Maiden's Wolf (In Deception's Shadow Book 3) (9 page)

Silverblade
grunted.

Not that he was
feeling particularly predatory at the moment. Exhaustion weighed down his body,
making every limb feel heavy and uncoordinated. The myriad of his injuries had
been healed but there was still a dull, bone-deep ache in his shoulder where
one of the crossbow bolts had struck him.

Beatrice patted
his forearm again. “There’s a clearing about a candlemark’s ride ahead. There’s
also a stream for fresh water and it’s deep enough to bathe in, too. We should
stop there for the night. Honestly, I’d like to put more distance between us
and the acolytes, but the gelding could use a rest.” She paused and looked over
her shoulder at him. “And so too could I.”

Silverblade
nodded in agreement on all accounts. No doubt the gelding would make better
time with just one rider. If he’d been able to resume his lupwyn form, he
wouldn’t have been such a burden. Unfortunately, once he did, he’d no longer
have an excuse to hold Beatrice close either.

And with this
day’s ride had come the somewhat disturbing realization he’d missed how
pleasant it could be to hold a female in his arms. Now there was a dangerous
thought. He almost wanted to shove it back from whatever dark corner of his
mind it had crawled out of—almost, but not quite.

For the present
time, he would take what she offered, and if he enjoyed it a little more than
was called for…well, there was no one to know or judge except his own
consciousness.

He leaned a bit
closer until her hair brushed his face and then he inhaled another deep breath.
Beatrice’s scent filled his lungs and a contented smile curved his lips.

In less than a
candlemark, the gelding finally plodded into the clearing, the horse clearly as
tired as his riders. The horse came to a halt, Silverblade sitting unmoving on
his back behind Beatrice. Her own exhaustion was such that she would simply
have fallen asleep on the horse then and there had Silverblade not chosen that
moment to grunt something under his breath.

She didn’t catch
the words, but thought they were spoken in lupwyn. Before she could ask, he
dismounted and then reached up for her. He lifted her off the gelding’s tall
back and placed her lightly on her feet. Again she was reminded how much
stronger lupwyns were than humans.

Another time, the
show of strength might have caused the thrill of alarm. But she was too damn
exhausted to care. Besides, riding double on the gelding for most of the day would
have calmed even the most timid of maiden’s fears. And Beatrice had never
suffered from that affliction.

But there was
more to this exhaustion than simply an overworked body. She’d never performed
such a deep, prolonged healing before. It had done something to her magic. Even
now, when they were not in close proximity, she could still sense his thoughts
and emotions as if they flowed between them in an unseen current.

He hadn’t alluded
to such, but she imagined he could sense her thoughts and emotions, even with
his damaged Larnkin. She didn’t quite know what to think of that or, more to
the point, what he thought of her. His thoughts came to her more as emotions
and impressions, rather than words that she could hear clearly.

Silverblade
tapped her shoulder to catch her attention. She glanced at him and watched his
ears swing forward and his lips part. Catching a glimpse of fangs, she barely
registered that it was a smile, the first smile she’d seen him make.

“The scent of
rabbit is heavy here,” he said as he handed the saddlebags to her. “You can
build a small fire ring and get the fire started while I hunt. I’ll be back
momentarily.”

“At least let me
look at your healing wounds before you go tearing through the forest.” Beatrice
rested her fists on her hips and frowned at him.

“Lupwyns heal
quickly. Even without my Larnkin’s aid, I am well on the path to recovery.”

Well, that was a
lie if she’d ever heard one. By the time she drew breath to call him out on it,
he’d already vanished back into the forest.

Beatrice was a
touch in awe of his grace and speed. She had not thought anything on two legs could
move so fast or silently. The poor rabbits didn’t stand a chance. With a shake
of her head, she went about collecting stones for a fire ring.

*****

Returning from a
successful hunting trip with rabbits in hand, Silverblade paused at the edge of
the trees before walking into the clearing. He didn’t call out or make other
noise, yet still Beatrice seemed able to sense his return and she waved him
over.

Her magic must
have granted her senses sharper than a normal human’s. Mild disappointment
unfolded in his gut that he’d been unable to approach her without being
detected. Secretly, he’d wanted to watch her for a time.

With a mental
shrug, he stepped out of the shadowy tree line and made his way to the fire.
When he reached her side and placed the skinned and gutted rabbits on a flat
rock next to the fire, she looked up from coaxing it larger with twigs and
dried moss and smiled at him in greeting. Her strangely pale skin had a pink
tint high on her cheekbones, and strands of her pale gold hair had plastered
itself to her cheeks.

He’d been among
humans long enough to know this one would be considered pretty, or perhaps even
beautiful, and he found her pleasing to look upon. That shouldn’t even be
entering his thoughts, he admitted a touch guiltily. Although perhaps he could
blame his phoenix heritage for any hint of attraction he might feel. That
species seemed to enjoy mixing their bloodlines, his own existence being a
prime example.

The possibility
of physical attraction didn’t really disturb him—he’d learned his lesson and
wouldn’t be making that mistake again. However, there might be another, more concerning
reason he’d always been drawn to her and her family.

He absently
rubbed at the tattoo branding his chest. For good or ill, he would bet the mage
mark was somehow behind his growing fascination with this human.

Beatrice’s eyes
tracked his movements with interest as he rubbed at the mark. “You know
something about the marks. Are you ever going to tell me about them?” There was
no accusation in her voice, just curiosity.

He made a
non-committal sound in the back of his throat and left her by the fire to go
wash the blood from his hands. He’d used his claws to dress the rabbits since
he hadn’t taken a knife with him. He took his time washing away the blood
before returning to Beatrice’s side.

Yes, he’d been
avoiding answering her about the mage mark, he admitted a bit guiltily.

She spit the
rabbits without further comment and then situated them next to the fire while
she waited for the flames to die down a bit first. That done, she studied him
intently, one of her endless cups of tea held out before her. She gave it a
little shake for emphasis.

Taking the
offered tea, he sat next to her and dredged up all he knew about mage marks and
just what these ones might ‘mark.’ Considering what he’d learned about the
acolytes, these ones might actually be in reaction to the acolytes’ arrival.
Acolyte Ironsmith had been interested in them and acted like he didn’t know
what it was when he’d seen Silverblade’s mark.

The more he
thought about it, the more likely that was. Throughout history, there were
instances when Darkness threatened to tip the balance of the world and Light
responded to mend what was broken.

And sometimes
Light sent its greatest champions, the Twelve Talismans and their wielders, to
defeat the Dark.

The acolytes
certainly filled the role of dark conquerors. Silverblade had a little more
trouble picturing himself as one of Light’s great champions. However, Beatrice
seemed a much more likely possibility? Perhaps his role was to protect her?

His lips curved
down unhappily at the realization he didn’t know much about the Twelve. As a
child, he’d studied under his mother at the Elementals’ capital city of Grey
Spires. So he knew the basic histories like any Grey Spire-raised youngling.

But at the time,
those histories had seemed so long ago as to be unimportant. More like fancy
legends used by his mother and the other mentors to spice up long, dry history
lessons. Ones of such power no longer existed, he’d been certain. Besides,
playing outside in the practice ring and sparring with other youngsters had
held more appeal to him at that age.

As he’d grown
older, his lupwyn bloodlines had won out and he’d felt the call of the pack,
the endless bounty of the shadowy forests and the wide open grassland calling
to him much louder than his mother’s heritage. In the end, he’d traded the
grandeur of Grey Spires for the calm darkness of the forest.

His mother had
seen it, and together they’d come to live with his father’s pack. There was
much traveling between Grey Spires and the lupwyn nation, for Cymael was a
councilor and had many responsibilities, but Gates made for swift travel,
faster even than flight.

So he spent the
remainder of his adolescence—and the customary hundred years of
mentorship—among the lupwyn nation and Grey Spires. As a result, he was much
more widely traveled than many lupwyns, and he’d learned and seen things far
beyond his years. That was how he knew anything at all about the artifacts
known as the Twelve Talismans.

Again,
Silverblade rubbed at the mark on his chest, his frown deepening. Yes, he knew
a little about the Twelve Talismans. But not as much as he needed. Just enough
to spawn fear in his heart.

“If you glower
any harder, you’re going to set the rabbits on fire from that look alone.”

His gaze jerked
from the fire to Beatrice, where she’d come and sat next to him.

“Care to talk
about what’s bothering you?”

He hunched his
shoulders and grunted an answer.

“Oh, so no then.”
She grinned and returned to tending the fire and the rabbits cooking over it.

While she’d
claimed not to know anything about magic, and he believed her, she certainly
was powerful and her Larnkin was clearly an old one.

But just how old?
Was Beatrice harboring one of the ancient Larnkins which had once been linked
to the Twelve Talismans?

While Beatrice
might not know anything, it didn’t mean her Larnkin was ignorant.

Finding a way to
communicate might be a challenge, though. When a Larnkin left the Spirit Realm
to take a host, it was weakened by the transition between spirit and mortal
flesh. The elders claimed if one half of a Larnkin pairing left the spirit
realm and took a host but the second Larnkin remained behind, then the
subsequent separation was damaging and it might be years or even centuries
before a Larnkin truly awoke after taking a host.

Silverblade’s own
had only stirred to consciousness after his second century. But in the last few
months, since first taking on the mission to spy on the humans, he’d felt its
interest in the world around him sharpen.

At the time, he
just thought his Larnkin was reacting to what it might consider danger to its
host. Now it was clear his Larnkin had been reacting to Beatrice. Was he, even
now, sitting across from his Larnkin’s other half? Bondmates. Could they really
be bondmates?

It was impossible
to know for sure until his Larnkin recovered enough to enlighten him. Curse the
damn acolytes. And what if his Larnkin was now too damaged to form the bond in
this lifetime? He chewed on that unhappy thought and scowled.

The next question
was if he should share his suspicions with her. He had nothing to go on other
than a gut feeling, and with his Larnkin damaged and un-communicative, he had
no way of knowing for sure.

There was also
the possibility that she was one of the members of the Twelve.

He grabbed a
couple more sticks, snapped them savagely, and fed them to the fire. If only
his troubles and concerns could be so easily reduced to ash.

“Ummm…” Beatrice
drawled. “Embers cook more evenly than vigorous flames.”

Silverblade felt
heat rush to his face in that annoying habit human bodies had. He grunted
again. Beatrice was correct. He’d cooked enough meals over a simple cook fire
to know it.

“Just tell me
what’s weighing so heavily on your mind.” She shrugged. “You’ll likely feel
better afterward.”

With a sigh, he
ran through possible half-truths to tell her. After three heartbeats, he
settled on the most plausible. “I’m reasonably certain now that acolytes have
had a taste of my Larnkin, they will continue to hunt me. I can’t rule out the
possibility that they may be able to track me wherever I go.”

Her brows folding
down into a scowl, she planted her hands on her hips. “While that’s a
legitimate concern, it’s also a lie. I’d like the basic respect of hearing the
truth, not a falsehood uttered out of some misguided sense that you need to
protect me.”

Damnit! He wasn’t
accustomed to being read so easily. Silverblade tilted his head to look her in
the eyes. He drew a deep breath, released it, then dragged in another. Oh, by
all the Light, perhaps he should just share his suspicions. They might help
Beatrice protect herself from the acolytes if they managed to track
Silverblade’s trail. Either that, or sharing his suspicions might be enough to
scare the young woman into leaving him and making her way back to her
grandmother. If Beatrice decided she wished to leave, he would certainly see
her to safety.

He wouldn’t tie
her to him, either with pack bonds or the possibility of them being bondmates.

“Well?” She
arched an eyebrow at him while she awaited his answer.

“Since you say
you don’t know much about the being you are host to, I imagine your Larnkin hasn’t
actually communicated to you directly.” An elusive calmness settled over him
now that he was talking. Ah, so perhaps his unease was because his own Larnkin
wanted him to share knowledge with Beatrice, but he was too damaged and weak to
make his desires known.

“They can
communicate with words?”

“Yes, when they
awaken fully.” Along with his words, tension flowed out of his body. The more
he told her, the more he relaxed. “Larnkins are powerful creatures of magic
that dwell in the spirit world for most of their existence. In truth, they are
neither male nor female. Although once they take hosts, they seem to mirror the
host’s gender.”

“Interesting. So
mine thinks of herself as female because I am female?”

“It’s more
complicated than that, but yes, basically.” He smiled at her look of
concentration. Beatrice was a blank slate just looking for knowledge to absorb.
“While they dwell within the spirit world, each Larnkin has a soulmate. They
are linked so closely as to be one being. When they leave the spirit realm to
journey here and take a host, the two beings must sever their eternal ties for
a while. This causes great damage, but one that heals over time. Once the
Larnkin is strong enough, it awakens and can communicate with its host in more
complex ways. Until that point, the most a host usually senses is a few
emotions and vague images.”

“If it causes the
Larnkin damage to take a host,” Beatrice questioned, her brow knitting with
thought, “why ever would they bother? What do they gain?”

Silverblade
acknowledged her question with a nod. “That question has arisen many times in
the history of the Elementals. I think the truth is that they like to meddle in
the lives of mortals, but it is also true that Larnkins cannot affect events in
this realm without a host to act as anchor. It is their nature to protect and
guide.”

Beatrice tilted
her head and raised an eyebrow at him and then, with the light of new animation
in her eyes, she asked, “Are you saying they take hosts simply so they can
manipulate events in this world?”

A short bark of
laughter escaped him. “Yes, that is also a common opinion among the Elementals.”

“So while they
may be manipulative, they are essentially good?” Beatrice poked at the fire as
if she was unaware of what she was doing. “I am glad such power is benevolent.”

“Benevolent
implies a type of kindness or caring. And while most Larnkins love their hosts,
there are Larnkins with such vast power and ancient knowledge that normal
Elementals view them as demigods.” Silverblade paused again, wondering how to
explain his understanding of the Twelve Talismans to her. “Light has many
champions with which to fight Darkness. But the greatest of Light’s champions
are beings who have simply come to be known as the Twelve. Those twelve beings
are reborn in times of trouble to take up their talismans and defeat the
darkness.”

He paused,
debating how much to tell the human.

“Go on.”

With a sigh, he
continued. “Long, long ago, the All Father and the Great Mother created twelve
souls. Upon them, they endowed great knowledge and magic, enough to destroy any
evil that should walk upon the earth. These twelve souls were powerful in and
of themselves, but the gods granted them another gift. For each was given an
artifact of power to strengthen and guide them. These Talismans would endure
throughout the ages, gathering knowledge and protecting it, so that when the
Twelve’s mortal wielders were reborn, these Talismans would bestow their
memories and knowledge upon their flesh and blood wielders.”

“That
is…interesting.” Beatrice continued to sip at her tea, but he was certain she
wasn’t even tasting it on her tongue. Her expression said her mind was leagues
distant.

 “Interesting?
Yes. Benevolent? Perhaps not. Those ancient beings were born with the power,
knowledge, and fortitude to do what was necessary. Yes, they were good. They
served the Light. Yet if the histories are to be believed, many of them
possessed powers so terrible, so awe-inspiring, that nothing about it would be
what I would call benevolent.”

“And yet, even
with these fearsome powers, you would not consider them evil or tainted in some
way?”

Ah. He knew what
Beatrice was asking without asking it. “No.”

“That is good,”
Beatrice whispered as she looked down at her own hands. And then, showing her
uncanny insight and her ability to read him so easily, she continued. “But this
is more than just an idle history lesson isn’t it?”

“Yes,”
Silverblade agreed, but didn’t elaborate.

Beatrice refilled
her tea and watched him intently over the rim. She did not interrupt him and
seemed willing to wait for him to grapple with what to tell her.

When Beatrice
offered to refill his cup with more steaming tea, he accepted it. Sipping from
the heavy stoneware cup allowed him a moment to decide what he wanted to tell
her. He had already come this far, he might as well tell her the rest.

“The Twelve were
created to vanquish darkness and they did so without fail for uncounted
millennia. It wasn’t until one of the great servants of creation—the tools the
gods used to create the universe—turned against them, that the Twelve first
tasted defeat. Dakdamon the God of Mists and Time, rose up and created his own
dark army, seeking to enslave all the Elemental races. He had wanted the Twelve
to ride at the head of his great army as his generals. He nearly succeeded.”

“These were the
beings with near god-like power? And this Dakdamon nearly defeated them…his
power…” Beatrice let the sentence die, but she met Silverblade’s gaze, her look
saying the rest.

“A bloody battle
ensued, both sides warred for days. When the battle was over, the great demon
Dakdamon had been overthrown, imprisoned in weavings of magic so powerful, so
primal, he would remain trapped for eternity. The Twelve Talismans were
victorious that day, but they’d suffered great personal cost. Their leaders had
been slain, the Falcon’s Staff shattered, and the remaining Twelve left to pick
up the pieces. It is said that the Twelve are reborn in times of need to battle
the Darkness.”

Beatrice started
choking on her tea. He thumped her on the back a couple times until she could
speak.

She narrowed her
eyes at him. “Well? Where, by the gods, are they? The land has been overrun
with acolytes. How much ‘darker’ does it need to get for these Twelve to put in
an appearance?”

Silverblade brought
one hand to rest against the tattoo on his own chest and then reached out and
placed his palm against the corresponding one on Beatrice’s.

She looked at
him, her mouth dropping open as her eyes widened with shock. But she soon
regained her composure. “You think we’re members of this Twelve?”

Silverblade
huffed. “Well I certainly hope so. Otherwise, the next most-likely conclusion
is that these marks belong to the acolytes. And if that’s the case, I imagine
we are presently touching our doom.”

“I have always
known I was different. My power too great, always just simmering below the
surface, waiting for me to give in, to show weakness. But even then, I could
not believe myself evil. Until I’m proven absolutely wrong, I will continue to
believe in myself and my magic. What you have told me of the Twelve is actually
a relief. If I am one of them, at least my magic serves the Light—even if it is
terrible to behold. Besides, my Larnkin hates the acolytes with a passion to
match my own. I’m reasonably certain I am not an acolyte’s pawn.”

Silverblade
decided he liked her reasoning, and until he had a chance to meet up with the
elders, get examined in detail, and learn what the mark truly was, he’d choose
to believe as Beatrice did. As unsettling as it would be to be members of the
Twelve, it would be far worse to be on the path to becoming an acolyte.

They sat for a
long time in silence. When the rabbits were finally cooked, he removed them
from the fire and held out one to Beatrice. She chewed distractedly on the
offering with very little appetite. Silverblade could understand. But he forced
himself to eat anyways and after a time, so too did Beatrice.

*****

Long after their
meal was done, they continued to sit and stare at the fire. Beatrice was
content to remain silent. Exhaustion had crept into her body and mind while
they ate. Her lids were already growing heavy but she did not want to sleep,
not with the acolytes out there somewhere still searching for them. She truly
hoped both she and Silverblade were members of this Twelve he mentioned.

If they were,
they would both have a chance to deliver vengeance upon the heads of the
acolytes. Her parents had already waited too long to be avenged. Perhaps in the
coming days, she would have the chance she’d been waiting a lifetime for.

Her magic stirred
then, her Larnkin rousing. Beatrice’s mind was flooded by a warm, eager power
as if the Larnkin was telling her that she wouldn’t have to wait too much
longer after all.

Silverblade
shifted where he sat, at last putting down his cup of tea. “We should rest.
Sleep while we’re able. Tomorrow is going to be a long day and we will have to
keep moving until sunset. We can’t risk resting in the middle of the day and
giving the acolytes a chance to gain ground upon us.”

Beatrice nodded,
seeing the wisdom of his thinking. She unpacked her blanket, thinking to share
it with Silverblade since he had none of his own, but by the time she retrieved
it and turned back to the fire, it was to find he’d already curled up on the
opposite side of the fire. The subtle change of positions was enough to signal
her that while he would keep her with him, he did not consider her one of his
pack. He would rather sleep alone than share a blanket with her.