Blackthorne Read online

  Where did he come from? Did he leave a family behind? What drove him here? Why does he stay when it’s clear he isn’t welcome? She was certain a forbidden love tryst with a kainen was to blame. It was a romantic notion, admittedly, but the only one that came to mind. He was handsome for an Acrasian. Studying him now, she noticed something out of place. It was subtle, and if she hadn’t been so close, she’d have missed it.

  He gave her a sideways glance.

  Suddenly, she remembered Grandmother Sophia’s white-handled knife and slipped it into the leather sheath she kept at her waist. “This is a good place to think, then.” She inwardly cursed the tremor in her voice. Her nerves weren’t helping her conversation skills.

  He nodded, again intent on the river.

  She struggled to find words that would provide a legitimate path behind his barriers. At the same time, she felt guilty for wanting it so much. I love Nels. That was true, but there was something about Blackthorne. Temptation nearly overcame her propriety. One touch, and the privacy of his skull wouldn’t be so private. She had that power. However, she’d made that mistake before, and it’d ruined everything. She wasn’t about to do it again.

  For a long time, there was only the gentle rush of the wind through dying leaves. Then Blackthorne ventured nine more syllables.

  “You are the healer, Miss Korpela.” Anxiety flashed across his face.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t introduce myself, did I?” The thrill of his recognition gave her heart another flutter. “Yes, I’m Ilta Korpela. You can call me Ilta.”

  Didn’t you discuss the idea of seeing other people with Nels? I didn’t really mean it, did I? She bit her lip.

  He stretched. His body was long and slender. And for an instant, her hands twitched to touch him. Ilta Korpela, what is the matter with you?

  “May I inquire how long you have known Mr. Slate?” he asked.

  She blinked. “About two years.” She requested to sit beside him with a motion.

  He got up, unfolded the blanket, and made room for her.

  “I found him during a winter storm. He’d been tracking a reindeer and had gotten caught out. He was lost and couldn’t find his way back to camp. Did you know he used to hunt?”

  Blackthorne shook his head.

  “This was before he started having problems with his eyesight, you see,” she said.

  He nodded.

  Ilta smiled, pleased at how well things were going. “He visited once or twice afterward. Then one day, he brought Katrin to me. To keep her safe.”

  “Is Katrin his daughter?”

  Nodding, Ilta said, “Adopted. She was an orphan living on the street in Novus Salernum. He caught her stealing a man’s handkerchief.”

  “She was a street harvester?”

  ““Is that what they call it?” Ilta asked. “After that, James approached me with the idea of bringing others. That’s when I spoke to Suvi and Nels. James has this dream of building a new republic from Eledore’s ashes.” She shrugged. “It wasn’t too far off from Suvi’s plans. So, the Hold was born. I’m beginning to think James intends to transport refugees here one at a time, until no one’s left in Acrasia except the Emperor and his cronies.”

  She allowed herself another smile, feeling more confident. Her palms had quit sweating, and her stomach had stopped its fluttering. “How did you meet James?”

  “Three freebooters seeking membership in the Syndicate attempted to rob him outside an alehouse. The Green Dragon, I believe it was,” Blackthorne said. “I convinced them to find an easier target.”

  “Lost in a winter storm and then attacked outside an alehouse? Who’d have thought James so feckless?” When Blackthorne didn’t laugh, she felt her cheeks grow warm. She fought to find a worthy change of subject and failed. Goddess, I’m terrible at this.

  Once again, the sound of the trees swaying in the breeze and the flow of river water were the only things to pierce the silence. It became increasingly clear that if she didn’t say anything, he wasn’t. She had so many questions but didn’t know how to phrase them in a way that wouldn’t cause offense.

  She took a chance. “Why did you retire from the Brotherhood?”

  Her heart stopped when she felt him blink up internal barriers and then turn away. “No one retires,” he said. His tone held an edge of bitterness. “I was decommissioned.”

  “Decommissioned?”

  “Dishonorably discharged.”

  The emotions behind his answer made Ilta uneasy. She had assumed he hadn’t enjoyed being a Warden—that he’d left of his own volition. His hand strayed to his hair, and suddenly she knew his formal demeanor for what it was. Her eyesight blurred again and a mix of feelings invaded her thoughts. Shame? Despair? Anger? A secret lurked close to the surface. So close. She didn’t want to press. She couldn’t, but it was so difficult to resist the urge. “You went to an alehouse after being decommissioned? To drink away your grief?”

  “No. The Green Dragon was later. Before being decommissioned I was arrested, and sent for treatment at the Reclamation Hospital.”

  “Wait. Were you injured or ill?”

  He frowned. “The Reclamation Hospital is where they send you to be retrained, if you can be. If you can’t, you are killed.”

  Again, she blinked. “I don’t understand. You were retrained? But … how did you get to the alehouse?”

  He reached for a stone and threw it violently at the river with an intent she knew wasn’t meant for the water. The accompanying thought pierced her head with red-hot hate, and she winced. Coward! “I escaped before I could be executed.”

  “Oh.” Shaken, she focused on breathing until his emotions dissipated. She said, “I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to have pried.”

  He took a slow, measured breath. Words muffled by strong emotions drifted to the surface of his mind with the feel of a long-practiced ritual. Again, it reminded her of a prayer. With that, his demeanor resumed its former placidity.

  “I should go.” She slid off the rock and retrieved her willow cuttings. “I must collect what I can before it gets dark.”

  “You would go alone? Aren’t you afraid?”

  “It’s daylight.”

  “What of wild animals?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I lived alone on this mountain long before the rest of you came here.” She didn’t tell him that it was only for a few months and that she’d been terrified the entire time. “I can protect myself.”

  “I apologize. I didn’t mean to imply you were defenseless.”

  Ilta felt her mouth relax from its tight frown. “I’m sorry. It’s a sore subject. All beings harbor the capacity for good and evil. Some people seem to believe that healers are the exception. As if healing powers couldn’t have a negative application. No one is pure—”

  She saw the word trigger another negative reaction behind his eyes and regretted her word choice at once. “—not even pure evil.” It was a gift to him, her guilt. She wanted to show him that he wasn’t the only one to have done wrong, but then she spied the horror as it flashed across his face. It struck her as odd until she remembered Acrasian superstitions regarding magic. How can he have lived this long among us and not understand?

  She caught another glimpse of his despair and loneliness. Her heart went out to him. “I should get back to what I was doing.” She still didn’t move. “My work would go much quicker if I had help. Would you like to come along?”

  A hint of mild surprise touched his brows. “If you wish.”

  She made her way back to the shore with him tagging her. Using stones in the rushing water to cross, she glanced back and found herself drinking in the way he moved—graceful, powerful—the set of his shoulders revealed by the ridiculously tight rag of a coat.

  Why am I so attracted to him? She still loved Nels with all her heart. She was as sure of that as she was of the ground beneath her, but she’d been feeling anxious of late. They had reached a point in their relationship where she needed to make
an important choice—whether or not to bed him, and she didn’t know what to do. She was terrified of losing herself in Nels. It’d happened before. Ever since that day, Nels had been so patient and kind and careful, but the truth was, she didn’t know if she could ever bed him, no matter how much she wanted it. What if I go mad? Is the problem Nels? Did that happen because we’re so close? What if I can’t have sex with anyone?

  She forced herself back to the present.

  Blackthorne is alone and hurting; that’s all this is. I’m a healer. Helping those in pain is what I do. For the most part, he gave off a quiet calm. Steadiness. She had to concentrate to pick up much else. It was part of why his emotions hit her so hard when they did surface.

  Pointing at a tree with rough bark, she said, “Wild cherry.”

  His eyes never left her face. “Black choke.”

  Surprised, she smiled again. “That’s one of its names. When soaked in alcohol and combined with honey, young thin bark makes a syrup that is used to suppress coughs. It has other uses as well. But you must be careful when harvesting wild cherry bark. The sap is poisonous.”

  Blackthorne recited, “One of the main ingredients of The Hagg’s Kiss. Causes drowsiness, difficulty breathing, staggering, convulsions, and death. Results can be rapid but dependent upon dosage. Preferred method of administration: ingestion. However, it may be applied to blades and used—”

  She gasped. Warden. Murderer.

  Do I honestly have any room to judge him? How many died because of my actions?

  But does he regret what he did?

  Standing close, she caught the pleasant scent of him—leather, wool, and a hint of what she could’ve sworn was Eledorean funerary incense. That’s not possible, she thought. Its main components were frankincense, amber, and myrrh. All hailed from distant Tahmer. None of which were easily acquired, not any longer. She brushed aside her thoughts and focused on locating a suitable tree. Like willow, wild cherry was more potent in the spring. However, willow and cherry could be harvested anytime, which was good, given their usefulness. They also didn’t store well for long periods of time.

  She selected a branch, whispered her gratitude to it in Eledorean, and began paring.

  “What did you say?” he asked.

  “I thanked the plant for its gift.”

  “Why?” He seemed genuinely curious.

  “Grandmother Saara taught me that it takes away negativity from the process,” Ilta said. “If you’re going to create a potion to heal, the ingredients should be as free of harmful intent as they can. Anyway, it’s the least one can do before hacking away at another life.”

  He frowned. “But it didn’t give anything. You took it.”

  Ilta smiled at his literal-mindedness. “I prefer to think of it as a gift out of respect for the plant.”

  “Is it respectful to take from that which can’t speak for itself?”

  She blinked. It was obvious he felt strongly, but it made no sense. They were talking about plant life, not people. “Do you eat food? Drink water?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you have these same objections when you do? I’m curious.”

  “Of course not,” he said. “But I am not the one claiming to be respectful to them.”

  “I see,” she said. Her lips clamped down on a hurtful retort, and she took a slow, deep breath to get control of roiling emotions. When she was calm again, it was easy to see that Blackthorne wanted to ask a question but was now hesitant. “Yes?”

  “Is this an elph—a kainen practice?”

  “Really?”

  “I’m sorry.” His face darkened with embarrassment.

  “Nels would be more than happy to beat you for a slip like that.” She took a long breath to calm herself again. He was Acrasian, after all, and it was clear he was trying to overcome his prejudices. James himself fell prey to the stray ill-considered Acrasian word. Thinking back on her initial discomfort about being attracted to Blackthorne, she had to admit she had her own prejudices. All are one. It was difficult to root out negative ideas when they were so ingrained in language and custom. “Never mind. What did you want to ask?”

  “Forget it.”

  She tried one more time. Be patient. Healing happens through knowledge. “I won’t let this go until you answer me. I’m very stubborn that way. Just ask—” She’d started to say Just ask Nels but reconsidered. “Ask anyone. What was it you wanted to know?”

  He hesitated. “This talking to plants before harvesting them? This is a kainen practice?”

  “It was an old Eledorean custom among healers.” She attempted to make a distinction between kainen as a race and Eledorean as a culture. Surely, he knows the difference. “But almost no one remembers it. Especially not now.” Feeling awkward, she plunged onward. “Ytlain, Kaledan, Marren—all have their own beliefs and practices regarding the healing arts. But I’m not familiar with them. Gran was my teacher, and she was an Eledorean Traditionalist.”

  “Can you tell me more about kainen? Do you know anything of—of the people of Marren?”

  She lost control of herself. “Didn’t you make enough of a study as a Warden?”

  A frustrated line reappeared between his brows, and he turned away. “That was different. They taught us … We never learned… .” He frowned again in consternation, but almost as soon as the emotion registered on his face, it vanished. “It was unthinkably offensive of me to ask such things. I beg your pardon.”

  For an instant, the barriers he so carefully maintained slipped. She glimpsed him as he saw himself—shaded with swirling black and red—barely contained self-loathing, rage, and despair. The image vanished right after it was revealed. Not steadiness. Not quiet, she thought. Blank. He keeps himself blank to hide what he is.

  Sudden knowledge loosened her grip on Gran’s knife. She caught it with her other hand before it hit the ground. “You’re kainen.”

  His face went grey, and panicked, he scanned the riverbank for witnesses. “You’re mistaken.”

  “How can it be?” She bit her lip again. “I’ve seen you a hundred times and would never have guessed.” She put out a hand to touch him.

  He stepped out of reach at once. “You are mistaken. Wardens are not in the habit of accepting elpharmaceutria within their ranks. Such an abomination would be killed the instant it was discovered.”

  It? Warden. Oh, goddess, he was a Warden. “How could you? How could you murder your own kind?”

  His hand shook as he pushed hair from his eyes. Blushing even more fiercely, he stared at the ground. “I must insist—”

  “You murdered them. And willingly. You actually miss it!” I must tell Suvi or James. Someone must know.

  “I don’t! I—”

  Her foot slipped. He caught her by the elbow before she could fall.

  “Don’t touch me!” She jerked from his grip and backed away, pointing Gran’s knife at him. It wasn’t intended for fighting. The blade had been consecrated. She could use magic but didn’t have a soldier’s training, and using magic offensively meant dropping one’s emotional defences. She couldn’t count on having the discipline to avoid incapacitating herself with whatever pain she inflicted. I’m a fool.

  Blackthorne leaped toward her. “Wait,” he said. “Please.”

  That’s why he keeps himself apart. He didn’t want me to know. He doesn’t want any of us to know. “You should never have been allowed to stay here. Get away from me!” Again, she brandished Gran’s knife at him. When he didn’t heed the warning, she brought it down in an angry arc that slashed his coat and pared away one of the buttons. He moved back, then he lost his purchase on slick stone and stumbled into the near-freezing water with a loud splash. She didn’t wait but took the opportunity to run. Before she’d gotten three steps, he had captured her elbow again.

  He’s too strong—too fast. If I don’t do something, he’s going to kill me. Even if she screamed, Birch would be too late. With no other option, she slapped a hand on Blac
kthorne’s face. Her palm became engulfed in a warm tingle before his essence flowed through her in an overwhelming surge of raw intimacy.

  He wrenched away as if burned. His expression filled with sickened horror before he dropped to his knees, choking.

  Oh, Goddess, I didn’t think I hit him that hard. I didn’t want to kill him. She moved to return the energy she had siphoned.

  He gagged once more and shook his head. “Wait. No more. Please. I won’t hurt you. I—I merely wanted to … Slate knows.”

  “What?” She gaped as his words registered.

  With obvious effort, he straightened and put both hands up in surrender. When she made no move to run or attack, he slumped and let his hands fall. Then he sat on the riverbank with his back against the wild cherry tree. Wet hair fell into his face, hiding his eyes. He shivered. “I told him before he brought me here.”

  “How? How did you do it? Why?”

  He took a shaky breath and then wiped his mouth with a soggy sleeve. Again, she sensed ritualized verses in his mind. He seemed to gain control over his stomach, and she saw him glance at the top of the ridge. “I’ll tell you, but you must promise not to say anything to the others.”

  “I won’t promise any such thing.” She wanted to run but knew she couldn’t bring herself to use magic against him again. She might kill him, and she couldn’t break her Healer’s vow. On the other hand, if she didn’t, she’d never reach the top of the ravine alive. It was then that it came to her that after all her bravado about being able to take care of herself, she simply didn’t have the courage to kill him. Is “courage” the right word?

  “Slate—they’ll never trust him again.”

  “Perhaps that’s for the best.” She didn’t mean it. She knew they needed James Slate, but she was angry.

  Blackthorne’s clothes were soaked, and he was shivering. She decided not to care.

  “And after? Will the others live as they do now? Or will they regard each other with suspicion?” He sighed. There was bitterness in his words. “What happened to accepting any who come here, regardless of their past?”