Mist Rising by Eve Langlais

Chapter Thirty-Two

The expressionon Maric’s face shifted between disbelief, sorrow, and rage. “I didn’t do this to be heroic.” His lips twisted as he glanced at the bodies at his feet.

Pity filled her heart as she saw him deal with the betrayal from two people he trusted, Fjior and Pol. Likely, they had been controlled by a Vhampir, and now they were dead because of it.

“It would seem we’ve uncovered and dealt with the rebels in our midst.” It might have been cruel to remind him of his words. Traitors died.

His expression hardened, slipping back into his usual grimness. “Should have dealt with Fjior the last time he got compromised.”

Maric headed back to the camp. She stuck close to his side, not because she needed him. He needed her. He tried to hide it. His pain. His sorrow. Hid it under cold determination and anger. But she felt it, nonetheless.

As they reached the fire, she noticed the camp no longer slept. The Soraers huddled close to the flames with the remaining soldiers, forming a ring.

“Fjior and Pol are missing,” Xaav announced when they got close enough.

“They’re dead.” At Maric’s words, a rustle went through the group then shock as he explained what happened.

The resulting sorrow hung in an almost palpable miasma that quickly turned to suspicion as they eyed each other as if wondering if any more traitors were in their midst. Possible. How terrifying. There must be a way to stop it. To clean the taint.

Am I now vulnerable? Are my fellow Soraers? Having had her own mind captured, she understood how quickly and insidiously it could happen.

Maric knew she’d been affected; yet he hadn’t killed her. Would he? What if the Vhampir had planted a bomb in her head? A suggestion she couldn’t resist that would result in grave consequence?

Given no one wanted to rest anymore, they quickly readied and continued their trip. The lack of sleep left her irritable for most of the day, especially since Belle looked fresh and bright as she beamed at Maric when they finally stopped to stretch their legs and freshen up.

The young woman batted her lashes and smiled. “I’m so excited. We’ll arrive soon at the Citadel.”

“Tomorrow,” Maric said, not sparing the girl a glance. He checked his horse instead.

Bend over—

Agathe turned her head and cursed herself. He turned her inside out. One more day, and then she would be rid of him. She’d wash her hands of Belle, and if things worked out, she’d face the King. Only she no longer knew what she’d say.

Maric had given her much to think about. A different perspective on things. What if the King truly cared about his people? What if he didn’t have a choice when it came to the Blessed? What if his orders all those years ago weren’t about hurting her but doing something for the greater good? What if Baree hadn’t killed on the King’s orders?

Maybe instead of a dagger to the heart, she should listen to the King first. If she didn’t like his answer, then she’d remove him and find a better way.

As the rest period ended, she noted Maric by the stream, watering his steed, shoulders rounded, head down. How hard it must be to lead. Having to kill men he’d known. Men he’d thought he could trust. She wanted to offer him comfort and, at the same time, knew he wouldn’t welcome it. He’d hate her seeing him weak. She turned away, and there was Xaav, always watching.

It led to her asking, “Has he ever had to…?” She hesitated. What word could she use? Because what he’d done had saved her life.

Xaav understood. “He always does the right thing even if it slices him up inside.”

“You’ve served together a long time.”

“We were taken into the King’s service at the same festival.”

“Which was how many years ago?”

“More than two decades now. So, I know him, possibly better than he knows himself.”

“He’s mad at me,” she stated, for some reason bothered by it.

“Not you. At himself for having missed the danger.”

“He saved me.”

“In his mind, you shouldn’t have needed saving, because he should have removed the threat earlier.”

“So, he’s playing the martyr.” Spoken with a disparaging glance at Maric still apart from the group.

“Hardly.”

“Still say he’s mad. He didn’t talk to me all morning.”

“The general needs a moment to himself. Perhaps it would be best if you rode with me for the next leg of our journey,” Xaav offered.

Her first impulse was to decline. She enjoyed being pressed against Maric, their bodies rolling with the horse’s gait. The reminder changed her mind. “Sounds like a good idea.”

She grabbed the hand Xaav held out and was prepared to swing her leg over the saddle when hooves thundered toward them. One guess who it was.

She sighed and slid back to the ground before turning to glower at Maric, who drew up at the last moment and barked, “She rides with me.”

Xaav actually argued. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Leave her and scout ahead.”

“Being an idiot,” Xaav muttered as he galloped off.

It left Maric holding out a hand to an irritated Agathe.

“What was that?”

“You ride with me.”

“What if I don’t want to ride with you?”

“Did I give the impression you had a choice in the matter?”

A part of her wanted to offer a rude gesture and tell him where he could go with his arrogance. What were the chances that he’d leave her behind, especially in this mood?

“You could ask nicely,” she grumbled as she grabbed his hand.

Maric hauled her up behind him and took off quickly enough that she squeezed him tight in startlement. He didn’t slow down until they’d gotten well ahead of the others.

The horse slowed its pace, but Maric remained silent. Since she had no idea what to say, she kept her lips clamped. Until the long quiet drove her to say, “I am sorry you had to act as you did to save me.”

To which he growled, “It’s I who should apologize. I should have known they’d been infected.”

“You can hardly take the blame for it. It’s not like they each had a sign on their forehead saying, a Vhampir bespelled me.”

“Fjior did. Knowing he was susceptible, I should have shed him the moment it happened. Instead, I set Pol to keep an eye on him. That turned out to be a mistake.” Maric turned quiet.

“Is there no way to spot those with the taint and remove it?”

“There is. But it’s at the Citadel. Most of the time, the infected show no signs until they act in a fashion that requires lethal force to counter.”

“The Vhampir you killed… He shouldn’t have been this far out here.”

“No, he shouldn’t.”

“He appeared sickly compared to the others I’ve seen.”

“I noticed that, too. Probably because he strayed too far from the Abyss.”

“Do they need the mist to survive?”

He shrugged. The motion carried through their tight proximity. “Some say yes. Some don’t know. We’ve not had a chance to capture one for study.”

The idea of dissecting one, looking for a weakness, sent a shiver through her. “Given how many I’ve seen, it surprises me you’ve not taken one prisoner.”

“They require certain conditions to be met to survive.”

Meaning they’d tried and failed.

He kept talking. “I wonder why it went after you.”

It was strange given nothing about her was special. Hadn’t been in a long time. “Its interest is weird, given I am so ordinary.”

“There is nothing ordinary about you,” Maric muttered.

“That almost sounded like a compliment.” It shouldn’t have mattered, and yet it warmed her.

“I meant it as one. Your other Soraers are easier to manage.”

So much for the warm feeling lasting. “Sorry about not being obedient chattel,” she snapped.

“You should be. You’re making my job more difficult.”

“How? I haven’t gotten in your way. I’ve done nothing but try and help.”

“Your presence is distracting,” he muttered.

“How is that my fault? You’re the one who insisted I ride with you.”

“To ensure you don’t start conversations you shouldn’t have with the others.”

She digested it before saying, “You do realize that I talk to them already. Not that they say much.”

“You do realize they’ve been reporting your chats to me.”

“How boring, given I’ve yet to have a truly interesting one.” The only person who ever told her things was Maric.

“There are a few who believe you’re a rebel.”

“What do you think?”

“That you’re just naturally bossy and annoying.”

Ouch. “I could say the same about you.”

“I am perfect.” Spoken deadpan.

It made her laugh. “Not even close.”

“What’s wrong with me?”

“Too much to list.”

“Name one thing.”

A single thing wrong with him? Easy. “You are ridiculously arrogant.”

“So are you.”

She might have taken offense, but around him, it was true. “You’re the King’s man.”

“And? You’re a Soraer of the Shield. We both have roles to play.”

“You asked why I don’t like you. It’s hard to pin it on one thing. You’re just not appealing to me.” Holy freaking lie. She said it to convince herself. Failed. And in the process, he stiffened.

“I’d beg to differ. You find me attractive.”

“You’re okay. Blonds are more to my taste.” More fibbing. She had a thing for swarthy men.

“You don’t like my hair?” There was a hint of incredulity in his tone.

“Maybe if you dyed it?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Only if you want me to like you. If you’d prefer I didn’t, then leave it. Don’t really care.” She screwed with him mostly for the entertainment, and yet he sounded so offended.

“Perhaps you should judge a man by the content of his character and not his outward appearance.”

“It helps if he’s pretty. Then again, a person can always close their eyes and pretend.”

“And who would you imagine?” he rumbled.

Him, actually. Mostly because he was the first man in a long time who’d made her want something carnal. Apparently, she wasn’t dead yet.

“We are not discussing this,” she said, suddenly prim.

“Why not?”

“Because it is none of your business. You don’t see me asking who your fantasy woman is.”

“Would you like me to tell you?”

A part of her almost said yes. Who was his ideal lady? Certainly not someone like her, a woman with a body past its prime, bearing some gray. Attractive and fit despite her age, but not the right choice for a virile man who was certainly younger than her, and probably still wanted to father children.

She changed the subject. “When do you think they became infected?”

He tensed. “My guess would be sometime during our trip up and down the cliffs. Perhaps that night we spent on the rim. The Vhampir probably couldn’t resist ensnaring some soldiers who had access to the Citadel.”

“Has that ever happened before? People mesmerized into doing things?”

“Not in the city, no. But there’ve been incidences in the rim towns.”

“How did those incidents end?”

“Not well. In one, a father killed his whole family, and when his senses returned to him, he was so horrified he begged for execution.”

“It must be hard doing the right thing all the time.”

He slumped. “Am I doing the right thing? Because I wonder at times.” An admission that showed that the strength he projected hid a vulnerability that he crushed with his next words. “It would be easier if people just did as they were told without arguing.”

Sarcasm soured her words. “Excuse us for having minds and thoughts of our own.”

He found this amusing and chuckled. “At least your mind is sharp enough to grasp the finer points of situations.”

“Some. Not all. I’m still not convinced of the necessity of acquiring the Blessed.”

“You will have to trust me when I say they are crucial.”

“I know you said we’d arrive at the King’s City tomorrow. Given the need for haste, why not ride all night and get there sooner?”

“Because the horses need to rest, as do the people.”

“You have a secure location in mind, I assume?”

“I don’t think there is any such place anymore.”

Ominous, and yet it rang true. “Has the Citadel been compromised?”

“No serious issues yet, but it’s only a matter of time before the wrong sort makes it past the gates. So be careful.”

“What are you implying?” she asked.

“That, until now, you’ve been fairly outspoken about your dislike of the King’s policies. That might not go over well in the city. They take a hard line with rebels.”

“Duly noted.”

“What is your plan once we get there?” he asked a little too casually.

Now was her chance to ask him. “Do you think I could get an audience with the King?”

He didn’t laugh. A good sign, she hoped.

“It could be arranged, if you promise not to try and kill him.”

“Who, me?”

Laughter rolled through him. “It’s become clear that you are one of the Shield Maidens of old, the kind spoken of in legends. A true fighter.”

“Does that praise mean you’ll introduce me to the King?”

“Hardly praise. I was outlining the dangers you pose. What’s so important you wish to speak with him face-to-face?”

“When I first began this journey, I wanted to harangue him over his policies.” Especially the one that led to her having those blood-filled nightmares. The King had sent Baree on the quest years ago that’d changed the course of her life.

“But now?”

“I hear he possesses a vast library. I want access to it. I and my Soraers.”

“That’s a large request.”

“With a valid reason behind it. I need to learn more about our world. Gain an understanding of the mist. The monsters. The Vhampirs. After all, this spilling of the fog over the rim has happened before. Our history holds the answer.”

“And I told you, the King’s scholars have already looked. There isn’t a book that hasn’t been read multiple times. There is nothing that can be done other than to keep fighting.”

“Obviously. Giving up isn’t an option. But why are you so sure nothing can be done? Have you ever heard the monster poem?” she ventured, wondering if he’d even heard of it.

“Are you speaking of the rhyme sung by children? What about it?”

“What if I told you it’s actually a prophecy.”

He snorted. “I’d say you’re grasping. It’s a song to play games, nothing more.”

“Denigrate all you want. I am keeping an open mind because some of us want to do something,” was her pert reply.

“Glad to hear you think I’m not doing anything important.”

That was the last thing he said, as Xaav dropped back on the path to join them. They began talking defense for Belle, the last remaining Blessed.

True to Maric’s word, rather than ride into the night, they stopped at a well-established town and set up a defense perimeter.

The Town of the Forked Road appeared prosperous and exhibited many large mansions. The grandest, a massive stone affair with fountains of burbling water in just about every room, belonged to the mayor.

Given the previous incidents, the Soraers decided it best if they all slept in the same room, situated on the third floor with only an attic above. It had only one entry and a window too high to reach. A pair of guards stood on each side of the portal and watched, chewing the lereveilmoss. Another apparently guarded from the roof.

Agathe took the last turn bathing while the others went to dinner. By the time she made it to the entertaining hall, Belle held court with a troop of young people. Agathe curtailed the fun at a reasonable hour. She wasn’t in the mood to watch them getting drunker and drunker. It would have ended up in her slapping someone’s son or daughter.

Belle didn’t take kindly to the interruption. “It’s not fair. I was having fun.”

“It’s late.”

“Not that late. I want to go for a walk in the garden.”

“It’s after dark.”

“The better to see the stars. We never got a chance in the Abbae.” The young woman pouted.

Agathe wasn’t swayed. “It’s too dangerous.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.” The chit folded her arms stubbornly.

“I can. And I will also enforce.”

“I hate you.” Belle stomped to the corner of the room and proceeded to sulk.

She wasn’t always such a chore to deal with. Belle’s more recent years proved especially harsh. Surely, Agathe had never been so bad… Then again, she’d tried the patience of those raising her. It pained her to think they might be anything alike.

“I’m going to see if I can find some food that will last ‘til morning in case the soldiers want to make an early start.” She didn’t mention the fact that her stomach rumbled.

Arriving in the kitchen, she encountered a servant with a tray, who smiled at her. “I was just bringing some snacks for you and the other Soraers. The chef even included a special pastry for the Blessed one.”

Only Blessed when she was quiet.

“I’ll take it up to her. Rest your feet,” she told the woman, who appeared close to the same age with wrinkles webbing the corners of her eyes—in her fourth or fifth decade for sure.

“That would be most kind. Thank you.”

Agathe made it only to the hall before she set the tray down for a pause and to eat something. The fruit-and-nut-stuffed pastry provided a sweet and crunchy texture in her mouth, but it also veered on the dry side. She grabbed the jug of juice and poured a mouthful into a cup. She jostled the special cake as she tried to put everything back so it balanced.

An edge of paper showed under the cake. Odd. She lifted it and saw a note. One word.

Garden.

No doubt meant for Belle. Agathe’s mouth rounded. Who’d sent it? She whirled to return to the kitchen to see that the servant who’d handed the tray was gone. Asking the staff left behind, none recognized the description.

Agathe eyed a window overlooking the courtyard. The garden was in the center of the keep. Surely, no threat could penetrate that deep.

No choice but to find out. However, even she realized she shouldn’t without letting someone know first.

The surprise was the fact that she knocked on the door that a servant told her had been given to Maric.