And then a strange phenomenon occurred. On stage, Kachien blurred and became Irmina as she used to dance for him in the same fashion. Those times flashed through his head, bringing on a longing he hadn’t experienced in almost two years. He shut his eyes in an attempt to drive away the images. The music picked up in speed, and with it so did the swirl of those old images. Faster and faster they came. He and Irmina together as they once were.
He barely heard the whoops and applause from the crowd or noticed when the music ended. Staggering to his feet, he fled.
Chapter 19
How dare that woman. Irmina stalked from the Whitewater Inn. Even to her, Kachien’s Temtesa had been intoxicating. She had no doubt the woman did the dance on purpose. A stab to remind her of the love she and Ancel once shared, and what Kachien now appeared to own. How could she be so vindictive? What made her think I cared anyway? Irmina quivered, not solely with anger at what Kachien had done, but also because she knew she did care.
She had no other explanation for disguising herself to watch Ancel spar with Ryne on a daily basis. To say he had filled out well would have been an understatement. There was no doubt he maintained a rigorous exercise regimen comparable to the Raijin considering the broadness of his back, his muscled arms, and his chest. She felt her face flush simply by thinking about his body. And the way he moved! It was like watching a mountain lion stalk its prey before striking in a flurry. At times he attacked with such speed she wondered how Ryne managed to dodge every strike, but then, she’d seen Ryne fight also. She still recalled his sessions with Sakari that led her to believe either of them could best a Weaponmaster. Ancel was almost on par.
Irmina strode down the Eldan Road, trying to shake the thoughts from her mind. Occasionally, she reached for where the tiny knot of her strange link to Ancel should have been. Whatever had happened inside, it had disappeared, cut off after it briefly flared. Trying to ignore what it could mean, she let the town occupy her attention.
Despite the torches and lamps, much remained familiar, but the differences stood out. Bigger homes sprouted up in many places. The cobblestoned streets were more crowded than she remembered them being at night with more wagons, drays, and carts trundling along. Even the noises were different. Eldanhill used to be a quieter place with the murmur of people interspersed by the smithies or the stone masons as its heartbeat. Behind it all, if one listened just right, the whir from the windmills and the rush of the Kelvore River was its lifeblood. Somewhere deep in the background would be the Whitewater Falls’ distant roar. Now, the incessant clang of metal on steel or rock played a song of war.
The familiar roads still existed. Thank the gods for that. Tezian Lane, Damal Way, Henden Lane, Amelie’s Avenue, Thanairen Square. How many realized the significance of those names? The last one made her remember Ryne’s identities. Ryne Thanairen Waldron. Nerian the Shadowbearer. How none recognized the man was beyond her, but as she promised Jerem, she would keep his secret. For Ancel’s sake.
An ache pricked at her chest as she recalled the anguish on Ancel’s face when he left the inn. Why was she concerned for him anyway? He made his feelings for her quite plain. The nerve of him to sleep with some other woman in her absence. How dare he? No. She was being ridiculous. You didn’t really expect him not to move on did you? Not after the letter. Gritting her teeth at the conflicting emotions, she kept on walking.
As if her thoughts concerning him weren’t difficult enough, she still needed to decide on how to proceed with the Exalted’s orders. Try as she might, she failed to muster a single reason to take Ancel’s life other than their command. Did Galiana tell her the truth or only tried to manipulate her into thinking differently about the council and the Dorns? Which brought her to another question: what were the chances that the tomes in the Iluminus’ Lower Library were false? Misinformation planted to stir opinions in the Tribunal’s favor. The idea wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility; the Tribunal employed similar tactics with the Devout. Their jobs to preach the advantages of Streamean worship, the Tribunal’s virtues, and the swaying of histories and opinions among the masses worked well for centuries. Tell the right people a certain thing and eventually the word spreads. Guide what you want known carefully, and a lie becomes a fact.
What details did she really know beyond any doubt concerning her parent’s death? She never saw the bodies for herself. She’d been away, visiting Jillian when it all happened. All she had were her parents’ research papers into how the council maintained their longevity and their suspicions concerning the Tribunal. There were the confessions of the men who carried out the act, but then what did that really mean? Could her parents have been what Tae and Galiana claimed? Servants to the shade? The mere thought curdled her insides.
She longed to put down the weight of her doubts, but the hatred she harbored toward the council and the Dorns kept her warm many a night. A part of her wanted to believe they were good people. The seeds Galiana had planted gave her a slight hope, but somehow she feared clinging to its precipitous edge.
Jaw clenching, she barely acknowledged the passersby and their nervous glances, as they hurried from her path, heads bobbing when they muttered her title. Thoughts and choices crowding her, she failed to notice that she’d walked a circle until she found herself back at the inn’s entrance. When she reached the door, she stopped.
A huge, gray-white form lay between the inn and the adjoining building, torchlight playing off its fur. Charra raised his head, tongue lolling, his gaze following her as she entered the establishment. Her heart began to thump with the possibility that Ancel was inside.
Anxious to meet him, she hurried through the foyer. Heart fluttering, a smile touched her lips. Maybe he’d come around after all. Her anger that he slept with Kachien mattered little. She wanted him to know she cared. No. Downplaying what she felt would not do. I love him. There, she’d admitted it. Warmth crept through her with the thought.
Inside the inn, the usual lamps lit the greeting room and the hall beyond, their reddish hue an inviting allure. Her feet feathered the polished floors as she strived not to run like some foolish schoolgirl. When she reached the dining hall, she searched among the patrons. Rolt and the serving girl, Callie, made as if to come to her, but she shook her head. Ancel wasn’t at any of the tables. Crestfallen, she left the room and trudged upstairs.
Lost in thought and the sinking feeling in her chest, she pushed open her room door. She’d had high hopes. A sigh escaped her lips.
“Bellflowers were always your fragrance of choice like my mother.”
She jumped at the sound of Ancel’s voice. Slowly, she turned, telling herself not to show her excitement. If her heart beat any harder, she swore he’d be able to hear it.
He sat on the chair next to the bed, oiled hair a shiny black tinged by the red lamplight. Face clean-shaven, his jaw line appeared much sharper than she recalled, but she loved the profile no less. His eyes were shining emerald pinpoints.
“I never stopped wearing your favorite perfume,” she finally managed. “Even if it meant me going to find the flowers myself, I did so every day.”
“I kept your letter with me for a year,” Ancel said.
Her heart stilled.
“I read it every day.” His voice became hoarse. “I kissed your red lip prints any time I opened it. Several times a day.” He touched the left side of his chest. “I kept it here, in whatever coat I wore, always close to my heart.” His eyes shone with wetness now.