head, burying her face in her pillow. That was a long time ago. He is different now. Kind. Caring … most of the time.

  She placed her hand on her stomach, feeling life move inside her. So much had changed in a few short months. In the village, she’d dismissed her love for Emery as a girlhood crush. Now, she carried a child—whose father was uncertain—and had married a man who didn’t want her. She wished she could go back to her ignorance and her childlike infatuations again. The truth hurt too much.

  Emery stirred, and Megan quickly flipped over. She pretended to be asleep, though she doubted it fooled him. The rustling of blankets and the fall of his feet told her he rose, dressed, and slipped out of the room. She released her breath and let her tears fall, making the wet spot on her pillow bigger. She’d cried so much the last few days she could hardly believe she had any more tears to shed.

  After morning had long since broken, and she’d given up on sleep, Megan slipped on one of her old dresses and headed out the door into the nearly deserted hall. She nodded at a soldier stationed on guard duty, and she took to the servants’ stairs.

  A few colorfully dressed servants scuttled by as they made preparations for a new day. Megan pushed behind a thick curtain into the kitchens. Hulga, the main cook, smiled at her and wordlessly handed her a pastry-filled plate.

  Megan continued on, dodging around the smiling staff and out a side door. Then she went up a flight of stairs—the main one this time—and headed down a near-empty hall.

  At the end of the passage, a door stood ajar. She knocked lightly, causing it to creak open the rest of the way. Inside, Alec lay in a bed, violently tossing a small ball into the air. He was scowling, but it fell away when he saw Megan. He eyed her plate, and she wondered if he was happier to see her or the sweets.

  As soon as she set the plate on the side table, Alec grabbed a pastry and shoved the entire thing in his mouth in a s
ingle bite. He leaned his head against the pillow while he chewed.

  “How are you today?” She picked up a pastry, one with bright pink frosting. She took a bite, and fruit filling gushed into her mouth.

  “Great,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm. “I love to lie in a bed, day after day.”

  “You’re not strong enough yet. Look what happened yesterday.”

  He shoved another pastry in his mouth and gave her a let’s-not-talk-about-it glare.

  “I don’t feel like healing another lump to your head—”

  “All right! All right, doctor!” he said, his mouth half full. “I get it.” He crossed his arms over his chest, giving a good impression of a child. Megan hoped her own child wouldn’t be half this ornery.

  “Where’s your friend?” she asked.

  Alec’s cheeks tinted. “Rayen? Maska came to get her a while ago. Another meeting.”

  Emery called lots of meetings of late, especially as news trickled in pertaining to the Talasians.

  “I guess another messenger came this morning,” Alec said.

  Megan sat up straighter.

  “And no,” Alec said, “I don’t think it was about Nolan.”

  Megan wilted. “You’d figure we’d hear something soon. It’s been days since Kat and the general left.”

  Alec crammed another pastry into his mouth, the scowl deepening on his face. Any talk of Nolan was a touchy subject for him, especially when he’d been labeled too weak to be included in the rescue party. He’d been only half conscious when they’d told him about a bunch of gypsies stabbing and holding Nolan in a cage. And when he found out Jezebelle was most likely behind it, they almost had to tie Alec down. Luckily, he was too weak to even stand.

  Megan reached over to grab another pastry but found the plate empty. The last remaining one disappeared into Alec’s mouth. “You’d think they don’t feed you.”

  Alec smiled, his cheeks swollen with sweets.

  She sighed dramatically and stood. “Well, I just wanted to check and see how you were doing. I’ll go spy on the meeting. See what I can find out.”

  As she turned to leave, he grabbed her arm. His brown eyes searched her face. “Are you okay?”

  She shrugged. “As well as can be expected when you might be carrying the child of an evil king inside you.”

  His lips forced into a smile, though his eyes still showed sadness. “Or Maska’s.”

  She released a long sigh and felt a blush rise to her cheeks. She hated how much people knew, even if the only ones who did were her friends. “Yes. Or his.”

  Alec reached on the opposite side of his bed and pulled out a hidden pastry. He held it out to her.

  Her mouth dropped open. “You little thief!”

  “For the kid,” he said, giving a nod to Megan’s stomach.

  She snatched it and gave him a stern look, trying not to smile. She took a huge bite and grinned.

  He laughed and shook his head. “Very royal.”

  She chewed it like a cow, making sure he had a good view of the contents of her mouth, and retreated from the room, dodging a pillow zinging by her. In the hall, she wiped her mouth, adding a fruity smear to her sleeve. She smiled, not giving a rat’s backside how “queenly” she looked.

  Descending the stairs, she headed toward the throne room, her feet echoing off the stone walls. Old paintings once adorned the corridors, and Emery had gradually replaced them with artwork from the towns. Quaint farm scenes. Pretty streams and trees. Emery paid more for the pieces than the artists could earn in a year.

  The huge doors to the throne room were already open, as they usually were. She stepped inside and turned toward the closed meeting room—which had once been Alcandor’s bedroom. Two Rol’dan, one Strength and one Empathy, stood on guard.

  They opened the door for her, and she passed through, barely breaking her stride. The first few times she’d come in here, it had unnerved her. She still replayed her night with Alcandor in her dreams. However, coming here didn’t bother her as much now; any resemblance to the old bedchamber was no more. Banners from the six sects of the Rol’dan hung around the room, all six colors, and their corresponding symbols. She eyed the green banner with the three diagonal marks of Healing.

  All eyes looked up when she entered. Emery, of course, sat at the head of the large oaken table. To his right sat Maska, straight-backed and stern. To his left, Rayen. Other officers surrounded the table, one representing each sect of the army. She stopped, and they all stood.

  Maska moved a chair, clearing a place for her next to Emery. Megan hesitated, then sat. It wouldn’t do any good to display their problems in front of everyone.

  “Lieutenant Laen,” Emery said to a young man who wore a Speed cape. “Please tell Lady Megan what you just told us.”

  Laen cleared his throat. “Your Majesty. I’ve just come from the port city of Neda. Yesterday, there was an attack within their walls.”

  “Attack?” Megan said. “The Talasian army?”

  Laen cast a glance to Emery, and he motioned the young man to continue.

  “They were Talasian, yes. However, they didn’t seem to be Talasian born.”

  “You mean the gypsies?”

  “Aye, Your Majesty. However, the townspeople of Neda rarely see the difference between the two.” The soldier, who had red hair and freckles across his face, reminded Megan of her brother when he was younger.

  “Go on,” Emery prodded. “Tell her the rest.”

  “Well … the leader of this pack of thieves was taller than normal and could wield all six powers.”

  Megan’s heart stopped. “Surely you don’t mean—”

  “No, no, my queen. It was a woman, not our lord Emissary.”

  “A woman?” Megan gawked. She turned to Emery who answered her with a shrug.

  “None of us can fathom what it means,” Emery said. “I can’t imagine anyone to be like our friend.”

  “I know, Your Grace!” Laen said. “I wouldn’t have believed it either if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. I fought a few of the gypsies, and they were all Shay infused. I did what I could, my good captains, Your Majesty, but there were too many.

  “Stores were robbed. Houses burned. A few women ravished, and some killed. The town wants revenge. What little tolerance for the Talasians they had is gone.”

  Maska grunted. “That town had little tolerance to begin with.”

  “Aye,” Laen said, “and now they have none.”

  Captain Vikas, a longtime friend of Emery, leaned forward. Slight of build and short of stature, his dark blond hair grayed at his temples. He wore the golden tunic of the Speed Rol’dan; the insignia of captain was sewn on the top left corner of his jerkin. “Lieutenant Laen’s report confirms our latest information of the gypsies coming into Shay powers. But we’ve heard nothing of a woman who compares to the likes of Nolan.”

  “It’s all very confusing,” said an elderly man in the black robe and green sash of the Healers. His thinning hair stuck up in wisps around his head.

  “It is confusing, Captain Tiohan,” Emery said to him. “I hope once the general returns, he might clarify this news.”

  Megan put a hand on Emery’s arm. “Maybe we can send someone to check on them.” She hoped nothing had happened, but three days had passed, and they still hadn’t sent back any word. Three days was a long time for a group of Speed Rol’dan.

  Emery ran a hand over his beard, his lips pinched tight. Dark circles ringed his eyes, mostly likely from sleeping on the floor. “Lieutenant Laen. I have a new assignment for you.”

  Emery and the young man huddled together, while Emery pointed at a map, explaining where the general had gone. After several minutes, Emery said to the others, “You are all dismissed. I will send word to you if I find out anything more.”

  Chairs groaned as they were pushed from the table. Tiohan, the old healer, smiled kindly at Megan as he left. He was the first of the Rol’dan who’d stepped up to support Emery
. For that alone, Megan was grateful. And when Megan had come into her own powers, he’d been there for her, giving her advice, helping her. Even then, he’d been nice for a Rol’dan.

  Lieutenant Laen stood and saluted, then disappeared with Speed, leaving Megan and Emery alone.

  Emery didn’t look at her. He arranged maps instead, stacking them and straightening them more than necessary. Megan sighed, making sure she did it loud enough for him to hear.

  He raised his head, his brown eyes tired. The war and his missing soldiers were getting to him. She stepped toward the door and closed it slowly, shutting out any who might listen.

  Emery straightened, his posture tense. Finally, he dragged his eyes from the door to Megan.

  “I won’t attack you in here, I promise,” Megan said, her voice hard.

  “I’m sorry, Megan. This room … ” He tensed, and she could see his hand tremble on the table.

  Megan’s frustration grew. All she wanted to do was talk, for Brim’s sake. What’s gotten into him? It was one of those moments when she wished for Empathy instead of Healing. He acted so strange.

  She sucked in a breath and stared at him, an epiphany falling hard upon her. The way he avoided her. Maybe it didn’t have to do with her at all? Maybe it had nothing to do with his past crime and debauchery in the Rol’dan. He’d served Alcandor for years. What had Emery gone through in his time here? Why else would Emery feel tense in this room? This place made her nervous, and she’d only spent one long night and day with the king. Emery had served him for … seventeen? Eighteen years? Her stomach turned. Who knows what could’ve happened to him.

  “You take the bed tonight,” she said.

  Emery snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. I won’t let you sleep on the floor in your condition.”

  She smiled. “Who said I had to sleep on the floor?”