Betrayer's Bane Read online

  The dark haired girl laughed, “No.”

  “You will stay with me. In a week I should be ready for our first foray. You’ll be coming along, as will Ryan and Emma,” he told her.

  “You said nothing to them while discussing their building assignment.”

  “I will tell them when I’m ready,” he said simply.

  Brigid looked up at him expectantly, “Will there be blood?”

  “That’s why I’m taking you, dear child.”

  She smiled, and for a moment one might have been able to mistake Brigid for a normal young woman looking forward to some happy event. She radiated a sense of contentment.

  Tyrion put a hand on her shoulder, “You must promise to control yourself.”

  “I won’t hurt Emma or Ryan,” she replied reassuringly. “I only cut what I intend to cut.”

  “Not just them,” he explained, “I intend to bring some of our targets back alive. The fewer you kill or maim the better.”

  Brigid pursed her lips, “That doesn’t sound very fun.”

  “Would you rather stay here?”

  Her sullen stare spoke for itself, but she answered anyway, “No.”

  Chapter 7

  When he entered the house, the first thing he noticed was that the privacy enchantment around his bedroom had been activated. Kate couldn’t do that, and Lyralliantha would have created a fresh spellweave to accomplish the same effect, if she had felt a need for privacy, which was rare.

  No one else should be in his room other than one of those two. Tyrion glanced at Brigid and she nodded, activating her tattooed defenses and lifting her deadly chain. She released it, and her aythar held it suspended, writhing like a snake through the air around her.

  Tyrion’s own senses sharpened as adrenaline made his heart speed up. He activated his own enchanted shield and sheathed his arms in deadly blades of pure force. For a second his perception focused on Brigid, peering deeply, and he caught a flicker of something unusual beneath her skin.

  Her bones were inscribed with runes in almost the exact same fashion that his shin bone was. She had copied what he had done and extended it to include virtually every bone in her body. She’s insane! he realized, not figuratively, not a little, but completely nuts. The pain would have been unbearable and it would have taken months at the very least. How did she survive it?

  For a second he was seized by an urge to hug the wild dark haired psychopath beside him, though with their defenses active that wouldn’t have been realistically possible. His new realization made him both proud and sad for her at the same time.

  Pushing those thoughts aside, he approached the doorway to his bedroom. It opened before he could dismiss the enchantment along his left arm and put his hand to it. Kate stared at him wide eyed.

  “Are you alright?” he asked immediately.

  She nodded briskly, “Of course. I was just having a chat with Lyra.”

  Now that the door was open, he could sense the presence of the other woman. No one else seemed to be present, although a Prathion could have hidden from his magesight. Stepping in, he looked at Lyralliantha, “Did you activate the privacy enchantment?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” he asked suspiciously.

  The silver haired She’Har lifted one brow, “So we could talk privately. That is what you made it for, correct?”

  “I don’t recall teaching it to you,” he responded curtly. Activating the enchantment required a working knowledge of what each rune he had devised symbolized, as well as knowing which part of the structure needed to be completed in order to bring it to life.

  “I pay close attention, dearest,” Lyra replied lightly, “and Abby was kind enough to answer my questions when I was curious.”

  Tyrion felt a surge of anger at her lighthearted answer. For a moment he considered giving Brigid the signal she was waiting for, his daughter was full of restrained tension, like an angry hound straining at its leash. Just a twitch of his finger and it would be over. He wouldn’t even have to do the dirty work himself. He wouldn’t have to be the one who killed the woman he had trusted despite everything her people had done to him over the years.

  Kate might not even realize he had given the order.

  The vein in his temple was throbbing as the moment drew out painfully, and Brigid’s lethal chain, which had been sinuously moving until then, stopped. The deadly metal hung expectantly in the air, quivering almost imperceptibly. “Get out,” he whispered, staring at Lyralliantha.

  “Daniel!” snapped Kate. She had been watching him with concern the entire time. “You need to talk to her!”

  There was no easy way out with Kate there. Consciously, he relaxed his shoulders as he turned to Brigid, “It’s alright. Go back to your room.”

  Mysteriously, Kate followed her sister out. Her only words were to Lyralliantha as she left, “Remember what I said.”

  The She’Har nodded, and then Tyrion closed the door on the others. “Make it quick,” he told her. “I don’t want you here any longer than necessary.”

  “You are angry with me.”

  He snorted derisively, “Perceptive.”

  “Kate told me,” she added.

  “You lied to me.”

  She tilted her head, something she often did when she was confused. It had always reminded him of his long gone dog, Blue. “I am not aware of having done that.”

  “You knew what they did to the people of the slave camps. You never told me they couldn’t have children!” he snapped.

  She didn’t bother denying it, “That is not lying.”

  His anger was draining away already, replaced by the exhaustion he often felt when trying to talk to Lyra, “It’s a lie of omission, leaving out an important fact…”

  “We have never spoken of this…”

  “Don’t give me that shit!” he snapped. “I have a son with Layla! If you truly cared, you should have shared that information with me.”

  She looked down, silver hair falling over her features, “You never asked…”

  “You should have told me anyway! Not that it matters. Would you have answered if I had somehow known to ask?”

  “I would have asked the Elders first,” she admitted.

  “Wrong answer,” he said bitterly.

  “Was there a right answer?” she asked suddenly. “I have not lied to you, Tyrion. I have kept your secrets. Since we first met I have wanted nothing but the best for you, I have wanted nothing for myself—but you.” There were tears in her eyes.

  Emotion was rare for her, but he had seen it displayed before. He no longer believed in it, though. Stalking forward, he took her by the shoulder, pressing her back against the wall, “They gave me the loshti.”

  Her eyes widened, but the surprise was short lived, “So that is what happened.”

  “I know almost everything now, so don’t think your lies will be effective anymore,” he growled.

  “You know more than I do then.”

  “What does that mean?” he spat.

  “Exactly what it sounds like! I know almost nothing! I’m just a pitiful pawn. Did you think I was given some special knowledge? I know my people, I know the Elders, but only what any of us are given to know when we are made. I never expected this, never expected you.” Her knees gave way, and she might have sunk to the floor but his grip tightened, holding her up. “What am I supposed to do now?”

  “Whatever they told you to do, probably,” he sneered.

  Pale blue eyes caught his own, “They told me to make you happy.”

  “Is that what our relationship has been?” he asked. “An act?”

  “No!” she gasped. “Never. I’ve never been given any instruction regarding you before, and this one made me glad, because it is all I wanted anyway. How can I make you see that?”

  “Bleed for me.” Reaching out with his aythar he pulled the wooden sword from its sheath across the room. The sword flew to his hand and he offered it to her, “Die for me.”

>   She took the hilt with trembling fingers as she stared at him, “Will you believe me then? Will you love me if I prove it with my life?”

  Something in her tone unnerved him. He hadn’t expected this reaction, but he was too angry to back down. “Yes.”

  Reversing the weapon, she set the point against her abdomen, “I have nothing else.”

  Tyrion lifted her hand, redirecting the blade, aiming it at her heart, “The gut would take too long. You could heal yourself. There’s no going back if you put it here.” He put every bit of spite and vitriol he felt for the She’Har into his words, but as he looked into her eyes his stomach lurched.

  When Tyrion had first met Lyralliantha, she had been unshakably calm, a true ice princess in word and manner, but over the years she had warmed. Love had changed her. She had become something more than just a child of the She’Har, she had become a woman. And for all of her intelligence and complexity, she was still an incredibly naïve woman at that.

  Back then, she hadn’t particularly cared about living or dying. She had had nothing to lose. For the She’Har the human part of their lives was essentially meaningless.

  Her nostrils quivered and her pupils dilated as tears trickled freely down her cheeks. She inhaled sharply and tried to speak, but her throat had closed, the words wouldn’t come out, with a gasping sob she jerked her wrist inward, driving the wooden blade straight for her heart.

  Tyrion felt his heart break. “No!” Striking out he tried to bat the point away, but it had already been against her skin when she began the thrust, as fast as he was, he couldn’t stop it from piercing her chest. His blow sent it slewing sideways, ripping a deep gouge through her skin and nearly severing her collarbone into two parts. At the same time the edge tore through his palm, severing tendons and bones there as well.

  Blood was everywhere, but Lyra’s heart still beat. The point had been diverted before it reached it. The sword fell, clattering hollowly to the ground, and she slid down the wall. Tyrion sank to his knees beside her, “I’m so stupid. Forgive me.” Working as quickly as possible he sealed the damaged veins and skin in the cut across her chest. Despite the depth of the cut and the damaged bone, the wound wasn’t life threatening, just incredibly messy.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” he continued, babbling as he corrected the damage. “I’m not worth it. What were you thinking?”

  “That I would rather die being loved—than live with your spite,” she whispered. “Your hand…” She caught his wrist and lifted his damaged appendage. A large portion of the hand and fingers dangled limply from the rest while blood pumped from severed arteries.

  “I deserved it,” he told her as she used her aythar to clamp down on the blood vessels and arrest the bleeding.

  Lyra’s eyes flickered to his and then back to his hand as she focused on healing it. The wound was far more serious than the one she had suffered, and the complexities of repairing the tendons, bones, and ligaments made it more difficult to fix. “I have not had much practice at this,” she said apologetically as she worked.

  She did the best she could and then sealed everything and used a spellweave to make permanent the nerve block that was preventing him from feeling the pain.

  Tyrion examined it with his senses and tried to move it experimentally. All he got for his effort was a spastic twitch, but he felt nothing from the injury.

  “We need to go to Ellentrea. The healers there are much better. Otherwise you will probably lose the use of it,” she told him pragmatically.

  He studied her face, and what he saw made him ashamed. Lyra’s eyes were red and swollen while her normally flawless hair was tangled and stuck together in odd places where blood had gotten into it and dried. “I’m so sorry…,” he began.

  She nodded, uncertain how to respond, her expression haunted.

  He kissed her then, and she returned the gesture with hungry lips. When he thought to pull away she caught his hair, pulling him back.

  “More.”

  That he could do. His wrongdoings and trespasses he could not mend, but he would not deny her that. Their kissing grew more heated as the minutes passed, and eventually he lifted her from the floor, with one good hand and one clumsy one. As he laid her gently on the bed she opened her lips to speak.

  “Wait. I have to tell you something.”

  He paused.

  “The elders told me to give you a child,” she finished.

  He had already suspected that, but his heart had changed, “The elders can go fuck themselves. What do you want?”

  “I want it too,” she answered. “I have wanted it for a long while now.”

  “Can you?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  He kissed her again, and she didn’t release him for some time after that.

  Chapter 8

  Golden eyes looked at Tyrion over steepled ebon fingers. Thillmarius paused briefly before smiling faintly, “Really, Tyrion, I thought we were past this.”

  Tyrion ground his teeth, “I didn’t come here for snide commentary.”

  The Prathion lore-warden clucked his tongue, “Don’t be so testy. I am not mocking you. You know my people better than that. I am merely curious as to how you gained such a singular injury.”

  Tyrion regretted coming to Ellentrea already. Lyralliantha had suggested he go to Byovar, one of the Illeniel lore-wardens, but he hadn’t felt comfortable facing anyone from her grove. He knew that the She’Har cared little for injuries to their ‘children’, but he still worried at their reaction to discovering that he had nearly killed Lyra. It was irrational, of course, but to him it felt something akin to facing ones in-laws after hurting their daughter.

  Aside from that, he knew that the trainers in Ellentrea had far more experience in healing battle wounds. He had benefited from their care more times than he could count.

  He had also considered trying to use his bizarre ability to do things without aythar. He had once inadvertently restored his mangled ear while creating a storm, so he knew it was possible, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to experiment on something as important as his hand. He had a vague idea of how to go about it, but then, everything about those abilities was vague.

  So, in the end, he had come to Ellentrea.

  “You could have gone to Koralltis,” suggested Thillmarius, referring to the other Prathion trainer who managed the slave camp. “He has even more experience than I do.”

  I’ll stick to the devil I know, thought Tyrion. “I am more familiar with you,” he admitted.

  The Prathion She’Har showed a flash of white teeth, “I am grateful that you came to me.”

  Tyrion frowned, suspicious, “Why?” Of all the She’Har that lived, Thillmarius still sent chills down his spine whenever he thought of him. He had conquered his fear long ago, but some traumas went too deep for courage to fully overcome. Thillmarius had been in charge of his ‘care’ when he first came to Ellentrea, and his body remembered the punishments he had received. Sitting across from his torturer was enough to make the bile rise in his throat and set his legs to quivering.

  He would never admit as much, though. Since the treaty with the She’Har had been signed Thillmarius had expressed his regret for his actions on several occasions, and it was also true that the lore-warden had helped both him and Lyralliantha through difficult circumstances in the past. If Byovar was to be believed, Thillmarius had also been one of the most outspoken proponents of creating the treaty between his people and humankind.

  “Because it gives me yet another small opportunity to make up for the harm that I once did to you, Tyrion,” answered Thillmarius. “I know it will never be enough, but it matters to me.”

  As usual, Tyrion had no idea how to respond to the She’Har’s sudden expression of sentiment, so he ignored it, “You can mend it then?” With an effort of will he extended his hand across the small table and stretched it out before the Prathion.

  “Certainly.” Examining the hand with his senses Thillmarius rai
sed one brow, “Lyralliantha did this?”

  “It was a training accident,” he lied.

  “Not the injury,” said Thillmarius, pointing to the tiny spellweave that continued to block the sensory nerves in Tyrion’s wrist. “This.”

  “Oh,” said Tyrion, somewhat relieved, “Yes, she did the initial healing.”

  “Crudely,” snorted the lore-warden, “but she is very young. You could have done better yourself.”

  He glared at the She’Har, angry at the way Lyra’s effort had been dismissed, “I was rather distracted at the time.”

  “Really?” said Thillmarius, his eyes widening, “I have seen you heal yourself under very trying circumstances in the arena.”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered,” said Tyrion. “Even if I could have produced a marginal improvement, I knew I would need expert treatment in the end.”

  Thillmarius was already working on his hand and Tyrion was glad for the nerve block as he watched him severing tendons and realigning them before making new attachments. Though the work was delicate, Thillmarius continued to chat, “I don’t think I can do much for the bruise on your face. Did you get that during the same accident?”

  The lore-warden was referring to the black eye that Tyrion had received later. Two days after the fact it was now showing an impressive display of purple and blue hues. “Something like that,” he answered reluctantly. The shiner had been a gift from Kate when she had seen the results of his ‘talk’ with Lyra. Tyrion had resisted the urge to shield himself, wanting to avoid hurting her hand, but if he had realized how powerful her punch would be, he might have reconsidered.

  That redheaded monster really knows how to throw a punch, he thought ruefully.

  ***

  It was late afternoon when he got back to Albamarl. The name had originally been applied just to his house, but at some point they had begun using it to refer generally to the entirety of their small village.

  He intended to check on Ryan’s efforts, but Anthony caught him in the yard as he approached the large building that his children lived in. “This is taking too long,” said the young man without preamble.