“Are you all right to travel?” Athryn eyed the blood on his sleeve.
“Good as ever. We have no choice: they may come back to punish the beast.”
“I doubt that.”
Athryn started down the avenue toward the broken doorway through which they’d entered the city. Khirro followed, his heart heavy. No matter what the magician said, no matter how right his thinking might be, he couldn’t help thinking he’d murdered the woman he loved. As they fell back into the shadows at the base of the walls and crept along the avenue hoping to avoid further trouble, it felt to Khirro like he left a piece of himself behind in this Gods-forsaken place.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Emeline tossed another log on the fire sending sparks dancing and spiraling up the chimney. Careful not to disturb the babe suckling at her breast, she settled back into the rocker her father built as a wedding gift, and bundled the blanket close around the baby’s face.
“Snow soon,” she whispered. The babe looked up at the sound of her voice, then her eyelids fluttered closed as her mouth worked to extract milk from her mother’s nipple. “You’ll like the snow, Iana.”
Logs crackled and hissed, the occasional knot popped. Emeline looked around the single room hut at the furniture Lehgan had made himself, at the disheveled bedclothes left unmade. He’d return from the hunt soon. If snow was coming as she suspected, they didn’t have much time to cure and salt meat to last them the winter. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of feeding her baby, and sighed. The rocking of the chair slowed as she dozed.
At first, she wasn’t sure if she’d woken. The fire had burned down, leaving the room dark. Iana slept, nipple half in her mouth, a line of milk dribbling down her cheek. Emeline pulled her frock over her breast and looked around the room.
The air held a different quality; not just cooler because the fire had burned down, but it felt heavier, pulsed with energy.
She hugged the baby close, rose from the chair and poked the fire, coaxing it back to life before she threw on another log. With the blaze in the hearth casting warmth and light again, she turned back to the room.
The woman sitting on the edge of the bed wore her long, red hair loose down her back and her full lips were set in a smile. Emeline gasped and nearly dropped the baby as she stepped away and felt the fire’s heat on the back of her legs.
“Don’t be afraid,” the woman said.
“Wh-who are you?” Emeline asked side-stepping away from the hearth. “What do you want?”
The woman stood and moved toward her, her long dress hanging past her feet, giving the illusion she floated above the floor rather than walked upon it. Emeline shuffled away until the rocking chair stood between her and the woman.
“Don’t come any closer.”
Emeline looked toward the door, wondering if she could get to it. Even if she could, her parents’ house was a ten minute walk. With Iana in her arms, she’d never stay ahead of the woman.
“I won’t hurt you.” The woman stopped in the middle of the room, keeping her distance. “I’m here to ask for your help.”
“But who are you?” Emeline squinted. The woman’s pale skin and white dress reflected the firelight, making it seem like she glowed dimly.
“My name is Elyea. I’m a friend of Khirro’s.”
“You’ve come to the wrong place. Khirro doesn’t live here.” Iana shifted in her arms and she bounced the baby unconsciously. “He joined the king’s army a year ago.”
“No, he didn’t go, he was taken. You and your parents and his sent him away.”
Emeline stared at the woman, mouth open, and for a moment she thought she glimpsed the bed behind, as though she could see through her. She blinked and the illusion disappeared.
“That’s not true.”
The woman smiled sweetly and shook her head.
“You can’t lie to me, I know all the truths. I told you I’m a friend of Khirro’s. He told me everything.”
“What do you want?” Emeline snapped making Iana mewl. “How do you know Khirro?”
“I died so he might live.”
“Died?” She stepped back two steps until her back touched the log wall. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I say.”
The glow around the woman brightened as her form faded, leaving Emeline no doubt that she could see the bed behind her, through her.
“No.” Emeline looked around frantically for a weapon with which to ward off the spirit. She grabbed the stick she’d used to tend the fire and brandished it at the apparition. “Get back. Leave us alone.”
The woman smiled again, though not so broadly.
“I won’t harm you or the child. Please, sit down.” She gestured toward the rocking chair. When Emeline made no move toward it, the spirit kneeled in the middle of the floor, the wide skirt of her dress pooling beneath her. “I’m here to ask for your help.”
“Help with what?”
“Khirro.”
Emeline looked at her, head tilted, and eased away from the wall, bouncing Iana all the while.
“Khirro? Is he all right?”
“Sit.”
Feeling like she had no other choice, Emeline crept around the rocking chair, careful to keep the maximum distance between herself and the ghostly figure. She sat and began rocking to keep the baby calm.
“Your child is beautiful.”
She nodded and hugged Iana closer. “What about Khirro?”
“Khirro’s no longer the man you used to know.”
Emeline’s eyebrows drew together. “What did you do to him?”
“I’ve done nothing. Circumstances have made him evolve and grow. But for him to become the man he must, he needs to know peace, and that means hearing truth from your lips.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.” The woman nodded toward the baby.
“He forced me.” Emeline’s gaze flickered around the room, looking for anything to alight on instead of the woman’s green eyes. Her lip twitched. “We drank too much and he took me against my will.”
“There’s no one else here to learn your secret, Emeline. We both know that’s not the truth.”
“But it is. It’s why they sent him to the king’s army.”
“Enough, Emeline.” The woman’s firm tone made Emeline flinch. “Khirro is no longer at the Isthmus Fortress. He’s no longer fighting with the king’s army.”
“What? Where is he?”
The ghost paused as though trying to recall, or reflecting. The flicker of light in her gaze dimmed and a look of sadness touched her eyes.
“The last time I saw him, he was in Poltghasa. He’s probably reached Kanos by now.”
“Poltghasa? Kanos? Why would he be there?” She looked down at Iana, head shaking. A thought occurred to her. “Is he a deserter?”
“No. He’s the savior of the kingdom.”
The words floated between them on the warm air wafting from the hearth, waiting for Emeline to accept them. The woman waited, too.
“What are you talking about?” Emeline sneered. “Savior? Khirro barely knew how to take care of himself. How could he ever have taken care of me, or Iana?”
“The Khirro you knew, perhaps, but much has changed.”
The woman stood and Emeline cowered against the back of the rocking chair, but she made no move toward her. Instead, she grasped the sides of her white dress and lifted them out to the side. Emeline looked at the half-circle it formed hanging from her waist to the floor.
Figures moved across the white surface. She saw Khirro, leather armor on his chest and a sword in his hand, and another man beside him. She’d seen King Braymon but once when she was a child, yet she recognized him.
“I heard whispers of Braymon’s death.”
“The king is dead.”
The scene changed. King Braymon lay on a stone floor, face blood-covered, eyes staring blankly. Emeline covered her mouth. Khirro stood behind the king while a figure dressed in black cloak and cowl leaned over him, a vial of blood in his hand. The hooded man gave the vial to Khirro and the vision faded.