Twenty-three
You, too?” Vivian asked. She felt inexpressibly weary, and it took all of her waning energy to drag herself up onto her feet and face him.
“What happened here?”
“What does it matter to you?”
“All bloodshed in Surmise is my concern.”
“I suppose Gareth sent you to finish what he’d left undone.”
“I do not answer to the Chancellor.”
“Jehenna sent you, then.”
“Nobody sent me.” His scarred face was in shadow, the naked sword red in the light of the terrible moon. “I asked you before. Now I ask you again. What are you?”
“I am a Dreamshifter.”
“What more?” His hand tightened on the sword hilt. He took a step toward her.
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“Are you a shape-shifter as well? Answer me!”
“I don’t know what that is.”
He paused, the sword half-lifted. “Don’t lie to me! You survived the dragon poison. You are marked with scales; your eyes have changed. Tell me what you are doing in Surmise.”
There were no words for this, for the pain at her heart that made it so hard to breathe. If he forced her she would use the Voice on him, but it felt wrong, had felt wrong even to command a man like Gareth. Jehenna controlled people. Maybe she, Vivian, was becoming the evil that she hated.
“I should have killed you when I found you,” the Warlord said.
“Maybe. I couldn’t have stopped you then.”
“And now?”
“I think I could. If I must. Please don’t test me. I swear to you I mean no harm to anyone except her. Jehenna.”
She saw his face go still. “You can speak her name.”
“Jehenna?”
His sword arm trembled, and his voice was tight with contained emotion. “Nobody in Surmise can speak her name. Either you are her creature, or you are stronger than she is.”
There were fresh cuts across his cheeks, still bleeding; the pain in his eyes went soul deep. So much here that she didn’t understand, but one thing she was sure of: Whatever this man was, it wasn’t evil.
“Maybe it’s because I’m not from Surmise.”
“Nobody is from Surmise. Our paths cross here, end here. Beginnings all happen elsewhere.”
“You asked me what I am. I’m trying to figure that out. Again, I swear it—I mean no harm to anybody here. I’m sick about what happened to Duncan. It was wrong.”
“And yet there is blood here—on the grass, the bench.”
Vivian held out the stiletto, flicked the switch to release the blade. “The Chancellor—he wasn’t expecting this.”
A long pause, and then the Warlord’s scarred face contorted into what might have been a smile. “I’m surprised he didn’t kill you on the spot.”
“He was shamed, I think.”
No doubting the smile now, but it faded almost at once. “He will seek revenge. Go back, My Lady, to whatever place you came from. You may be strong, but you cannot win against her.”
“I can’t go back.” Before she could stop herself she blurted it all out. “I am the last of the Dreamshifters. Jehenna has stolen the dreamspheres and is using them for evil. I believe she holds my mother captive here, somewhere. If I walk away, then…” She held her hands out, palms up, out of words and hoping he might understand. Deliberately she avoided mention of the key, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
“A mission, then,” he said. “A sacred trust.”
“Yes.”
“A thing you are prepared to die for?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
“I can’t protect you from her. I will help you where I can, but I cannot act against her.”
“I understand.”
She flinched as his voice lashed out. “How could you possibly understand? I hate the dragons with every drop of my life’s blood but can’t raise my sword against them. Atrocities of injustice day after day. My men, brave men like Duncan, dying for doing what is right. And I stand by and can do nothing.” He was breathing hard, his face twisted with emotion. “I lack the courage to die, to end my role in this once and for all—”
Vivian forgot that he was the Warlord. Forgot the scars and the sword and the power he wielded here. She placed her hands on either side of his face, looking up into the eyes that belonged to him, but also to Zee.
“You are an honorable man. A good man.”
A tremor ran through him and he pulled away from her touch as though it burned him. His chest heaved. “No woman has touched me in years. They shudder and run when they see me. They fear me. Even you—”
“Because your eyes are the eyes of a man I know, but your face is so changed.”
“I don’t disgust you, then?”
“You have the most beautiful eyes in all the worlds,” she whispered. “I believe you have the soul to match.”
He shook his head. “It’s a dark thing, my soul.”
“I don’t believe that is true.” They stood, not quite touching. His big hand grazed her bruised cheek, ever so gently, and then cupped her chin, lifting it so he could scrutinize her face.
Vivian’s heart hammered so loudly she was certain he could hear it; her knees trembled.
“I have dreamed you,” he said at last. “Night after night, for as long as I can remember.”
Vivian tried to find the words to tell him that she had not only dreamed him, that she had met him in another world, another time, but her lips refused to move.
His head bent toward her, his eyes on her lips, and she closed her own eyes in expectation. A slight pressure warm against her hair, and then cool air where the warmth of his hand had been. She opened her eyes to see him walking away.
He bent and lifted Poe’s body in his arms. “Come.”
“Where?”
“Back to your room. In the castle.”
“I—”
“There’s nowhere safe for you in this kingdom,” he said. “But I believe the safest place will be in that room, with two of my guards at the door.”
No grabbing, clutching hands; no demanding. He only stood looking at her, the dead penguin cradled in his arms. Vivian went with him. In silence, they walked toward the castle. When they reached the oak tree, Zee stopped and laid Poe gently down in the grass.
“Wait,” he said.
She watched as he sliced through the ropes that held the swinging bodies; they hit the earth with a heavy thud, first one, then the other. Vivian shuddered and swallowed back a wave of nausea. Zee bent and straightened the crumpled limbs, folded their hands over their breasts. It was too late to close the eyes, and they stared blankly up at the merciless moon.
The Warlord placed the penguin beside the fallen men. “I will see that he is buried, with honor.”
“Thank you.” Tears tracked her cheeks for the first time in this long and difficult day.
“Now,” he said, “about the key.”
Vivian had been beginning to relax a little, to feel safer, sheltered, in his presence. She sucked in a breath, backed away from him, flicked open the blade of what now seemed a pitiful little knife.
His expression was unreadable, but he stood still, did not reach for his sword or come after her. “I’m not going to take it from you,” he said. “But she has enlisted many to look for it. It is dangerous for you to carry it so.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“I could carry it for you.”
“I don’t—” She heard the tremble in her voice, stopped and steadied herself before going on. “I don’t even know what it’s for.”
“Nothing good,” was all he said. “Do you wish me to carry it?”
The temptation was great, but it came down to this—all Jehenna need do to take the key from the Warlord was to command it. Vivian could, at least, resist the Voice. Reluctant, feeling the weight of responsibility heavy on her shoulders, she shook her head. “I need to carry it myself. To destroy it if I can.”
He nodded, as though this answer came as no surprise. “Come—you are cold and weary. Let me take you back to your room. And then I will come back and tend to these.”