The shadow weaver, p.18
The Shadow Weaver, page 18
Atlas saw her, too, so I had not succumbed to some mad delusion. I felt something shift inside me, and I could tell from his sudden upright posture that he felt it too.
Ever since that night, when I pushed her into the red waters of that raging river, Atlas and I have dreamed of her. First, we dreamed of a knight carrying her from the river on a large grey stallion. We had never shared dreams before her. Sometimes, I would dream of her every night for a week, and then it would be years before I dreamed of her again. The dreams always showed her getting older. I dreamed of the first day she picked up a blacksmith’s hammer and created her first blade. Atlas dreamed of her riding a young black mare she called Nightmare.
When I removed my helmet, I allowed myself to meet her eyes. Her melancholy grey eyes widened slightly, and her lips parted on a sudden inhale of breath. She recognised us.
†
Having two hundred and fifty-nine men at my disposal, as well as several thankful vendors and suppliers who help feed and clothe those men, means it didn’t take me long to get the information I needed.
She has been in Murus for a month. It frustrates me that her name is yet unknown to me. She has been working and living with the blacksmith, but the woman seems to have no other friends or contacts in the city.
†
Atlas has taken to going for morning rides past the blacksmith’s forge. He is just as curious about her as I am. He has always believed the gods and reincarnation are real. He believes our dreams are the fates keeping us linked so we can find each other in every life.
The tournament is in a few weeks, and I suggested to Lord Warwick that he should have a ceremonial sword made by a local craftsperson. He liked the idea, and now I have an excuse to see her.
†
I learned her name today.
Caris.
She was unfriendly towards me when I searched her out in the blacksmith’s shop. She is suspicious of my motives, and I’m probably a reminder of a night she wished she could forget. Her voice is as it was as a girl, soft but husky. I cannot deny the way I respond to her. I never allow my body to desire a woman without my mind first permitting it. Still, Caris has evoked feelings in me, even as a boy who dreamed of a headstrong girl. I didn’t understand those feelings as a boy, but I do now.
She pulled at her leather gloves as we discussed her sword-making skills. They must cover the scars given to her by the blade that killed her mother. I remember wrapping her bleeding hands with strips of fabric ripped from my only shirt at the river that night. What happened there created a bond I don’t truly understand.
I try not to think about her relationship with the blacksmith. He was singing her praises before she appeared in the shop beside him. The man is lovestruck, but I could not get a read on how strong her feelings are for him.
Her sword-making skills are beyond anything I’ve ever seen. I paid her ten times the average price for the sword I commissioned for Lord Warwick, and I know it will be worth every coin.
†
Today, my most trusted soldier reported that he had seen Caris turning two out-of-control barrels to ash to save a mother and child. It seems this woman can do more than haunt a man’s dreams for years. I swore Tomas to secrecy.
Atlas believes she is the goddess Hecate reborn.
I don’t know what she is.
†
She almost died today. Everything inside me spun into chaos when I lifted the helmet to see her grey eyes staring defiantly back at me. She defeated our most experienced archer and our finest swordsman. Caris is a highly skilled fighter. Her mentor clearly trained her very well … but she is exceptional because she loves the fight.
Boric came for her after she defeated him, the honourless brute. Fear for her life coursed through my blood when I realised what he was going to do. He cut her face with that mace, so I cut off his fucking head.
I took her in my arms and would not let her go. Atlas was close by, the same fear pumping through his veins. We could have lost her.
She has broken ribs, and her flawless face will scar, but she lived, and that is all that matters to us.
I ordered her to be placed in my room and sent Meg to tend to her injuries. When I was sure she was taken care of, I searched out Atlas to debrief the day’s events and what they would mean for the days to come.
I’m wary of her reasons for entering the tournament, but I don’t believe her to be a spy or an assassin sent to hurt Lord Warwick or his family.
Atlas and I both agree she is here to find the man who murdered her mother.
†
Meg informed us that Caris’s injuries weren’t as serious as we thought.
When Atlas and I saw her the following day, her movements showed no evidence that she had taken a deadly hit to the chest. Her cheek bore nothing more than a red mark where a scar should be.
I have never known someone who could heal themselves.
Maybe Atlas is right? She is a goddess reborn.
†
After she caught me freeing the Bone Weaver, she asked me about Merrick. When I told her I didn’t know where her mother’s killer was, she called me a liar and left upset. Her tears sent me into a downward spiral, and after pacing the length of the courtyard several times, I made the foolish decision to check on her.
I could hear her crying in her sleep. It affects me deeply to see her unhappiness. Incapable of walking away, I sat and watched her for hours like some fucking degenerate. Her long legs tangled in my sheets. I knew I was invading her privacy, but stars, I could not tear myself away from her.
†
She is angry with me. She knows I was in her room. I can’t stand this.
†
This morning, I almost stabbed her in the heart.
She stepped into my blade to force me to retreat, believing I wouldn’t hurt her. How wrong she was.
When I had her against the wall, something primal within me wanted nothing more than to dominate her, take her body and use it, casting aside all my self-discipline. Close to her, I had seen the fine specks of black in her grey irises. Burned forever in my memory is the feeling of her full breasts rising against my chest and the slight push of her hips into mine. The need to please her had me pressing my knee where I wanted to bury my cock. When she moaned my name, I almost tore off her breeches and took her in front of my men. The knowledge that she desired me was an indescribable euphoria, like a forgotten song of my heart.
I pushed my longing away and stepped back, releasing her from me. I watched her flee the training grounds as if the hounds of the underworld were nipping at her heels. It was for the best. I cannot lose control of my emotions, or I will lose everything.
†
Bethel sent me a message. The moment I saw Caris again, I lost my desire for Bethel or any other woman. I’ve avoided her since that day, but no longer. She threatened to tell her father that she did not want Caris as her guard.
Caris has earned the right to be here, but I know Lord Warwick would find someone else if his daughter insisted. If Caris were forced to leave, she would be searching for her mother’s killer alone, and if she found him, she would die. I cannot let Bethel force Caris away. I knew what Bethel wanted from me, so I went to her bedchamber.
I’m used to separating my body from my mind. It’s a skill I had to learn young, when soldiers used my body like so many unprotected boys in the army. It was considered a rite of passage. I now know it for what it was.
Merrick was the worst. For him, it was about taking away a person’s will. I became his dog to kick, his plaything, and I played his game well. I played so he would not turn those ice-blue eyes to Atlas. My best friend. My only friend.
No soldier under my command will use a child the way Merrick used me. I will obliterate any man who tries.
No-one except Atlas knows about the scars Merrick gifted me. These scars are hidden far below the surface, deep inside the marrow of my bones.
Bethel had me on my knees, but I tried to imagine the taste of Caris on my tongue. That it was her thick, strong thighs squeezing my head, and the moans filling the room were hers. My cock had never been harder.
I’d thought I had conjured Caris with my hungry thoughts of her.
But she had been there in the room watching me pleasure Bethel with my mouth. Her humiliation sliced through me, but I also saw a spark of desire as her eyes roved over me.
I was about to throw myself at her feet and beg for her forgiveness, but self-preservation kicked in, and I found water to wash Bethel from my mouth.
I told Bethel that I would never fucking touch her again, and she is welcome to tell her father whatever she wants. But if Caris goes, so will I and every soldier under my command. Never again will I let her use me to humiliate Caris.
CHAPTER 21
I was up late reading Torgrin’s journal, spellbound by his words and this glimpse of his inner struggles.
I felt so many conflicting emotions. Torgrin’s demeanor was always stoic, rarely expressing anything other than anger. In the pages of his journal, I saw how raw and deep his true feelings were. I had felt sick reading about the abuse he had suffered at Merrick’s hands. The man’s name was now carved into my mind, along with his icy eyes. Was this why Torgrin always needed to be in control? Because it was taken from him as a boy by his depraved captain?
Shame and anger poured over me as I rubbed at my tired eyes. I could not get the words explaining why he had gone to Bethel out of my head. My heart broke, and fury surged to learn that this man had once again been forced to give over his body to someone wielding greater power.
There was so much I had not questioned.
Torgrin had been with me all this time. I had smelled him on the bedsheets for days before the servants had taken them away. Torgrin’s scent was on the clothes I wore, and sometimes, it would hit me when I opened a book. He surrounded me with his art, his scent and his words.
I sighed as I ran my hand over the journal’s cover. Maybe I hadn’t questioned it because it had felt familiar to me.
I rubbed my weary eyes. What did my attraction to Torgrin matter now? Cillian and I were lovers, and I could not give him up.
There were only a few hours until dawn, and I couldn’t fight sleep any longer. I slept, but my dreams were as fragmented and conflicted as my thoughts.
†
The heat of the sun had not touched the dry ground yet, and the chill in the air cooled my cheeks. In autumn, the southern parts of Eritz had some rainfall and cooler temperatures, but the further north we went, the colder it would become.
We had agreed not to use the Warwick carriage. The sigils on the sides would draw too much attention. Bethel would ride on horseback with us and sleep outdoors until we drew closer to Capita, where inns were more common.
I worked with Webber, saddling the horse Bethel was to ride on. Webber had chosen a gentle mare who wouldn’t trouble an inexperienced rider.
I looked up as Torgrin came to where we were working. My heart raced at the sight of him. His simple red soldier’s cape was gone. He had replaced it with a swathe of blue bearing the Warwick oak tree sigil. His black leathers looked new, and I pretended that I was unaffected by how good he looked wearing them.
Torgrin’s dark hair was damp from his morning bath. A few inky strands fell over one eye, brushing his scarred cheek as he leaned down to help me tighten a strap on Bethel’s mare. His clean-shaven face drew close to mine, and I closed my eyes briefly, inhaling his scent. Trees and rain. He looked up, his obsidian eyes questioning me, and I took a guilty step back.
Everyone started arriving. Cillian rode in on his horse, and I tried to greet him with a smile.
‘Don’t bother talking me out of going, Caris,’ he said as he dismounted his horse.
I greeted Bay instead, who nuzzled my hair, hoping for a treat.
I wouldn’t lie to Cillian; I still didn’t want him in Capita. ‘You could just tell us how to open the cell,’ I said, giving it one last try.
‘You know it’s best if it’s someone who doesn’t work for Lord Warwick. I can do this. Have a little faith in me, will you?’ His jaw tightened, two lines appearing between his golden-brown eyes.
He was still upset that I had brought up his lack of fighting skills at the meeting with Lord Warwick. I realised far too late this might just be why he was so determined to go. Nothing could be said to undo that, so I just nodded. I had no choice but to let it rest.
Tomas appeared, leading several soldiers who were to join our small entourage. Since being here at the fortress, I had learned how much Torgrin and Atlas trusted him. They had taken the young archer under their wing, preparing him to be a captain one day. His sandy hair and freckled face made him appear unthreatening, but he led the men with confidence, and I had seen firsthand how deadly his aim was.
Everyone helped load the pack horses with supplies. I ensured Torgrin’s journal and the drawings I adored were tucked safely into my packs on Nightmare’s back. I hid my father’s dagger in my boot and slid my swords through the straps tied across my back. My new leathers were the most comfortable I’d ever worn.
I had braided my hair tightly and wound it into a bun at the back of my head before leaving my room – well, Torgrin’s room. The style was practical, keeping the hair off my face and would prevent it from catching on stray branches as we travelled.
Our small group stood idly in the yard, waiting for Bethel to arrive. She finally appeared, escorted by Lord Warwick and Atlas.
She looked like a princess from one of Torgrin’s fables. Bethel’s woodland-green riding dress was perfectly cut, showing off her figure. Her glossy black hair fell down her back with a thin braid wrapped around her crown. I stood between Cillian and Torgrin and watched Atlas lift Bethel onto her horse.
While Lord Warwick said his goodbyes to his daughter, Atlas came over to say his.
He reached out his arms to drag Torgrin and me to him. Our similar heights made it easy for me to see a kaleidoscope of greens and browns in Atlas’s eyes and, in contrast, the specks of amber in Torgrin’s black irises.
‘Take care of each other,’ Atlas ordered us.
Something tugged at my heart as I took in Atlas’s solemn gaze. I nodded, as did Torgrin. Atlas gave us both one last squeeze, then I stepped back, looking at these two men who were more than friends. They were brothers of fate.
‘You hold down the fortress,’ Torgrin said, slapping Atlas hard on the shoulder, making him scowl.
‘Don’t have too much fun without me,’ Atlas replied, punching Torgrin in the shoulder hard enough to make me cringe. Torgrin didn’t even wince.
‘How about you –’ Torgrin made a threatening fist.
‘How about you two stop trying to injure each other and say goodbye like normal people?’ I growled.
They both turned to me. Atlas wore a cheeky grin and Torgrin was smiling with those exceptional dimples of his. Shaking my head at their boyish antics, I moved to mount my horse.
Cillian was regarding all of us with a strange look. I just shrugged at him as if to say I didn’t understand them either.
The first day of travel could have been faster. Torgrin and Tomas rode up front with half the soldiers. I rode next to Bethel with Cillian and the rest of the guard behind us. A few hours into our trip, Bethel began demanding we stop.
I rode forward to tell Torgrin. He called a halt, allowing us to stop and rest.
Bethel turned her nose up at the oatcakes and honey I offered her. She spent the time standing, undoubtedly feeling saddle-sore. It was a brief break, then we were back on our horses. It wasn’t long before Bethel ordered us to stop once more. Torgrin said no, and Bethel had a tantrum. He refused to concede to her demands, so I had to ride next to her as she whined and damned her horse and all of us to the underworld. Especially Torgrin.
It was just after midday when Torgrin allowed us to stop. I was thankful for a break from Bethel’s complaining and found a quiet spot next to Cillian to eat. The rest of the day went much the same, and the scenery remained unchanged. Occasional trees and shrubs divided the dry, grassy plains we rode through.
Later that day, Torgrin ordered us to stop and set up camp for the night. There was still plenty of daylight, but Torgrin finally took pity on Bethel, who hadn’t said a word for the last few hours.
A soldier came to help Bethel dismount from her mare. If he hadn’t been holding on to her, she likely would have fallen in a heap at his feet. Her unbound hair was tangled and full of leaves and dead bugs. The pretty green dress was torn from where it had caught in her stirrup. Her shoulders slumped with exhaustion until she realised we were setting up camp in the middle of nowhere.
‘Where am I supposed to sleep? Or bathe?’ she yelled at Torgrin, while Cillian and I put up her tent.
Torgrin handed her a water flask and pointed at her accommodation for the night. Then he walked away, ignoring her screams of protest. I almost felt sorry for her until she spoke to me.
‘You are just like a man, aren’t you?’ she said spitefully as I hammered in a tent peg. ‘And your backside is so enormous, I bet you could ride all day without a break.’
I stood to my full height and towered over her. ‘Would you like us to continue setting up your tent, or would you prefer to do it yourself?’ I asked sweetly, holding out the hammer to her. Cillian straightened up and watched our interaction with an amused smile. She let out a ‘humph’ and hobbled off, her legs slightly bowed.
Cillian chuckled. He came up behind me, still holding his hammer in one hand. His other hand cupped my backside firmly. ‘I like this backside very much, and I would be happy to find out how long you can ride me,’ he said quietly with a smirk.
