Darkwind, p.11
Darkwind, page 11
Thorne cocked a brow. “Those are your terms?”
It took Cistine a moment to remember why she was in this room. Why they were having this conversation. “Yes. I’ll give you the name of Rolf’s employer, and in exchange I want you and your cabal to prepare us to face whatever dangers you suppose are waiting in Stornhaz. That includes making certain Ashe can walk without a limp when we go.”
“Fair,” Thorne said. “On one condition. My cabal’s time is precious. You will not squander it through laziness or games. Understood?”
Cistine had expected more of an argument, and she regarded him cautiously. His face betrayed no hint of distrust, not even a glimmer of a lie. His voice was a steady, sure rasp, faintly accented.
She didn’t trust it.
“All of that,” Cistine said. “Training, and healing for Ashe…in exchange for one name. That’s fair by Valgardan standards?”
Thorne stared through the window at the dark land beyond, the distant, roaring falls. “Names carry greater weight here than a Talheimic can imagine. A name can turn the tide of a battle. It can define life or death for a Valgardan.”
Cistine believed the low earnestness of his words. But she decided to test him, just a bit.
She reclined in her seat. “If this name has such value to you, then I have other demands as well. I want my trunk back.”
Thorne folded his arms, facing her again. “The clothes, the books, and the jewelry, you may have. The weapons are ours. We need every piece of steel we can find.”
“Not Ashe’s sword. It’s valuable to her.”
Thorne narrowed his eyes—calculating. “Then I want an heirloom in exchange. Something I can sell to make up the blade’s value.”
“Done.” She was hardly attached to the necklace she’d bought in Veran, anyway. “And I want a tutor. Someone who will train me in the ways of Valgardan culture, so I’m not out of my depth in any way when I travel to Stornhaz.”
“I was going to propose that very thing.”
“Good. And I want you to tell your people not to touch Ashe.”
Thorne tipped his head. “You do realize she fought against us in the war.”
“You realize we aren’t at war anymore,” Cistine replied. “And if we were, then as an augur, Maleck would deserve death just as much as you believe Ashe does.”
Thorne’s gaze turned cold again. “How much do you know about augmentation?”
“Enough to know the Northern Kingdom was dangerous, having all that power. Your augurs were brutal, vicious opportunists.”
“You don’t know Maleck.”
“You don’t know Ashe.”
They glared at one another, the air between them heating like a forge. Cistine was suddenly aware of how vulnerable she was—how Thorne could leap from his chair and break any of her bones with a cut of his hand.
But to her relief, he receded, drumming his fingers on the armrest. “Let’s agree to keep Maleck and your Warden as far from one another as possible. It’s in their nature to hate one another. I can give the word for her to remain untouched, but I can’t ensure peace between them.”
“That’s sensible.” Cistine ticked off her next words on her fingers: “So, to review: you’ll train me, have me tutored, and provide healing for Ashe. In exchange, I’ll give you the name of Rolf’s employer.”
“It seems fair,” Thorne said.
It was more than that, so Cistine could barely trust it. But she had the strong sense this man’s good graces were a safer place than anywhere else she would find in these strange lands. “I hope your training regimen is quick.”
“We’ll make you formidable, at least to some degree.” Thorne stood, and Cistine rose before him. The High Tribune offered his hand. “We have an accord.”
Cistine struck hands with him, holding his gaze firmly—the same way she’d seen her father face the lords and ladies of Talheim over the years. “We do.”
And she realized with a jolt as their hands pulled apart that she’d just negotiated her first royal truce.
Everyone came to attention when Cistine and Thorne returned—and judging by the way Julian and Ariadne were glaring at one another, and the murderous look Ashe offered to a stone-faced Maleck, they’d arrived just in time.
“Here are the terms,” Thorne announced. “We’ll prepare our guests for their visit to Stornhaz. In exchange, their princess will give us the name of whoever bought the steel in Benedikt’s Court.” His gaze moved to Maleck. “The Warden is not to be touched.”
Cistine expected Maleck to protest, to emerge from his cold shell and go toe-to-toe with Thorne over the right to fight his old enemy. But he merely dipped his head in speechless resignation—as if, after everything, killing Ashe meant nothing to him.
Quill stretched and folded his arms behind his head, flashing Cistine a smile. Reluctantly, she returned it. She wouldn’t let herself forget that he wore that bruise proudly on his cheek because he’d fought for her and her people. For their right to live.
Ariadne didn’t seem so pleased. She watched Thorne narrowly. “You spoke to Kallah while you were out today, didn’t you?”
“Ariadne.” A faint tinge of warning threaded Thorne’s voice.
“Which of us do you expect to waste our valuable time making this cosseted creature into a sapling to face the winds of the Courts?”
Cistine winced at the words, but Thorne smiled. “I expect all of you to. Quill will teach her endurance. Maleck will teach her the sword. And you, Ariadne, will help Tatiana tutor her.”
“And what are you going to teach her?” Tatiana demanded.
“Nothing. I’ll reserve judgement until I’m convinced she’s ready to walk into Stornhaz and emerge alive.” He turned to Cistine. “What was the name?”
Cistine debated withholding it until her training had begun, to ensure Thorne wasn’t tricking her. But as pressing as her need to travel to Stornhaz was, time was just as valuable to Thorne. He needed to shore up his cabal’s safety again after Cistine and Quill’s encounter on the Vey had broken it.
So she threw a prayer to the gods and risk to the wind. “Rolf told me the Vassora were hired by a man named Devitrius to guard the wagons.”
Thorne’s jaw clenched, and a flash of anger speared through his gaze. He left the room without another word, and they all stared after him. Cistine wiped her sweating palms on her thighs.
Ariadne and Maleck straightened in silent accord and followed after Thorne. In their absence, as if a band of tension had released, Quill laughed and propped his chair on its hind feet, raking his gaze over Cistine. “Everyone in this city owes their mastery of a blade to one of us, but we’ve never had the opportunity to train someone together before. Either you’ll be the most proficient fighter in Valgard by the time you leave, or you’ll be the most interesting, at least.”
Tatiana eyed Cistine with cool refrain that made Cistine want to step back from her. “I suppose that means we should welcome you officially to Hellidom, the Sanctuary City. And stars help you now, because you’re going to be fodder for Nimmus when we’re through with you.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LULLED BY THE rasping watermills and full of delicious walnut and blueberry bread, Cistine was on the cusp of sleep that night when someone knocked on the edge of the room’s doorless entryway.
She’d barely sat up when Ashe entered, followed by Julian. Both were wearing clothes scrounged from the trunk—a certain sign that so far, at least, Thorne was upholding their truce.
“Cistine,” Ashe said, “what in the gods’ names were you thinking?”
“Training? With them?” Julian demanded. “Do you realize how long that could take, Princess? Someone is bound to notice we’re missing from my family’s estate if we waste time haggling with bandits.”
Cistine sighed, drawing the rough blanket tightly around her hips. She was surprised they’d held out against this conversation all through the awkward, silent dinner with the cabal watching them. “It was the only way. Thorne would have killed us. It was either that, or make a bargain to ensure our survival.”
“And his bargain is you—a stranger from Talheim—well-trained and fed on knowledge of this kingdom?” Julian dropped onto the foot of the bed. “Don’t be naïve.”
“I’m not! The training was my idea. I negotiated a trade. This is what royalty does, Julian!”
“But you hate the blade.” Ashe limped slowly to the seat across from Cistine’s bed. It faced away from the glass-paned doors that opened up onto a balcony overlooking the river. The moonlight framed Ashe’s lean body as she bent over, gripping her swaddled thigh. “Cyril and I tried everything short of threatening you to put a sword in your hand.”
“And maybe this Thorne only agreed to training to keep you quiet while he sends a ransom demand to your father,” Julian growled. “That would destroy our little ruse, too.”
Chills rushed down the backs of Cistine’s arms. She fought to endure them, to keep them from creeping into her belly and fomenting into panic. “Maybe so. But I’ll pester them until they train me anyway. Whatever comes, I’ll leave this city ready to face it.”
“Why now?” Ashe demanded. “Why this fight?”
“Because I almost lost both of you,” Cistine said. “I had a sword in my hand when I faced Thorne, and I still nearly watched my Warden die. If there’s even a chance we’ll face the same kind of danger in Stornhaz, then I’m determined to go prepared.”
Julian cocked his knees, linking his arms loosely around them. “If that’s even a possibility, then maybe we should turn back now, Princess. We can find another way to protect Talheim. Anything might be better than this.”
Cistine stared at him, stung. “Do you really think that giving up is preferable to me being trained?”
Julian’s brow pinched, and his eyes widened—a wounded look that made Cistine instantly regret her question. “This isn’t about you wielding a sword. It’s that you shouldn’t have to.”
“He’s right,” Ashe said. “You chose books over weapons, Cistine. If these people are right about the dangers of Stornhaz, then we may be safer returning to Veran. Or walking straight back to Talheim.”
Cistine shook her head. “Thorne said that isn’t an option. Our association with his cabal on the road has already made targets of us. That’s why this training is important.”
“Then let us be your teachers,” Julian offered.
“Ashe is wounded and you’re not even a Warden yet yourself. You saw how Quill and Maleck fought. They have years of experience on us.”
“And at one time they had something else in their arsenal, which makes them the kind of mentors you don’t want,” Ashe said.
“Augmentation?” Cistine murmured, and Ashe’s eyes glittered like steel. “How were you able to tell that just from the scars on Maleck’s chest?”
Ashe gazed through the window, as if the reflection showed her life as it once was—life during the war. “Augmentation is a beast. A ravager. Raw, unfiltered power mined from pockets all over this kingdom. It’s the reason your grandfather started the war, and he was right to. Valgard was becoming too powerful with all those wells of gods-given energy under their feet.”
Cistine shuddered to imagine someone like Jad with that sort of clout behind his blows.
“When we fought the Valgardans, they used conduits to carry the burden of that power,” Ashe continued. “No one was able to use augmentation without it taking some physical toll, but the conduits allowed them to pass it along their armor and out from their hands and feet without it burning them alive.”
“You think that’s what scarred Maleck?” Cistine asked.
Ashe shrugged. “Maybe he was careless. Maybe the conduits in his armor failed. But that was an augmented burn, I’d stake my life on it.”
“All the more reason not to let him near you,” Julian muttered.
“No,” Cistine spoke against her thudding heart. “All the more reason to have a warrior of that caliber show me how to defend myself.”
Ashe tossed up her hands, then dragged them through her hair. “Why are you so determined to see things his way? Thorne’s way?”
“Because we are absolutely out of our depth!” Cistine hissed. “What we understand about Valgard is a patchwork of wartime memory and useless headknowledge. I didn’t know about robbers on the Vingete Vey, or about the dangers of Stornhaz. My father never told me any of this…he’s suppressed so much talk of Valgard, it’s left us at a disadvantage now.”
Ashe grimaced. “He has his reasons for that, Cistine. None of us ever thought we would set foot here again.”
“I understand that,” Cistine said. “But we’re here now, and if Thorne’s cabal can give us some sort of edge, don’t you think we’re better off with it?”
Julian hung his head. “I don’t like it. I still think you should leave the fighting to us.”
Cistine’s belly fluttered with nerves at his concern. Because he wanted to protect her. But it wasn’t enough to compromise on. “These were Thorne’s terms. We’re alive and safe because I agreed to them. I won’t apologize for protecting either of you. Ever.”
“And you’re certain this is what you want?” Ashe asked. “To train in swordplay?”
Cistine blew out a long breath. “Not under better circumstances. But we’ll play the hand we’ve been dealt.”
“Spoken nothing like a princess,” Julian grinned.
Cistine wanted to laugh at his teasing, but a sudden hollowness set in.
She’d simply spoken like herself.
“If you’re both ready to accept this,” she said, “I’d like to sleep.”
Ashe stood from the chair, faltering on her injured leg. And that, more than anything, hardened Cistine’s resolve like new steel plunged into cold water. Ashe needed help, and from these people who resented the Cadre, Cistine knew they would find it no other way than through her truce with Thorne.
“Cistine.” Ashe’s fingers tightened around the chair’s headrest. “Thank you for making this sacrifice for us.”
“That’s what nobility does,” Cistine said. “We help the weak. That’s why we came to Valgard, remember?”
Ashe’s jaw dropped in mock disbelief. “Are you saying I’m weak?”
“Oh, go to bed!” Cistine threw her pillow at Ashe, who laughed as she caught it, lobbed it back, and limped slowly out into the hall.
Julian didn’t move. He beat his fist slowly into his open palm, staring at the vacant, sculpted doorway when Ashe was gone.
Cistine’s cheeks throbbed with heat. She focused on the bedclothes, acutely conscious that her dress was still filthy, and her hair was a haystack because she lacked a brush. She was no longer the polished princess Julian had always known.
“Ashe is right,” Julian said. “That was brave of you, putting your own wants aside to protect us. I’m sorry we let it go so far that you were put in that position.”
“What good is a princess if she can’t do what’s required to defend her people?” Cistine smiled. “She would be useless.”
“I’ve never thought you were useless.”
Cistine bit the inside of her cheek, watching as Julian’s eyes traveled to the balcony door.
“I swear to you,” Julian said, “that after this, I’ll do everything in my power to ensure your hand is never forced again. That you never have to choose between your desires and the lives of your friends.”
Cistine smoothed the stiff folds of her dress over her bent knees. “Well, I might have to accept that vow.”
“Then maybe you’ll accept something else with it.”
Cistine’s breath hitched, and she looked up to find Julian staring at her—those stunning dark eyes twinkling with secrets, like distant stars that burned though they didn’t touch her.
“Normally, I would ask permission from your father,” Julian said, “but seeing as he’s not around, I’ll just have to take you at your word.”
Cistine still hadn’t drawn a breath.
“Cistine…” Julian ran his hand back through his hair and laughed. It was a disarmingly sweet, shy sound, so unlike his usual confidence. “God’s bones! I’ve rehearsed this a dozen times, and it’s still not right. Listen…ever since my father moved us to Practica, I haven’t stopped thinking about you. At first, I thought I was just missing home and, you know, you were a part of that. I tried burying myself in all these taverns and courting girls over the years, but it hasn’t changed anything. I can’t forget about you, no matter how many other women I’m with. And when these barbarians attacked us on the Vey, when that one led you back from the tavern…I knew what I was feeling right then wasn’t just a Warden’s loyalty to his princess. It can’t be.”
Cistine’s heart roared so loudly it half-deafened her.
“I know we can’t court officially, not until we go home,” Julian rambled, “but I want to make my intentions known, at least. So, Cistine, I’d like to ask permission to be your suitor, and to court you officially when we return to Talheim. If you’ll have me.”
She stared at him. And stared. And stared.
“Cistine?” Julian’s tone dipped with concern. “Breathe. Please?”
She did, and it came in as a humiliating, deep gasp that dragged her hand with it, covering her mouth.
Julian laughed. “Better! And just so you’re aware, I’m prepared to sit outside your room all night if I have to, until I hear your answer.”
“Yes!” Cistine said between her fingers—and when Julian’s brows rose, she amended, “Not that you have to sleep in the hall. But, yes, you may court me. You don’t need my father’s permission for that.”
Julian’s crooked smile set her heart soaring. He looked relieved—as if he’d somehow doubted she wanted him. Her heart had yearned for this moment for seven impossible years while she hoped, and even prayed, one of them would find the courage to cross that unspoken boundary and see what lay on the other side of it.
When Julian shifted back on the bed and opened his arms to her, Cistine crawled into his embrace. Though it was more than most courtships attempted on the first night—in the first moment, even—Cistine needed his arms, and his warmth, and his hand smoothing her wild hair tonight.
