“For loving you,” she said in a voice ardent despite its quietness. “For always knowing you were and are a man of superior character and strength. Ceybold knew it too and hated you for it.”
Bron’s thoughts raced while his heartbeat accelerated to the quick pace of a war drum’s summons to combat. His whole world had shifted beneath his feet in less than a day. His simple life of fighting and obedience to the Daesin army had just become unfathomably complicated, tangled in a snarl of conflicting loyalties and emotions that left him reeling.
“Bron,” Disa said, interrupting his internal war. “Can you not just turn away and pretend? I have to find Luda before Ceybold does. Without the gate, it will take me thrice as long, but I have to try. I’m not asking you to come with me. Just give me a horse and let me go. Use magic to compel me to return later and serve as Golius’s itzuli if you wish. I’ll do so happily, willingly, but please let me try to save my sister first.”
He recoiled when she fell to her knees in front of him and bowed so that her forehead touched the walkway. Bron hauled her to her feet. “Don’t,” he said. She didn’t argue, but the desperation in her gaze was louder than any weeping entreaty. A sudden recollection occurred to him. “Three years ago I asked you where Luda was, and you said she was safe with friends ofyour mother.” The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach grew. “Were you lying to me about that?”
Disaris’s eyelashes remained still when she said “No.” She raised her hands in supplication. “She was with friends. I sent her there before we came to Baelok. I didn’t know until after you and I parted that the Hierarch had sent his disciples to take her and bring her to him.” More tears shimmered in her eyes. “I swear, Bron, if I’d known that’s what they planned, I would have asked for your help.”
Luda. Ten years younger than her sister and far more temperate, she as much a beloved sibling to him as she was to Disaris. He’d been the second person to hold her after she’d been born. He wondered if Ceybold’s intention to kill her wasn’t just motivated by retaliation against the Hierarch and Disaris, but also against him. For a moment, he went lightheaded at the awful possibility.
Disaris clutched his arm. “Bron, please let me go.”
He didn’t answer, only shackled her wrist in one hand and pulled her along with him toward the pathway’s entrance. She resisted, planting her feet and bending her knees so that he dragged her a few steps before turning and flipping her over his shoulder like a sack of grain. His stride didn’t slow as he made his way into the nave, Disaris beating her fists on his back and calling him names vulgar enough to make even the saltiest sailor blush.
Their escort met him on the temple stairs. Their shocked expressions might have made him laugh if circumstances weren’t so desperate and time so grimly short. “Gather the horses,” he commanded in a voice raised to overcome Disaris’s loud protests. “We return to camp.”
“I’ll gallop away the moment you drop me in the saddle, Bron,” she threatened. “You know I will.”
“I do,” he replied, then whistled for his mount. “Which is why you’ll share the saddle with me on the ride back.”
The obedient horse, a big bay gelding who’d carried Bron into a dozen battles, trotted towards him, snorting its disapproval at the contorting, shouting thing draped over its master’s shoulder.
Bron turned so that his back was to their watching escort. He heaved Disaris off him, holding her shoulders as she staggered for a moment. Her face was flushed, expression furious. She opened her mouth for another round of lambasting him. He covered her mouth with one hand. “Shh,” he said, braced for the pain of her teeth sinking into his palm, relieved when she didn’t bite. “Do you trust me, Disa?”
Only a domination spell had the kind of effect that instantly overcame Disaris, and Bron didn’t know how to wield that particular magic. She went still, the pace of her breath gusting across his knuckles slowing. The rosy tint of fury faded from her cheeks, and the color of her eyes deepened.
“Do you trust me?” he repeated.
A slow nod and no fluttering of her eyelashes. “Yes,” she said softly once he lowered his hand.
He smiled and ran a finger down the bridge of her nose. “Good. Then I want you to get on my horse and ride with me back to the encampment without protest. When we arrive, I’ll take you to my quarters. You’ll stay there until I say otherwise.”
It was a lot to ask of her, especially when he gave no other details and certainly no agreement to free her from captivity.
She nodded her agreement and meekly allowed him to lift her into the saddle before he mounted behind her and gathered the reins. His men gawked at him in silent bewilderment. He almost heard the question they wanted to ask: what had he said to quiet the screeching harpy disguised as a human woman? Bron winked and mouthed “Magic.”
It truly was magic, just not the kind they assumed. His powers weren’t nearly as all-encompassing as they thought, but he’d allow them to believe it was so. They’d wonder less about what he might have told Disaris to turn her from feral cat to placid lamb so quickly.
Like the trip to the temple, they alternated between a canter and a walk to so as not to exhaust their horses. Bron wished otherwise, anxious to reach the encampment as soon as possible, but anything seen as out of the ordinary in his behavior and Golius would know about it. The general was already waiting to question him when they returned, and Cimejen had expressed his doubts about Bron’s resistance to Disaris’s influence.
“How long have you been in the Daesin army?” he’d asked just before Bron had set off for the temple. The battle mage stared at Disaris who waited nearby, his eyes narrowed.
“Thirteen years.” Bron wondered where this conversation was headed and why Cimejen had chosen this moment to have it. The other man’s gaze flickered back to him, a piercing look that sought to see past Bron’s stoicism. “That’s enough time to earn your place and rise in the ranks, which you’ve done. Don’t be foolish for the sake of shared history, jin Hazarin.” He clapped Bron on the shoulder. “The two things men have lost their heads and their bollocks for are power and women. I can personally attest to the second.”
It had been a not-so subtle warning.
Bron had assured him he wasn’t planning to risk either body part. “I’ll update you and Golius if anything happens at the temple when I return.”
The memory of that conversation sat at the forefront of his mind. Circumstances had drastically changed in the hours they’d been gone, and Bron hadn’t hesitated in making a choice, one that would alter not only his future, but that of Disaris and Luda as well.
He glanced down at the top of Disaris’s head, counting the strands of blondish hair intermingled with the brown locks. She sat quiet in front of him, her weight slight as she rested against his chest. Her slender hands gripped the saddle pommel, fingers restlessly tapping on the curved top. From his point of view he watched the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed and savored both her warmth and scent. Temptation urged him to lean down and nuzzle her neck, to take advantage of the temporary closeness, but he resisted.
He needed to stay objective and clear-headed instead of entangling himself in emotion fueled by nostalgia, longing, and desire. She’d once been his best friend, his first lover, and the woman who’d pulled his heart out of his chest and shredded it in front of him. It was hard to stay detached, caught as he was between long-simmering anger wrought by pain, and joy at having her in his arms once more.
Their escort rode in a semi-circle around them but still far enough away to afford them privacy. Bron bent forward, pretending to adjust the reins he held. Disaris inhaled sharply and made to turn toward him. “Don’t,” he cautioned in a low voice. “Keep looking ahead.” She did as he asked, waiting to see what he intended. “I won’t have a chance to tell you this when we return. Too many ears listening close by.
“Provisions are delivered to the second encampment each evening by wagon. There are several who make the delivery. One parks next to the blacksmith’s forge. You can see it if you were to leave from the back of my quarters.” He paused to glance about him. The soldiers accompanying them chatted amongst themselves or scanned their surroundings, uninterested in what he might be saying to the itzuli. “Two guards on duty patrol that area on a nine-count pass. At count ten, there’s a window of time—very short—when no one is guarding that area. When that happens, run for the wagon. There will be space cleared on thelefthand side in the back. Crawl in there. The driver won’t check. He’ll deliver the supplies to the second camp but won’t unload until the next morning at six chimes. You’ll have to sleep in the wagon until I get there. It won’t be for long.”
