Rift Read online

  “I yield,” Felix rasped, his head bowed.

  Barrow nodded. He turned to face Hugh, who though bleeding and groaning in pain was still standing in the ring.

  “Do you yield?” Barrow asked him.

  Hugh spat on the ground just short of Barrow’s feet, but he nodded. As Barrow sheathed his sword and turned to leave the ring, Hugh began to laugh. Felix had risen from the dirt, his eyes bulging with outrage. Without a battle cry, Felix lunged at Barrow, bringing his mace around in a high arc so it would smash into Barrow’s skull.

  In a movement eerily similar to Felix’s submission, Barrow pivoted and dropped to one knee, but his hand was moving, sliding his blade from its sheath and slashing the air. He easily met Felix’s swing, but Barrow hadn’t aimed his blow to block Felix’s attack. A shriek pierced the air as Felix’s mace and his forearm dropped to the ground, hewn from his body by Barrow’s sword.

  Felix fell to the ground, still screaming and holding the bloody stump of his arm. Without looking back at the fallen warrior, Barrow left the ring. He didn’t break stride until he stood before Ember. The slight incline upon which she stood put them face-to-face, and she found she couldn’t breathe.

  Ember stared at the tall knight. Every muscle in her body was taut as if she’d been in the ring herself. Her gaze lingered on his arms, his chest, the muscles of his thighs. Ember had seen dozens of men fight in her sixteen years at her father’s estate. She’d never seen anyone move the way Barrow had.

  Though she couldn’t fathom why she would merit such a gesture, Barrow bowed to her.

  “My lady.”

  She was still shaking when he turned to her father and said, “We leave for Tearmunn in an hour.”

  Edmund Morrow, pale with rage, answered. “An hour.”

  TWO

  EMBER WATCHED AS servants carried another chest laden with gowns from the room she’d shared with her sister all of her life.

  “I’m afraid Father has given me some of your dresses,” Ember told Agnes, who was seated beside her at the foot of the bed. “I don’t remember having so many.”

  Agnes laughed and took Ember’s hand. “The dresses are yours. Most of mine have been packed for France.”

  “You shouldn’t have to travel with us,” Ember said, frowning. “Not now. You’ve been ill lately. This journey will do you no good.”

  “I can bear it if it means our parting is delayed.” Agnes offered her sister a weak smile. She paused and then said very quietly, “I envy you.”

  Ember frowned. “Envy me? Sister, I go into an unknown that offers no prospects for marriage or all those things you crave. You’ve been asking me to find a way out of this obligation.”

  “I know I have.” A gentle blush painted Agnes’s cheeks. “And I do fear the place that claims you. But . . . you go with Alistair.”

  “It will be a comfort to have a friend at Tearmunn,” Ember mused. “Perhaps he’ll keep me from making a fool of myself—” She stopped when she noticed the way Agnes was watching her and the way her sister’s eyes were glistening. “Agnes? Are you ill again?”

  Though Agnes had always been the more delicate of the two sisters, lately she’d been subject to fits of weeping without provocation.

  Agnes shook her head, swiping the tears from her cheeks. “I’m well enough.”

  “Don’t envy me,” Ember said, taking her sister’s hand. “For I’m likely to be a scullery maid to these mysterious knights, while you will soon be a countess wrapped in silk and dripping with jewels.”

  Agnes didn’t answer, but kept her eyes downcast. Another tear slid over her pale skin.

  “And you know the Count de La Marche is said to be very handsome,” Ember teased. “You are surely the fortunate sister.”

  “I wish . . . ,” Agnes murmured.

  Ember squeezed Agnes’s fingers. “Do you not wish to go to France? I’ll support you if you want to beg Father to release you from this betrothal.”

  Agnes shook her head, pulling her hand away from Ember’s grasp. Agnes reached up and touched the brooch pinned to her gown.

  “A husband who sends such lovely gifts will no doubt dote on you,” Ember said, hoping to cheer her sister.

  With a soft, choking sob Agnes covered the brooch with her palm, pressing it to her chest. “This gift was not from the count.”

  “Then who—” Ember’s question was cut off by someone clearing his throat.

  Barrow stood just inside the door to the sisters’ room.

  Agnes jumped up and curtsied. She quietly excused herself, hurrying from the room.

  Ember sighed and rose from the bed.

  “I didn’t mean to scare away your sister,” Barrow said as he quickly surveyed the room.

  “You didn’t,” Ember told him. “She hasn’t been well of late.”

  “It’s a shame your father insists that she accompany us.” He frowned. “That anyone but you travel north, in truth.”

  She smiled weakly. “I’m sorry for that.”

  “I came to see if there were more chests,” Barrow told her. “If there are, we’ll need another wagon.”

  “I believe those were the last.” Ember laughed. “And I would be happy enough to accompany you without my family or the chests.”

  Barrow came closer, his gaze curious and intent. Ember stiffened, feeling her pulse quicken with his scrutiny.

  “I believe that,” he said. “And I would have argued about the burden of this caravan he’s put together had I not maimed one of his men.”

  Ember swallowed hard, remembering the blood and the screams as Felix fell to the ground. “That was no fault of your own.”

  In the pause after she spoke, Barrow watched her face, just as he had in the courtyard. Ember’s skin felt warm and her fingers began to shake, but she refused to break his gaze.

  At last he said, “I’m glad you understand that.”

  Barrow sighed, and when he pulled his eyes from hers, Ember was struck by a strange sensation of loss.

  “I’ve come to take my leave, Lady Morrow,” he told her. “Once the caravan is prepared, I’ll travel ahead of your family. We were expected at Tearmunn much sooner than will now be the case. I need to inform the Circle of this delay and of your family’s imminent arrival.”

  The warmth of her blood had vanished. Her hands felt clammy. “You won’t be with us?”

  He turned to face her and seeing the fear in her eyes said, “Lord Hart will be with you to ensure there are no further delays.”

  Ember looked at the floor. She didn’t want to speak ill of Alistair, but she knew her father would see him only as the childhood playmate of his daughters. It was Barrow her father now feared. With the knight absent she wondered if she’d be traveling north at all.

  She drew a startled breath when Barrow’s fingers lightly touched her face, lifting her chin so she would meet his gaze. His blue-gray eyes were hard as steel.

  “You father knows that should he further hamper your arrival, he will lose much more than one man’s sword arm.”

  Barrow’s fingers were barely touching her, but the light contact could have been an iron brand. Ember didn’t dare move nor breathe. All she could think about was the way his hand burned into her skin but with a fire that didn’t cause pain, just an awareness of her flesh and her blood, alive with sensation, like nothing she’d ever known.

  “You’re strong, Lady Morrow,” Barrow said quietly. “I can see it in your face. In the way you carry yourself. No matter how he tries to rule you, your father cannot break you. And soon enough you will be free of him.”

  Her breath came quickly. How had this knight known the hope that had lain hidden in her heart? How could he so easily speak the words she had longed for, but feared? That she was destined for something greater than the life her father planned for her, the life her dear sister was about to begin.

  Barrow stepped back, letting his hand fall to his side, and once again Ember felt a tightness in her chest, a knot of sadness an
d regret.

  He smiled and the knot loosened a bit.

  “We will meet again soon.” After a curt bow, he left Ember alone.

  She closed her eyes, holding fast to his words. You’re strong, Lady Morrow.

  Now, more than ever, she was determined to prove those words true.

  Ember found Agnes with Alistair in the courtyard. The caravan of wagons, mounted warriors, and a char branlant for the three ladies awaited Lord Morrow’s order to depart.

  “You must inform me if you fall ill,” Alistair was saying to Agnes. “We can pause to rest.”

  Agnes smiled but shook her head. “I’ll not keep my sister from her adventure. Though I still can’t understand why she longs for a life in the north.”

  “Where the men are wild and the beasts are monsters?” Alistair laughed.

  “I’ve always wanted to see a fire-breathing sheep,” Ember said drily. “Will we be leaving soon?”

  “Your father is readying his mount,” Alistair told her.

  “It’s a shame you couldn’t stay for a few days,” Agnes said. “You’re so near your own family’s estate yet unable to visit them.”

  “Another time,” he said. “And I’ve had word from them that all is well. My parents oversee their manor as always, though it must be different without us.”

  “And what of your brothers?” Agnes asked.

  “Robert is at court, hopefully not getting into trouble,” Alistair said. “You know what a mess the succession has been. He hopes to gain favor for our family with the king . . . whoever that might be.”

  There was a catch in Agnes’s voice when she asked, “And Henry?”

  Alistair looked away but answered. “Henry is building a new manor in Yorkshire. He and the lady Howard expect to take residence there next summer after they are married.”

  Agnes’s cheeks went slightly gray. She nodded and said, “I think I should prefer to wait in the carriage.”

  “Of course, my lady.” Alistair helped Agnes into the char branlant, then turned to Ember, offering his hand.

  “No.” Ember stepped back. “I don’t want to be shut up in that box until I have to be.”

  Alistair laughed. “I don’t blame you. It’s much more pleasant to ride in the open, particularly given the roads we’ll be taking.”

  “Wonderful,” Ember muttered.

  “But I think you’re about to be put into the box.” Alistair looked over her shoulder. Ember turned to see her father sitting atop his black destrier, barking orders to servants and warriors.

  Her mother emerged from the manor, worried lines creasing her face.

  “I would that this cursed journey be over before it has began,” Ossia murmured as Alistair helped her into the char branlant. “Come, Ember, your father will be cross if you dally.”

  Ember sighed and took Alistair’s hand as she climbed into the carriage.

  THREE

  THE WARRIOR SISTERS were fighting again, but their fury remained a secret between them. Hushed voices belied the tension that boiled in the air of their shared quarters. Still fuming, Eira turned her back on Cian and gazed out the slit of a window that gleamed in the otherwise dreary stone wall.

  Cian looked at her sister’s tight shoulders and sighed. “There’s nothing to be done.”

  “I can’t accept that,” Eira said, not turning around. “And I refuse to believe that your heart rests easily.”

  “Of course it doesn’t,” Cian said. “That doesn’t change our lot. I won’t tire myself trying to draw blood from a stone.”

  Eira whirled, giving her sister a cold smile. “Our adversaries are not stone. And they will bleed.”

  Cian drew a hissing breath. “Hush, sister. Your jest is too costly.”

  “Our sacrifice is too costly.” Eira ran her palms over the heavy brocade of her dress. “Look at this farce.”

  “I think you look lovely.” Cian’s teasing smile earned her a withering stare from Eira. “Italian silks are difficult to come by—you should be grateful for such luxurious gifts from our benefactors.”

  “It is not a gift, it is a costume through which our lies are bought,” Eira said. “I tire of playing the puppet for the abbot and the nobles.”

  “Their visits are rare,” Cian said.

  Eira tugged the lacings of her gown free and then set to work unbuttoning the tight sleeves. “Not rare enough. And each time they appear, they ask for more.”

  Cian pursed her lips as Eira shed her overgown and shimmied out of her kirtle, leaving only a linen chemise. Eira breathed in relief as she traded the cumbersome women’s clothing for sturdy chausses, over which she pulled on the Conatus tabard. The sturdy black wool fell to the middle of her thighs. The embroidered silver compass rose—the symbol of their order—spread the width of her chest, setting off a subtle shimmer against the dark expanse of fabric.

  “I simply wish to be truthful in our affairs,” Eira said as she buckled her belt and reached for her scabbard.

  “The truth could destroy us,” Cian said quietly. “I prefer wearing a dress to burning at the stake. You know the fate of the Templars as well as I.”

  “If we deny who we are, we’ll destroy ourselves,” Eira said. Steel hissed as she drew her sword. The blade gleamed when she held it up to the sliver of pale light. “The Church needs us more than we need them. And we’re far more powerful than the Templars ever were.”

  “But we exist as a legacy of the Templars, and just as quickly we could be condemned as heretics.” Cian let her own gown slide to the floor. “Conatus exists in secret, and therein is a source of our power. The Church and nobles legitimize our existence, helping to keep us hidden. We couldn’t serve the world as we must without their aid.”

  “Couldn’t we?” Eira snorted, gazing at her blade. “Our so-called benefactors spend so much time engrossed in their own conceits, we hardly merit their attention. The Circle cowers when it should command.”

  Cian looked up from belting her own tabard. “Command whom? We are servants of the earth, not kings of it.”

  Eira sheathed her sword, shaking her head. “I’m speaking out of turn. Of course you’re right. We serve the world as we should.”

  “I don’t blame you for being frustrated, Eira,” Cian said. “But we have so much more than many others born to our lot.”

  “You wish me to be grateful that I’m not a swineherd’s wife?” Eira laughed.

  “Or a nun?” Cian smiled.

  “We’re little more than nuns.” Eira’s laughter faded. “We’ve given up as much as any man or woman who’s taken holy vows.”

  “Says she who declares love as nothing more than a fool’s errand,” Cian said, assessing her sister with a sly gaze. “Has a gallant young knight captured your elusive heart? Barrow perhaps? He’s very handsome—though given the way he fights, I’d wager he’s akin to a wild boar in bed.”

  She waited for Eira to throw her a chiding glance and remind her that the men of the Guard were supposedly as chaste as its women, and maybe she’d even laugh, but Eira only scowled.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Love is a fool’s errand, and I’ve no time to worry over which of the Guard are handsome or ugly. I only care how skilled they are with a blade,” Eira said. “But my view of love is shared by few. How many do we lose because of the Church’s edict—men and women alike?”

  “The Church again.” Cian frowned. “I wish you would leave your anger, sister. The edict doesn’t dissuade the Guard from seeking love. Your enemies are elsewhere and much more dangerous than the abbot.”

  “It dissuades women,” Eira said. “We are here only because the plague left us orphans.”

  “And the Church took us in,” Cian continued, raising her eyebrows. “Father Michael saved us and brought us to Conatus.”

  “Father Michael serves God and Conatus. He understands what would happen if we didn’t exist.” Eira glared at her sister. “The abbot only serves his coffers.”

  “And the abbot is not the
Church,” Cian said. “He’s simply a greedy man, though a powerful one.”

  “I know that’s true.” Eira’s shoulders slumped. “Still, I can’t bear much more of him.”

  “But now he’s gone and we can get back to our business,” Cian said. “Come now. We can’t be late for the ceremony.”

  Eira ran her hands through her long copper-colored waves. “I’ll have to leave it down, I suppose.”

  “Yes, you will. We don’t have time to braid our hair,” Cian said, shaking her own unbound strawberry-blond locks. “Just be grateful the nobles haven’t given us those headdresses the Spanish noblewomen currently favor. They’re horrid.”

  Eira shuddered. “I’d sooner wear a net full of live pixies on my head.”

  “That we could arrange.” Cian grinned. “But they’d pull all your hair out.”

  “And then I’d have to wear a headdress,” Eira said with a rueful smile. “I can’t win.”

  “No, sister,” Cian said, glancing over her shoulder as she passed through the doorway. “You probably can’t.”

  Eira hesitated after Cian disappeared into the hall. Her fingers wrapped around her sword’s hilt, its shape familiar and reassuring in her hand. It had been the same for twenty years. From the day she and Cian were called to join the Guard, they’d been asked to disguise themselves. When the nobles or church officials visited the stronghold, they were forced to dress and act as the other women did. Even after they had been invited to join the Circle, they could not exert their authority in the presence of strangers. Instead they followed when they would usually lead, submitted when they would rule.

  Twenty years, Eira thought. It wears thin. There must be another way.

  • • •

  One of the carriage wheels dropped into a deep rut in the mud-slick road, making the vehicle lurch. Agnes gasped and clung to her mother while Ember leaned forward, trying once again to catch a glimpse of the countryside. It wasn’t much of a road they were following, but likely a cattle drovers’ track. Despite the well-built structure of the carriage, the horses labored hard to drag it forward across the rough terrain. Ember braced herself against the door, pressing her face against the small slit where cool, mist-filled air poured in.