“Has Lady Eira been alerted?” Alistair asked as they crossed the courtyard.
The boy wheezed, trying to catch his breath. “I think they sent another servant.”
“If you don’t know for certain, then make sure.” Alistair let go of the boy and shoved him in the direction of the manor. “Go to the great hall.”
The servant darted away, and Alistair broke into a run. He slammed his way through the barracks, ignoring the startled cries of the servants he plowed over as he bolted to the armory.
A cluster of guards and clerics had gathered there, and Alistair had to push his way through them to reach the portal. He stopped when he reached the edge of the crowd, pausing to take in the shimmering doorway. Two guards with weapons drawn had taken up sentinel posts on each side of the portal. They stood up a bit straighter when Alistair approached.
“When did it open?” Alistair asked them.
“About ten minutes ago,” one of the knights answered. “Lady Eira’s orders were followed—two of the Guard went through so the portal would not be closed.”
“Very good.” Alistair gazed at the gleaming door. “Has anyone come through?”
The other knight shook his head. “Not from their side yet. I suspect the appearance of two of ours on the other side the moment the door was open shocked them, and they wanted to know why. Our men will explain quickly enough.”
“Where is it?” Peering at the door, Alistair could see the hazy image of a room not unlike the many halls of Tearmunn, but no identifying details were in view.
“I’m not sure, my lord,” the knight answered.
A knight wearing the Conatus tabard came into sight on the other side of the door, followed by a hooded, cloaked figure. Alistair stepped back, making way for the travelers to pass through the portal.
When the knight emerged in the armory, he eyed the gathered crowd and his two armed counterparts with surprise.
“Have things gone so badly here that you expect enemies to come through our portals?” the knight asked, his words inflected with a heavy French accent.
Alistair stepped forward. “Not so, my friend. We are well. I am Lord Hart, commander of the Guard at Tearmunn.”
The Frenchman’s mouth twitched when Alistair named himself commander, but he didn’t offer a reply.
“May I have your name?” Alistair pushed his cloak back, putting his sword hilt in plain view.
“Jérôme Fauré, of the Cernon Guard,” the knight answered. “I took it upon myself to conduct a lost soul back to your keep.”
Jérôme moved aside, beckoning to the hooded figure waiting on the other side of the portal. From the sway of the stranger’s hips, Alistair took Jérôme’s companion to be a woman.
“Who seeks us?” Alistair asked Jérôme, frowning as the woman passed through the shimmering door. Her cloak and hood flared with light as she left the door.
From beneath the shadow of the hood, she answered Alistair, “A friend.”
Though the voice was familiar enough to make Alistair’s throat constrict, his heart didn’t dare to hope until slender hands pushed back the heavy wool hood.
Ember sank to her knees before Alistair and began to weep.
AGNES HAD ALWAYS BEEN more likely to cry than Ember, but now Ember found it all too easy to summon tears. She’d been saving them.
At each moment before she stepped through the portal to Tearmunn, Ember had held back her ever-welling sorrow. When she’d disentangled herself from Barrow’s arms before sunlight touched their room at the inn, Ember had bitten back tears. Riding away from her companions, she’d swallowed the hard stone in her throat. Meeting Jérôme at Cernon, she’d conveyed the events at Château de Lusignan and her plan to return to Tearmunn without giving any sign of her distress.
But now she was here, facing Alistair, who needed to believe that she came back to him full of remorse and perhaps even shame. So Ember closed her eyes and called up each moment of fear and sorrow that haunted her. And the tears came.
Through her blurred vision, Ember looked up at Alistair, but he stood frozen, staring at her.
Ember bowed her head, suddenly terrified that she’d presumed too much feeling on Alistair’s part. What if in the space of days since he’d let her go, he’d regretted his decision? What if his brief moment of empathy had turned into wrath, and all he would offer Ember now was retribution?
As she choked on a sob provoked by her newborn fear, Ember felt hands grasp her shoulders.
Alistair helped her stand. “It doesn’t befit a lady of your station to grovel like a servant.”
His words were flat, making Ember clutch at her cloak, her anxious fingers digging into the wool.
Bending close to her, Alistair asked in a low voice, “Why have you come here, Lady Morrow?”
Ember drew Agnes’s letter from her pocket, giving it to Alistair. “I went to Château de Lusignan and was given this.”
Alistair took the parchment from her hand. “You went to La Rochelle.”
“My lord.” Jérôme drew Alistair’s attention. “I would return to my duties if you will take the lady into your care.”
“You may return,” Alistair told him. “But the portal must remain open until you receive other orders.”
Jérôme frowned, glancing at the open doorway behind him. “Lord Hart, the clerics cannot sustain a portal for long. Its very presence draws from their spirit.”
“I’m aware of that.” Alistair gave Jérôme a hard look. “The order stands.”
Squaring his shoulders, Jérôme asked, “Does Tearmunn give orders to all of Conatus now?”
Ember tensed, knowing she couldn’t risk trying to warn Jérôme off his line of questions. She silently willed that he would abandon his rebellious tone before doing himself harm.
“Not Tearmunn.” A woman’s clear, strong voice filled the armory. The crowd massed around the portal parted, opening a path for Eira. “The orders are mine.”
To Ember, Lady Eira had always been fierce and intimidating, but in the time Ember had been away from Tearmunn, those characteristics had been amplified tenfold.
The warrior woman of the Circle drew all eyes as she strode to the portal. Her bearing was imperious, her eyes sharper than a hawk’s. At her shoulder stood a tall man whose appearance struck Ember as naggingly familiar, but she couldn’t recall where she would have seen him before. His hair was dark as freshly turned earth, which emphasized the green-gold tones of his olive skin. His face was hard, sharp lines and a full, sensuous mouth. And his eyes were on Ember. Silver eyes that stopped her breath.
Beside them, Jérôme bowed low. “My lady Eira. All Conatus marvels at your deeds.”
“Do they?” Eira’s smile was knife thin. She placed her hand on Alistair’s elbow. “I see you’ve met my commander, Lord Alistair Hart.”
“Yes, my lady.” Jérôme offered a cursory bow to Alistair. “I apologize, my lord. As you were unknown to me, I treated your words with reservation. If I’d known your orders came from Lady Eira, I would not have questioned them.”
Alistair met Jérôme’s words with silence, but Eira answered, “These small confusions will doubtless happen in such a tumultuous time for our order.”
“Indeed,” Jérôme replied.
“Tell your Circle that I will only keep the portal open long enough to send an envoy through to Cernon,” Eira told Jérôme. “They will be ready within the hour.”
Jérôme bowed again. “I will give them your message.”
“My orders,” Eira said.
“Of course.” Without looking at Ember, Jérôme returned to the doorway.
With the French knight gone, Eira looked from Alistair to Ember.
“Lady Morrow,” Eira said quietly, “I hadn’t expected to see you again.”
Ember ducked her head and tried to gather her thoughts. Her pulse was frenzied. She’d hoped to have some time to persuade Alistair of the reasons for her return before she faced Eira. Knowing that Eira respon
ded favorably to strength over fragility, Ember forced herself to look directly into Eira’s eyes.
“I have returned to reap whatever my actions have sown,” Ember said, hoping the steadiness of her voice contrasted with her tear-streaked face to present an image of remorse and courage. “For good or ill.”
“We were quite grieved when you left us,” Eira replied. “What could have led you to such a reckless act?”
Ember kept her chin lifted. “I was misled by those I placed my trust in. I was wrong.”
Smiling, Eira raised her hand, commanding those gathered in the armory to listen. “Speak again, Ember, for all to hear.”
The room fell silent. Ember’s fists clenched, but she spoke loudly. “I fled this keep in the company of men who spoke ill of Lady Eira. In the time I’ve been away from Tearmunn, my home, I’ve paid dearly for this sin against Lady Eira and Conatus, and I’ve returned in the hopes of absolution.”
“Absolution requires penance,” the tall man behind Eira said, and Ember shivered under the silver light in his eyes.
She forced herself to answer him. “Then I shall do penance.” She looked at Eira. “As my lady commands.”
After giving Ember a measured gaze, Eira said, “I’ll consider your words, but for now you are Lord Hart’s charge.”
Ember curtsied, and Eira took Alistair’s arm, pulling him aside into a quiet conversation. Keeping her head bowed, Ember stared at the armory floor, but all the while she could feel the tall stranger’s eyes upon her.
Then suddenly she knew he was closer, standing not a handbreadth away.
“Lord Hart speaks highly of you.” His voice was low and rich.
Without looking at him, Ember said, “Then he does me honor.”
A quiet laugh, with a ring as silver as his eyes, floated around Ember’s head. “I wonder, Lady Morrow, will you show him honor?”
Startled by his question, Ember looked up, only to be met by his eyes, which flared like lightning. The stranger didn’t speak again, but neither did he release her from his gaze until Alistair returned to them.
“Lord Mar.” He addressed the tall man. “May I introduce you to Lady Ember Morrow?”
Quelling the shudder that wanted to ripple through her limbs, Ember gazed at the man whom Lukasz had named as the source of this rising dark. Lord Mar. Ember dug her nails into her palms, forcing herself to be still. Bosque Mar.
“You may,” Bosque answered. His eyes moved slowly up and down Ember, as if searching for something, and made her want to squirm. Even as his examination progressed, Ember couldn’t tell if he viewed her as a simple curiosity or a threat.
“Ember, this is Lord Bosque Mar,” Alistair told her. She could hear the touch of awe in his voice. “He provides Lady Eira counsel.”
Ember curtsied to Bosque, trying her best to make it seem she had no knowledge of him. “Whence did you come to Tearmunn, Lord Mar?”
Bosque didn’t answer, and Alistair took her arm. “You haven’t earned such questions yet, Ember. Come with me.”
The crowd parted again when Alistair pulled Ember out of the armory. As their whispers followed her, Ember searched their faces, looking for any sign of her allies. She could find neither Cian, nor Lora, nor Father Michael.
Alistair’s grip on her arm was tight, but not bruising, as he took her across the courtyard. Though she hadn’t expected to remain in the barracks, restored to her position in the Guard, Ember was relieved that Alistair steered her to the manor and not the stockade.
What unsettled Ember the most was his silence. Since he was a boy, Alistair had chatted as constantly as a babbling brook. He hadn’t said a word to her since they’d left the barracks. Accustomed to Alistair initiating most of their conversations, Ember didn’t know how to react to his taciturnity. She worried that speaking would provoke his anger, but she also was afraid that if she waited too long to tell the tale she’d concocted, it would lose its sense of urgency and verity.
As they entered the manor and began ascending the stairs, Alistair still hadn’t spoken.
Maybe he wanted to hear her tale only when they were alone, Ember thought. But why then did he take her to the manor and not to his cell in the barracks?
Alistair stopped in front of the first door at the top of the stairs. Opening the door, he stepped back.
“I’ll come for you later.”
Ember stared at Alistair, not understanding why he would leave her in this room. Alone.
“Ember?”
At the sound of her name, Ember stepped forward to look into the room. Sitting in a chair facing the door was Agnes.
Forgetting Alistair, Ember gave a small cry and ran to her sister. She didn’t hear the door close and lock behind her.
Holding Agnes close, Ember was reminded of how many of her sister’s traits she found comforting. The silk of her pale blond hair, the rose of her perfume. But Ember noticed the change in her sister as well. Her cheeks and breasts were plump and less girlish, and while they were pressed close, Ember could feel the swell of Agnes’s stomach.
“Where have you been, Ember?” Agnes asked when they’d finally let each other go.
Ember knelt beside the chair where Agnes rested. “Alistair didn’t tell you?”
Agnes shook her head. “Only that you were away and that he couldn’t be sure of when you’d return.”
Taking in this news, Ember hesitated. Should she reveal the truth? Could she trust her sister with these secrets?
Her mind still divided, Ember changed the course of their conversation. “Are you well?”
Agnes’s lower lip trembled, but she didn’t begin to weep again. “As well as I can be. The sickness that troubled me when we were last together has passed.”
She placed her hand on her belly. “Sometimes I feel him kick.”
“Him?” Ember watched Agnes smile sadly.
“Of course I don’t know,” Agnes answered. “But I wish for a boy, only for the child’s sake. This is a world for men, I think. Not women.”
Ember’s throat tightened. “Henry treated you with dishonor.”
“He did.” The hardness in Agnes’s reply surprised Ember. It wasn’t a tone she’d ever heard in her sister’s voice. “But I was as much the fool for believing his words of love to be anything other than flattery.”
“Don’t judge yourself so harshly,” Ember countered, taking Agnes’s hand. “Henry knew you were infatuated with him and took advantage.”
“Infatuated.” Agnes sighed. “That’s a good word for it.”
“I didn’t mean to insult you,” Ember said quickly.
Agnes smiled at her. “I know you didn’t. I wish I could be like you, Ember. You’re so much stronger than I am. So unafraid to take what you want from the world.”
“I have more fears than you know,” Ember answered. “But my greatest fear is for your welfare. Tell me what’s happened since you arrived.”
“Very little.” Agnes shrugged. “Alistair asked that I stay in my room so as not to be in the way of the keep’s business. He’s been so kind to me.”
“Alistair?” Ember wanted to fire a barrage of questions at Agnes, but she forced herself to be patient.
“Of course, Alistair.” Agnes gave a little laugh. “I came here hoping to be shown pity. I would have worked for my food and shelter, but Alistair would hear none of it.”
“He’s making up for Henry,” Ember muttered, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
Agnes blanched, and Ember regretted her words.
“I’m sorry, Agnes,” Ember said. “It’s just that… since I’ve been at Conatus, Alistair and I have had some quarrels. He’s made my role here difficult at times.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Agnes told her. “He adores you.”
Ember looked away, trapped by her own words. If she was to convince Alistair that she’d reconsidered her feelings for him, she would need Agnes to believe it too. Or she could tell Agnes the truth.
For the moment, Ember simply said, “I know.”
“So it’s simple lovers’ quarrels then?” Agnes’s cheeks were rosy with mirth, and Ember was glad to see that, despite her misfortunes, Agnes hadn’t fallen into despair.
Angling for ambivalence, Ember didn’t deny Agnes’s question. “So you stay in your room. What else?”
“There can’t be much else if I’m always here,” Agnes quipped. “But I have a maidservant who cares for me and serves meals. When I need fresh air, she walks with me through the courtyard, and Alistair seems not to mind. He looks in on me every day. Sometimes even Lord Mar comes to ask after my welfare.”
Ember gripped Agnes’s hand too tightly, and Agnes cried out. Dropping her sister’s fingers, Ember said, “I’m sorry, Agnes. You startled me.”
“With what?” Agnes shook her fingers to loosen them.
Ember chose her words carefully. “Lord Mar is a stranger to me. I find it odd that he would take an interest in my sister.”
“I think it simply a kindness,” Agnes answered. “He is close to Alistair and Lady Eira. Perhaps he takes an interest in what matters to them.”
“Perhaps.”
Agnes leaned toward Ember, her smile conspiratorial. “He’s rather fascinating, isn’t he?”
“Lord Mar?” Ember wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold.
Nodding, Agnes whispered though there was no one to hear them. “I’ve never seen a man like him. So tall and strong. He’s not as lovely as some men, but still handsome. His face is just… compelling. Those eyes.”
Ember couldn’t stop herself. “They don’t frighten you?”
Rather than laugh at her, Agnes paused to consider the question. “They might if he hadn’t been so gallant each time I’ve spoken with him.”
“What do you talk about?” Ember frowned, fearing what the answer would be.
“He asks about our family and my health. He wanted to know about the father of my child, so I told him about Henry.” Agnes blushed. “I know it isn’t fitting for me to speak of these things to a near stranger, but I have so few friends now.”