Текст книги "Stars of Fortune"

Автор книги: Nora Roberts

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Apollo first.” Still wearing only Doyle’s coat, Riley sat on the floor, the dog’s head in her lap.

“I’ll need some things,” Bran began. “I have healing supplies in my room.”

“I’ve got a non-magickal first-aid kit in mine, if it helps.”

“I’ll get that as well. We’ll want plenty of towels, but for now let the wounds bleed.”

When Bran strode out, everyone began talking at once. Sasha actually felt the words beat like little hammer blows on her temple.

“Talk later,” she snapped, surprising everyone into silence. “Doyle, towels. Sawyer, put Annika on the table.” As she whipped out orders, she snatched the fruit bowl off the table, then pulled the largest pot out of a cupboard. After she turned on the faucet to fill it, she shoved her hands at her hair, turned.

“Ah, Sawyer, get Apollo’s water bowl and a couple of his dog biscuits. If Bran has to medicate him, it should go down easier that way.”

“Check you out, Captain Sasha,” Riley commented.

“I’m winging it.” She grabbed some towels from Doyle, folded some under Annika’s leg to elevate it. And thought, Thank God, when Bran strode back.

He nodded when she put the pot of water on to boil. “Good thinking. But let’s speed it up.” At his gesture, the water bubbled. “Ten drops each, these three bottles. In this order,” he told Sasha. “Brown, blue, red. Ten exactly. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

He knelt by the dog. “Keep him quiet and still,” he told Riley, and ran his hands over Apollo. “I need to clean his wounds first, counteract any poisons. How did he get out?”

“Busted right through the window of my room. We’re going to have to fix that,” Riley added with a weak smile. “Don’t want to lose our security deposit.”

He gave her arm a pat. “Sasha, are you done there?”

“Yes, ten exactly. Brown, blue, red.”

“Step back from the pot now.”

He held out a hand toward the pot, and his gaze fixed on it. On his murmured incantation, light spewed up from the bubbling water, burst, then circled back down, as liquid circles down a drain.

“One of the large, clear bottles now. Hold it out. Don’t worry. I won’t miss.”

His brew arced out of the pot, arrowed into the bottle.

“And the next,” he told her, and repeated the process.

“Give one to Sawyer. You’ll need to pour it, slowly now, over that gash on her leg. You’ll know it’s done when the blood runs clear. It’s going to hurt some, darling,” he told Annika.

“Let me do that.” Doyle took the bottle from Sasha. “Why don’t you hang on to him.”

With a nod, Annika turned her face into Sawyer’s chest.

“Bring me that one, Sasha. Between the two of you, you can keep the dog still and calm.”

As he worked, Sasha felt Apollo’s pain, like a slow burn, and his fear of it. He quivered under her hands, turned his head to lap, lap, lap at Riley as if begging her to make it stop.

She felt Annika’s pain, that shocking rise of heat, a thin line of fire.

She felt Sawyer’s barely suppressed rage, Doyle’s cold control, Riley’s struggle with tears. And Bran’s utter focus.

She felt them all, crowding her, the pain, the grief, the purpose, in a tumult of emotions. She wanted to turn away from them, close off from them. Then Bran’s hand brushed hers.

“Nearly done,” he said quietly. “Nearly there. Can you hold on?”

She nodded. Tears spilled out—Riley’s tears, she realized, and felt them run down her own cheeks.

“A second time, Doyle. It won’t be as bad now. Cooler now. There now, it’s cooler, cleaner. What burns washes away, what blackens spills out in light.

“I don’t want to stop, Sasha, but I’ll need the bottle—the one you brought me when I needed it. Four drops in water for Annika, then just the bottle here for Apollo. All right?”

She did as he asked, urged the mixture on Annika. “Drink it all now. It’s the salve next, isn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

At Bran’s nod, she took the salve out of Bran’s box, handed it to Sawyer. “I’ll need it for Apollo when you’re done. How many drops for Apollo? I can put them in his water bowl.”

“Another four. See that he drinks it all, Riley, then coat his wounds with the salve. He’s going to sleep,” he added. “And sleeping, he’ll heal.”

He rose then, moved to Annika. “That’s good. See, already healing. Now, where else did they hurt you, darling?”

Once he’d treated her, he turned to Sasha. “And you. Let’s have a look at you.”

“Some scratches. Just scratches. It was the knife, wasn’t it? The knife you gave me.”

“I’m pleased it worked. I couldn’t be sure,” he said as he lifted her arm, began to treat the scratches running down from her shoulder.

“Sawyer has worse. But you.” She looked at Doyle. “You don’t have any wounds.”

“Just lucky, I guess.”

No, she thought, there were still secrets here.

“Riley’s are healing on their own.”

“Wounds inflicted when I’m in wolf form heal fast. One of the perks.” Since Apollo slept, she rose. “I know you all have questions, but I need to eat something. The change is like running a marathon at sprint speed; add on the rest, and I’m feeling a little shaky.”

“I’d say the questions, as there’ll be many, can wait until we’ve all cleaned up. Where’s the worst of it, Sawyer?” Bran asked him.

“My back.”

Riley yanked open the fridge, grabbed a jar of olives as it came first to hand. “I’m going to catch a quick shower, put some clothes on.”

By the time they’d mopped up blood, set the kitchen to rights, and Sasha got a shower of her own, she was starving herself.

She came down to find Riley and Bran putting breakfast together.

“Figured this way I can eat as it cooks.”

“Your color’s coming back.” Sasha went straight to the coffee.

“Once I filled the hole. Listen, I’m sorry. You’re peeved, and I get it, so I’m sorry.”

Sasha only nodded, and took her coffee outside.

“You make friends easily, don’t you?” Bran said as he piled the last of the mountain of eggs on the platter.

“I guess.”

“She’s hasn’t, until you.”

“Hell.”

“Take that out; I’ll bring the rest. You can explain things while we eat.”

Since she wasn’t at all sure how to explain, Riley filled her plate, shoveled in food until the last of the hunger pangs eased. “Maybe you should just ask questions, give me a kind of running start into it.”

“Were you bitten?” Sawyer asked her.

“No. It’s hereditary.”

“You come from a family of were– Of lycans?”

“That’s right. Let me say right off, we don’t eat people. We don’t bite them, we don’t eat them. Not that there aren’t some rogues out there, but my pack—my family—doesn’t hunt, doesn’t kill. And we’re not interested in making more lycans through infection. We make them the old-fashioned way. We mate.”

“Do you mate with humans?” Annika wondered.

“You fall for who you fall for, right? So yeah, it happens.”

“Can there be children?”

“Sure. Fifty-fifty on lycan traits, so all kids are trained for the change. Initial transformation hits in puberty—as if puberty didn’t whack you out enough. Big ceremony, gifts, celebration. Every kid takes an oath, not to hunt, not to kill, not to infect.”

“Any ever break the oath?”

She looked over at Doyle. “Sure. And those who do are punished or banished, depending on the crime and circumstances. We’re pack animals.” She looked down to where Apollo dozed peacefully beside her chair. “Banishment is the worst—worse than execution. We’re civilized, okay? We have rules, a code. Three nights a month—”

“Night before the full moon,” Sawyer filled in. “Night of, night after.”

“Yeah, three nights—except in the event of a blue moon, then we get six—we transform, sundown to sunup. During that time, we fast.”

“And you transforming like you did. Jesus Christ, Riley, I could’ve shot you.” Sawyer jabbed a finger at her. “I nearly did.”

“Unless you loaded with silver bullets, it wouldn’t have done much harm.”

His expression changed—reluctant delight. “That’s real? Silver bullets?”

“Silver bullets, silver blade. It’s going to hurt to get shot or cut otherwise, but it’s not going to be fatal.”

“You left us.” Sasha spoke quietly. “Rather than trust us, you lied, and you left.”

“I didn’t go far, and I came as soon as I realized what was happening. I couldn’t risk staying here. Apollo would have sensed the change coming, for one thing. He’d have smelled the wolf on me. And even if I’d locked myself in my room, what if one of you had gotten in?”

“What if you’d just told us the truth?” Sasha countered. “The way I told you the truth? Bran held back at first, and you know how upsetting that was. We’ve been together day and night for a week now, we fought together. Twice now. If you could’ve gotten clear before sunrise this morning, you would have.”

“I’d have tried,” Riley agreed. “I don’t think it would’ve done much good. You knew. You knew before I changed back. That weighs on my side of it. It’s part of the oath, Sash. A sacred oath I took at twelve. We don’t reveal ourselves, not without permission from the Council of Laws.”

“If you do?” Bran asked.

“The punishment, first offense? You’re locked up for three cycles, no contact. It may not sound like much, but to be chained in wolf form? It’s pretty awful. Added to it is the loss of honor and trust.”

“An oath is a holy thing,” Annika stated.

“Yeah, it is. It’s a little late for it, but I applied for permission three days ago. It’s politics, so there has to be a lot of discussion and debate. I figured I’d get it, considering what we’re doing, but it was going to take a couple weeks to wind its way through the system.”

Annika reached out. “Will they punish you?”

“Not likely. I’d applied, and I only broke faith because we were attacked. There are a couple council members who lean pretty hard conservative, but it’s going to balance out. At worst, they’ll postpone sentencing, and if we find the stars, it’s going to be pretty hard for them to lock up the one who helped find them. Either way, I’ll deal with it.”

“You asked for permission to tell us,” Sasha repeated.

“It’s a process, believe me. We wouldn’t have survived as a species if we didn’t hold what is secret and sacred. So sharing what we are needs the process, and more requests are denied than granted. But we’re different, and what we’re doing is a heavy weight. I’d have had permission before my next cycle. I’d have made sure of it, but there wasn’t enough time before this one.”

“An oath is a holy thing. I’ll accept that.”

“You’re still pissed.”

“I’ll get over it. We needed you last night. You came, fought.”

“And we kicked some ass,” Sawyer put in.

“Too easy.” Doyle let the words drop, continued eating.

“Easy?” Sawyer scowled down the table. “You call that easy?”

“Only one of us—and the dog—with serious injuries, and we beat them back in about twenty minutes.” He glanced down at Bran. “You know it, too.”

“A test, to see what we have, what we’d do. She’ll come harder next time. I’m thinking on it.”

“You’re thinking on it,” Sasha muttered, and shoved up from the table. “Teamwork. We make placating noises about being a team, but we’re not. We fought last night, but not really as a unit. You gave me a knife that had some sort of protection, but didn’t really explain it.”

“I couldn’t be sure it would hold,” Bran began.

“You didn’t tell me,” she repeated. “You didn’t tell us what you were doing with the light. You didn’t tell us you had power until you had to. Just as Riley didn’t tell us what she has. Good reasons for it, of course. Always good reasons. I’m sure the rest of you have good reasons for the secrets you’re holding. So keep them, that’s your choice. But I know we don’t have a chance in hell of winning this until we are a unit.

“So make up your minds, because the next time, those secrets may be the reason she burns right through us.”

She strode away, up the terrace steps, and shut the doors to her room with a decisive click to give herself what she’d always sought.

Quiet and solitude.

She slept. She’d fought a war, treated the wounded, cleaned up blood, and topped off the morning snarling at her “team.”

So she slept, and woke feeling more rested—and just as annoyed.

If there were plans to go out diving later, she thought, they’d just have to do without her. She intended to take a walk on the beach, do some sketching, and some hard thinking.

She put what she wanted in a tote, stepped outside. Bran stepped out on the terrace seconds after.

“I’m going for a walk,” she told him.

“I need to do the same, to gather more supplies. Would you go with me, help me with that?” He stepped toward her. “And if you could give me some time after, I’d show you how to prepare some of the ingredients. It would be a help to me.”

“Why? You’ve done fine on your own.”

“I have, and can. I’d do better with your help. You were right, everything you said. I can’t speak for the others, but I can promise you, no more secrets between us. It wasn’t trust so much, Sasha, as habit. Now I’m asking for your help, and doing what I can to get used to the asking.”

“Then it would be bitchy to refuse. I feel like I used up my daily quota of bitchy.”

“You used it well. I need a pouch and a couple of tools.”

He came back with a pouch slung over his shoulder, and the knife he’d given her before, this time in a rough leather sheath.

“I should have told you how I’d empowered it.” He snapped it on her belt. “I’ll tell you now, if she sends a different sort of attack, I can’t know if it will hold up the same.”

“If and when, we’ll find out.”

He took her hand as they started down. “You’re not afraid.”

“There’s part of me, inside, still terrified. That part wanted to cut and run screaming this morning. I’m not sure what part of me refuses to do that—but I’m trying to get used to it. Where’s everyone else?”

“Riley’s sleeping. She got little to none last night, and I think, despite the bravado, she’s worried about the ruling of this council of hers.”

“If they rule to punish her for fighting with us, they’ll have to get through us to do it.”

“And listen to you. So fierce.”

“It’s a waste of time to be mad at her, though I still am, a little. I know about having secrets, but—”

“You shared yours with her, with me. And we held back.”

“And I understand why. It still stings, but I understand.”

“It might help if I tell you when you left the table Sawyer looked thoughtful and troubled. If there’s more to him and his compass, he’s struggling over whether to tell us or not. Annika? There’s something deep there.”

“I know she’ll give us everything she can. Doyle . . .”

“Ah, Doyle. Whatever he holds, he’ll hold tight until he’s damn good and ready to loosen it. But I trust him.”

“Why?”

“He’s a warrior at the base, isn’t he? He’ll fight with his last breath, and defend those who fight beside him. And that includes a dog. He carried Apollo from the field.”

“All right.” She sighed. “All right, that’s a good reason. For now. What are we looking for out here?”

“Certain plants, roots. We’ll harvest herbs on the way back. Bones would be good if I can find them.”

“Bones?”

“Bird, lizard, small mammals. Natural things that can be used for my purposes. I’ll have to send for some of the more complex ingredients, or things that don’t grow here, but we can increase my supplies. Here, these poppies to start.”

He showed her how to harvest plants, roots, leaves. When he identified something unfamiliar to her, she sketched it.

Back at the villa he taught her how to use the mortar and pestle, how to jar and label.

“It’s not all a snap of the fingers or flick of the wrist.” She noted down the steps for distilling poppy in her sketchbook.

“Power should come from work, time, effort. Care,” he added. “As the most important things do. I’m used to doing this sort of thing on my own,” he admitted. “Or with another magician. But you’re a quick study, and what you can do here saves some of that time.”

“It matters to me.”

“I see it does.”

“You could show me more. The medicines especially. You and Doyle both think this last attack was a test, and the next will be worse.”

“I do.” He held a hand over a small, bubbling cauldron, gauging its progress.

“I can feel the wounds, if I let myself. But I don’t know how to use what you make to treat them. Or not enough.”

“I need to learn more myself, as this has never been my area. We’ll work on it.” Through the thin haze of smoke, he looked at her. “Together.”

He gave her a book on the healing arts. She decided to take an hour by the pool to study it, at least acquaint herself with the basics.

She made notes of her own on using comfrey for burns, milk thistle for sprains. How to prepare echinacea for its many uses. She glanced up when she saw Doyle some distance away on the lawn, apparently making something out of . . . canvas or burlap.

Alone, of course, she thought with a twinge of resentment.

She spotted Riley cresting the little rise, coming toward the pool carrying two wide-mouthed glasses filled with icy liquid.

“Magnificent Margaritas,” Riley said, and held one out.

“Thanks.”

“Still mad?”

Sasha took a sip—it was pretty magnificent. “I’m tired of being mad.”

“Then I’m sitting down. Heavy reading,” she added with a glance at the thick book with its carved leather binding.

“I’m going to learn how to help Bran treat injuries.”

“You did a lot of that this morning, without the book. I didn’t handle myself very well,” Riley continued. “Changing in front of an audience—and I was a little racked up initially. And Apollo . . .”

“Where is he?”

“He went down to the beach with Annika. He’s fine. Like nothing happened.”

“And you?”

“Like I said, if I’m injured as the wolf, I heal fast, even after the change. Look, I get a lie of omission is still a lie, but—”

“You took an oath.”

“I took one to you, too.”

There it was, Sasha thought. And the rest of her anger cooled knowing her friend understood.

“Yeah, you did. And now that I’m tired of being mad, I can see you’d taken steps to keep both, and quickly. It seems like forever, Riley, and it’s been days. Just days. They won’t lock you up.”

“You don’t have any say there.”

“Oh, I think I will.” She drank again. “I think we all will. And they’re just going to have to listen.”

“When did you get to be such a badass?”

“Maybe since I’ve stopped asking myself why me. If people think I’m weak, if Nerezza thinks I am, it’s because I have been. She can keep thinking that, it may be an advantage. But no one else is going to. Including me.”

“If it matters, I never thought you were weak. You’re dealing just fine with a real steep learning curve. Let’s go back just one month. Did you believe in witches a month ago?”

“I dreamed of one—of him—but no. No, I didn’t really believe.”

“In lycans?”

“Absolutely not. I’m still working on that one.”

“But here you are, and that’s so not weak. Magic compasses, magic spells, transformations. Whatever Annika’s got tucked away other than the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter’s likely to be less of a jolt to me, considering my background and upbringing.”

“You think there’s something, too.”

“How can anyone be that happy—and there’s that sack of coins. I’d lean toward faerie, but when I think of faeries, I think cagey. She doesn’t come off cagey.”

“You’re going to tell me faeries exist.”

“In my experience, anything that sticks in lore has a basis in fact. She’ll probably spill it to Sawyer first. She’s crushing big-time there. Then there’s the big guy.”

Riley took a slow sip as she watched Doyle heft something big, thick, and circular. “He keeps his mouth shut, a lot, but he listens to everything.”

“He’s holding something back.”

“No question of that. Maybe some variety of demon.”

“Oh, come on.”

“They’re not all evil spawns of hell, any more than all lycans are man-eaters. He likes Bran well enough, and he respects Sawyer’s eye and aim. Since whatever he is or has or knows, he’s a man, too, and he finds Annika charming. He hasn’t decided about you and me.”

“I can’t argue with any of that.”

“And he doesn’t trust any of us through and through. He’d much rather do this alone.”

“I’m in absolute agreement there, too, but he’s going to have to get over it. And what the hell is he doing?”

Sasha pushed up then because the only way to know was to find out. Tucking the book under her arm, she started toward him. With a shrug, Riley got up to go with her.

He tacked a target to a tree trunk, she saw now, and wondered why someone who favored a sword required target practice.

Then he unzipped a case lying on the ground.

The crossbow was black and sleek and lethal. Sasha felt a tingle along her skin as Doyle set his foot in the stirrup, cocked it. He flicked a glance in their direction, slung a quiver of bolts over his shoulder.

He loaded one, lifted the bow, sighted. The bolt plowed into the target about a quarter inch from dead-center bull’s-eye.

“Nice.” Riley nodded. “Stryker, right? The new one. What’s the draw weight?”

“One fifty-five.”

“You surprise me, you can draw more than one-double-nickel.”

“This is my backup. What can you draw?”

“I can draw that.” She passed her glass to Sasha, held out her hand.

Doyle hesitated, but he handed her the bow.

“Nice, lightweight. Won’t weigh you down on the hunt.”

As he had, she put a foot in the stirrup and, biceps rippling, cocked the bow. She helped herself to a bolt from his quiver, loaded it.

Her shot hit the other side of the bull’s-eye, about the same distance as his. “String suppressor’s a nice touch. Keeps it quiet. I’d say that’s, what, about three hundred FPS?”

“Yeah, about.” He looked at Sasha now. “Bran said you were looking for a crossbow.”

“Yes. I was.”

“You were? You want to learn to shoot, Sash?”

“I’d like to try it.”

Obliging, Riley passed it off to Doyle, took the glasses and the book from Sasha.

“The draw’s going to be too much for you. I’ve got a cocking device.”

“I need to learn to draw it manually.” She took the bow, and turned it as they had, set her foot in the stirrup.

But Doyle was right, she didn’t have the strength for the draw weight. “I’ll get stronger. And Bran can do something to make it so I can cock it. Would you do it for me this time?”

“Sure.” He did as she asked. “You should get used to the weight, the feel. We’ll move closer to the target.”

“No. From here.”

He shrugged. “Carbon bolt—no point wasting time with less. You need to make sure it’s set properly, or—”

“Let me try it once.” She simply took the bolt, loaded it. And in one move aimed, fired.

Her bolt centered neatly between theirs, center bull’s-eye.

“Well, kick my ass and call me Shirley.” Riley gaped at the target, let out a bark of a laugh. “That didn’t look like beginner’s luck.”

“I’ve used one in dreams. It feels the same.” She lowered the bow to study it. “I know this. FPS, you said. That’s feet per second. I know this.”

Doyle walked to the target, pulled out the three bolts. When he walked back, he took the bow, cocked it.

“Do it again.”

She hit dead center a second time.

“No, not luck. Either you beef up,” Doyle added, “use the cocking device—or see what Bran can do. You can have that, and a couple dozen bolts.”

“I appreciate the loan.”

“Take care of it. When this is done, give it back.” He cocked it yet again, stared off at the target. “I figured I’d be out here all damn day just showing you how to sight it. I’m going for a beer.”

When he strode off, Riley took a slug of her margarita. “I believe you just received the Doyle McCleary Seal of Approval.”

“Better than that.” She pinned the next bolt a whisper away from the first. “He would have stayed out here all damn day showing me.”

“Are you smelling a little team spirit?”

“I think I am.” This time she retrieved the bolts herself. Even that, she realized, felt familiar. Routine.

“I’m not going to use the cocking device. I never used it in the visions. I’m going to take this up to Bran, because I think that’s how I’m able to cock it. Until I get stronger.”

She began packing the bow and bolts in the case. “Where did you go, Riley? When you left yesterday?”

“Not far. I needed to get the jeep out of sight. And get out of sight myself. Getting naked before the change spares the wardrobe. After the sun set, I came back, close enough so I’d be around if anything happened. Which it did.”

“You don’t need to leave tonight.”

“I guess not, seeing as the wolf’s out of the bag.”

“How does it feel, the change?”

“Painful. Powerful—both ways. There’s a rush. Everything in you’s racing. And when the wolf’s free, everything’s heightened. Smell, sound, sight, speed. But I’m still me. What’s human is always in there, the same way the wolf is in me right now.

“And since I’m cut off when the sun sets, I’m going to have another margarita. You in?”

“Why not?”

*   *   *

In her cave, Nerezza fashioned a palace. She deserved no less, after all, and surrounded herself with gold and silver, with jewels that sparkled in the light of her torches. She was born to rule, and soon the long wait to do so would be over.

Destroying worlds to gain her ends was no matter to her. The stars would provide her with all the power necessary, and when she had them, when she returned to the Island of Glass to ascend the throne, as was her right, she would create whatever she wished.

Worlds of fire and storms. Worlds of slaves and suffering. World upon world to do her bidding. This was true rule, and her reign would be endless.

In the globe she watched the seer use her foolish weapon. Let them play, she thought, let them savor what they thought a victory, the seer, the she-wolf, the witch, and . . .

She pounded a fist on the golden arm of her throne so the walls of stone shook. Mists swirled around the globe, blocking much from her sight. The sorcerer, she thought. She would deal with him. Oh, she would deal with him.

But more, much more enraging, she couldn’t see the others for what they were. That was Celene’s doing—Celene, Luna, Arianrhod. They’d blocked the knowledge even from the globe. But it would do them no good.

They’d reveal themselves, just as the she-wolf had done. And once revealed, the knowledge would show her how to destroy them.

When the time came, she thought, and lifted a jeweled mirror to admire herself.

She would use them first, let them lead her to the Fire Star.

Then she would crush them, take it. And it would lead her to the others. She would take what they had, drain them of it, fill herself, and leave their husks to rot.

And she would be eternal. Forever young, more beautiful than the sun, more powerful than all the gods.

But as she looked, the reflection in the glass began to whither, the skin drooping into folds, drawing back toward the skull. The ebony hair went thin, gray, dry, as the glass showed her aging years, decades, centuries.

On a scream of rage, she hurled the mirror away, smashing glass and gems.

With a trembling hand, she lifted the goblet beside her, drank fast and deep. And with its brew and her will, drew back her youth and beauty.

She had pushed too much of herself into the attack the night before, and needed more potion. Her banishment from the Island of Glass stripped away her rights—to that youth, that beauty.

She aged. Not like the puny humans. No, even this humiliation wasn’t so great. But she aged. Her body gradually losing its form, her skin its texture, her face its beauty.

She would have them back, not just the illusion of them, but truly. And she would banish the ones who’d lowered her to this until they turned to dust.

She would be queen of all, and all who had defied her would perish.

But they would suffer first.