Everwylde Page 4

  Fierce, stern Armir. He was never far. Even now, she felt him standing behind her, waiting and watching. Her silent sentry.

  He kept his thoughts to himself, only sharing with her when she forced the issue. Not that she could blame him. She kept many things from him, as well. Like her desire to be anywhere but Blackglade, to be anyone but the Lady.

  She didn’t want the power or the obligation. All she yearned for was a husband who loved her and children to fill her home. A simple dream.

  But one that would never be hers.

  In truth, Armir should be leader of the Varroki. The band of witches who hid on a northern island off the coast of Scotland was immensely powerful. Their ancestors were both Vikings and Celts—two formidable tribes.

  Both steeped in magic.

  The Varroki and their calling to keeping witches in line was all Armir cared about. If only the Lady of the Varroki could be a Lord.

  If only the power within her had chosen Armir.

  If only...

  She felt Armir move closer, stopping behind her and just over her right shoulder. So close, she could feel his warmth. For an instant, she wanted to lean back against him and pretend that she wasn’t shouldering a great responsibility that she wanted no part of.

  He wouldn’t refuse her. He might even put his hands on her to hold her—though it was forbidden.

  But he had touched her. In fact, he’d carried her twice that she knew of from the top of the tower to her chambers when the power rushed through her so fast that she passed out.

  “Dark clouds are on the horizon,” he said.

  She moved her gaze until she spotted them. “There is always a storm.”

  “You did not sleep last night.”

  There was little about her life that Armir didn’t know. The only thing she could really keep from him was her thoughts as well as her dreams—and nightmares.

  “It is why you came up here before dawn,” he finished.

  She had been standing atop the tower for hours. Some of it was because what she’d seen in her dreams was disturbing, but it was also time where she could forget the role she had in things and just be herself.

  “Do you wish to tell me what troubles you so?” Armir asked.

  Malene turned to him. Every time she saw him, she was arrested by his handsomeness. With his full bottom lip, prominent cheekbones, and square jaw, he was more than gorgeous. He was striking.

  Eyes of the palest green watched her with the intensity of a hawk. His golden blond hair was long and held back at the top of his head in a queue and bound every three inches with a leather strip. The sides of his head were shaved to show off his tattoos.

  She had the urge to run her fingers along one, but she kept her hands to herself. Armir was there to make sure she continued to do her duty as Lady.

  “The First Witch went to great lengths to ensure that her bones were scattered to the wind. For thousands of years, not a single fragment was found,” Malene said. “Until Braith located the Blood Skull.”

  Armir’s lips thinned for a moment. “I admit, the Blood Skull is a powerful weapon, but we know it chose its Warden. The Coven cannot get their hands on it now. I believe that even if they had, it would not have worked for them. It was meant for Braith.”

  Malene pulled a strand of flaxen hair from her lashes. “No one should have found the skull.”

  “That cannot be undone now. What is it that worries you so?”

  She shot him a hard look. “The Coven. It is always the Coven. Their strength is increasing, Armir. I can sense it like a great blanket falling over the world, blocking out all light.”

  “They often gain power, but it does not last long. The past has proven that. We ensure that.”

  How she wished he was right, but she knew this time would be different. “Instead of waiting for witches to find them, the Coven is locating the women themselves and forcing them to join the Coven or die.”

  Armir’s gaze briefly looked to the sea. “I am aware.”

  “What if they find out about us? What if they learn of the warlocks?”

  Armir’s eyes narrowed. “They will be in for a rude awakening if they try to force any Varroki to join them. Male or female.”

  It was true, the Varroki were powerful. So formidable, in fact, that they had singlehandedly kept the Coven in check for untold generations. But things had changed. And not in favor of the Varroki.

  “And now that the Coven knows that the tales of the First Witch are true? If they can find her skull, then they can find the rest of her.”

  Armir took a step back as if her words had struck him. “Are you saying that you believe the Coven is attempting to resurrect the First Witch?”

  “No witch since has been as powerful. She knew it was a possibility. It is why she ordered her bones be separated then distributed and hidden upon her death—so that no one could bring her back.”

  A gust of wind swirled around Malene, yanking the skirts of her gown around her legs and tugging her hair from her braids. Armir wasn’t taking her announcement well, but when she dreamed of the First Witch being brought back to life, neither had she.

  “Are you sure?” Armir asked.

  She shook her head. “I have no proof other than a dream and a sick feeling. But you have to admit, it sounds exactly like something the Coven would do.”

  “Aye,” he ground out, his face lined with exasperation.

  She walked to the other side of the tower to the stairs that led down to her chambers. But she stopped when she reached the steps and gazed down at the cottages and buildings far below her.

  Malene waited until Armir was beside her once more before she said, “I am not Varroki.”

  “You are now.”

  “But I was not born here,” she added. “I have no idea why I was chosen as Lady. I look upon these people and wonder how they can accept me.”

  One side of Armir’s lips lifted in a slight curve of a smile. “Because the magic decided.”

  “Regardless, I am responsible for these people. What happens to them, happens to me. The Varroki have been a formidable force against rogue witches and the Coven for generations, but we have fewer and fewer warriors like Jarin now.”

  “You speak of the alliance you wish to have with the Hunters Jarin discovered.”

  She turned her head to Armir. “Those Hunters are stalking the Coven just as we are. Can you see a reason why we should not join forces?”

  “Our warriors have always worked alone.”

  “Yet Jarin, Leoma, and Braith functioned well together. They triumphed, in fact.”

  Armir conceded with a nod. “I know well what happened. Jarin is one of our best warriors, and he was impressed with what he learned of the Hunters.”

  “I wish to meet the witch who is recruiting these Hunters.”

  Pale green eyes widened. “You cannot bring the witch here.” When Malene didn’t reply, a deep frown formed on his brow. “The Lady does not leave Blackglade.”

  She smiled because there was no use arguing with him. But she also didn’t need Armir’s permission. While it was true the other Ladies hadn’t left the tower or even the city, there was nothing saying that she couldn’t.

  And that’s what she was counting on.

  In the five years since being brought to Blackglade, she’d read through the extensive library in her chambers. She learned about every Lady before her—how each was chosen, as well as how they died.

  Most were more than happy at their position, but there were others, like her, who strained against the bonds that the power brought them.

  But there was another who fell in love with her commander. The two had run away together. Unfortunately, there was no happy ending for the couple. Both were killed by Varroki warriors. The commander for leaving his post and daring to touch the Lady, and the Lady for refusing the mantle of her position.

  It was why Armir went to such lengths to make sure he kept his distance from her at all times. But what few un
derstood was how lonely her position was.

  Malene could leave the tower and walk among the streets of the city, but she was held in such reverence that she wouldn’t be able to have a real conversation with anyone. Which was why she remained at the tower.

  With only Armir as company.

  It was no wonder that she’d come to long for his touch, to think of him as more than her commander. But she also knew nothing would ever come of it. Armir was too invested in his position and what the Varroki stood for.

  There was nothing—not even love—that would make Armir forget his vows to his people.

  Not that she loved him. But loneliness could do strange things to a person. Add that to the isolation and not even so much as a simple touch on her arm, and it was enough to drive someone to insanity.

  She had no idea how the other Ladies had done it. However, it explained why few held the position for more than seven years. All died...one way or another.

  “Your thoughts take you very far away,” Armir said.

  She wondered what he would do if she told him that she often thought of jumping from the tower into the sea below. How would he react if she told him that she longed with all her heart for a simple life with a family?

  His pale orbs studied her, patiently waiting for a response. Then she realized that he might very well have such yearnings himself.

  “Do you have a woman?” she asked.

  One blond brow rose in puzzlement. “Nay. My position forbids it.”

  How could she have forgotten that? “Do you want a wife? Someone to share your life with, I mean?”

  His green gaze slid away. “A commander cannot have such thoughts. My life is dedicated to you.”

  “You mean whoever is Lady,” she corrected. “Is it any wonder the Varroki population is declining? The warriors live in solitude, never taking a mate or having children, and then there is the commander. I imagine there are other positions that have the same stipulation.”

  He gave a nod without looking at her.

  “That has to change,” she stated before brushing past him to the stairs.

  Chapter 6

  What was it that kept drawing Carac’s attention to Ravyn? She was, without a doubt, an exquisite woman, but it was something else that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  Even after nearly an hour talking with Ravyn as he walked her around the keep earlier hadn’t given him a clue. And now, as he held her crossbow inspecting the craftsmanship, he had a suspicion that there was much more to the lady than she allowed to be revealed.

  Sounds from the bailey pulled his attention away from the weapon that was as unique as its owner. He set the crossbow near the saddle and gave Ravyn’s mare a pat on the neck before walking to the entrance of the stables.

  Carac stood in the doorway and watched as Sybbyl rode straight to the steps of the keep where John awaited her, a triumphant smile on her face. John helped her dismount, his hands lingering on Sybbyl’s waist.

  Carac shifted so that he could see them better and caught Sybbyl lean close and whisper something into John’s ear. Whatever it was made him exceedingly happy as they walked into the keep.

  Carac stared at the spot long after they’d departed. While it wasn’t odd for those who hired him to keep him in the dark about some of their plans, there was something in the way John and Sybbyl acted that rubbed Carac raw.

  Not to mention what had occurred on the battlefield.

  “Carac.”

  He turned at the whisper to find Simon striding into the stable through a back door. The tight way Simon’s features were held indicated bad news.

  Carac met his friend in the middle of the stable, but Simon continued to pace, his agitation apparent. As was his anger. He waited until Simon eventually halted, his gaze on the ground as he shook his head.

  “That bad?” Carac said.

  Simon swallowed loudly and raked a hand through his dark locks. “In my years as a knight, I have seen a great many atrocities, but today will forever be etched upon my mind.”

  For Simon to say such a thing, Carac knew whatever he’d witnessed had to be truly appalling. “Is Lord Randall alive?”

  “Barely.” Simon lifted his head and took a deep breath before turning his dark eyes to Carac. “You were right to be concerned.”

  “I think you better start from the beginning.”

  “The few men who survived this morning’s attack abandoned Randall, not that I can blame them. I heard many of them whisper that magic was involved.”

  Carac frowned. This wasn’t the first he’d heard the word. More and more, he heard whispers of magic being used. He never understood why people immediately thought it was supernatural when they saw something they couldn’t explain. Although, he had to admit, he might have said the same thing if he were in the place of those other men on the battlefield.

  “I had that same look,” Simon stated.

  Carac’s worry grew as his friend’s gaze moved away from him as if Simon were caught in the things he had seen at Bryce’s castle. “And?” Carac urged.

  Simon shook himself and cleared his throat. “It was easy enough to get through the castle gates. Lady Sybbyl brought a large force of John’s men with her, but they did not seem to care who came or went.”

  “John’s men?” Carac asked.

  “Aye. She ordered them about as if she were their commander, not John.”

  “If she were John’s intended or wife, I might see that happening...”

  Simon shrugged as if to say who knows. “Once inside the gates, I was able to move about easily. At first, the mood was subdued. Defeat was written on everyone’s faces. Then Sybbyl had Randall dragged from his castle and tossed into the middle of the bailey.”

  Carac crossed his arms over his chest as he listened. “If anyone went to Bryce Castle, it should have been John. Or me. Not a woman.”

  “Sybbyl either does not seem aware of the rules or does not care. It was evident by the way she treated Randall. He asked that the people inside the castle be allowed to leave unharmed. Sybbyl refused.”

  Carac’s arms dropped to his sides in shock. “What?”

  “She told him to get on his knees and beg her. He did. Without hesitation. Her laugh, Carac, it was the most evil thing I have ever heard.”

  Carac leaned against a pillar and digested Simon’s words.

  Simon licked his lips. “Sybbyl then asked for the Staff of the Eternal.”

  “What is that?” Carac demanded.

  His friend shrugged. “Apparently, Randall knew, because he said he could not hand it over. Sybbyl responded by killing four of his men.”

  “She did?” Carac asked. “How?”

  Simon hesitated, his eyes on the ground for a long moment. When his gaze lifted to Carac once more, his voice wobbled as he said, “She held her hands out, one over the other. As she drew them apart, a bright blue flame formed. She then pointed to four of the knights, and they were consumed by fire. I still hear their screams of agony.”

  Carac could only stand mute as he tried to comprehend what it was he heard.

  “Someone doused one of the men with water, but it did nothing to extinguish the flames. Women were screaming and rushing about, trying to get away, while knights ran them over in their haste to leave. Then the gates slammed closed. By themselves.”

  Carac rubbed his temple as his head began to ache with what he knew was truth and what Simon was sharing. If it had been anyone other than his closest friend, Carac wouldn’t have believed a single word.

  But the reality was etched on Simon’s face.

  Simon turned to the side and put his hands on his hips. “Sybbyl randomly chose people after that. The smell of burning flesh filled my nostrils as shrieks of fear and cries of pain filled my ears. Even the animals began to scream. Randall begged Sybbyl to stop, but she seemed to be enjoying it. The delight as she picked person after person to die made me sick to my stomach.”

  Carac didn’t want to hear any mor
e, but he didn’t have a choice. He needed this information, though he wasn’t quite sure what he could do against a woman who could use blue fire. He wasn’t even sure what she was.

  “Witch,” Simon said. “Some brave soul asked Sybbyl what she was, and she said she was a witch from the Coven. Then she returned her gaze to Randall. She gave him one last chance to hand over the staff or everyone would die.”

  “He gave it to her,” Carac guessed.

  Simon dropped his arms to his sides and faced Carac. “He told her where it was. It needs to be dug from the ground. I believe that is the only reason she did not kill him right then.”

  “Where is Randall now?”

  “In his dungeon.”

  It was Carac’s turn to pace as he rolled the information in his head over and over again. Witch. Magic. Could it be real? He halted and swung his gaze to Simon, who was watching him.

  “I know what I saw,” Simon said. “I know what I heard.”

  “Aye. I do not doubt you, old friend. Yet this news is incomprehensible.”

  Simon shrugged one chainmail-clad shoulder. “I believed that as well until a few hours ago.”

  “What did Sybbyl do with the others in the bailey?”

  “They’re alive. For now, but I do not believe she did it out of mercy.”

  Carac snorted loudly. “Most likely she intends to use them to get Randall to do whatever she wants.”

  “I agree.”

  Carac glanced at the door. His own men were mixed in with John’s. While he wasn’t sure who knew about Sybbyl being a witch and who didn’t, he wasn’t ready to bring his men in on this. Right now, he had to determine who he could trust—if anyone.

  “I have seen any number of maneuvers on the battlefield and in life,” he said. “I learned how to counter nearly all of them. But this is something that no amount of hours spent training with a weapon can help me defend against.”

  “Then what do we do?” Simon asked.

  Carac shot a reassuring smile to his friend. “We tread very carefully until I decide if we leave or not.”

  Simon’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Leave?”

  “I received a missive from Braith today. He said he has something important to discuss with me.”