Samara's Peril (Ilyon Chronicles Book 3), Page 2

  For a long time he sat, trying to decipher even the smallest stirring of assurance, but it only led to frustration and more doubt. If Elôm were a part of his life, why wouldn’t He speak to him the way He seemed to speak to Rayad and Kyrin? Just once. Just to offer an answer.

  The distant tread of light footsteps caught his attention. They were quieter than most. A second set of four-footed steps approached more quickly, and he looked up as Tyra bounded up to him. The wolf nosed his face, her tail wagging slowly as she made sure he was all right. She then stared at him, as if asking why he had wandered off without her. He rubbed the black fur around her neck in apology, and his gaze lifted to meet Kyrin. She too searched his face for signs that things were well. He was tempted to try to hide his struggle, but that was nearly impossible with her talent of observation.

  Without a word, she nestled down into the snow next to him, using the same tree as a backrest. He glanced at her hands as she pulled the strap of a canteen from her shoulder and uncorked it. They were clean now. He looked at his own. Blood still stained the creases of his knuckles and around his nails. A fitting picture of his doubt.

  Before he could go down that road again, Kyrin handed him the canteen. Steam rose from the opening.

  “Coffee?”

  Jace took it and brought it to his lips. The hot liquid trickled down his throat and into his stomach, warming him. He let out a sigh. He didn’t deserve Kyrin’s small acts of kindness.

  They sat quietly for a minute or two. Jace fiddled with the strap on the canteen, struggling for what to say. Was he even ready to speak of his doubt?

  Kyrin stepped in first to break the silence, her voice quieter than usual. “It’s always a sobering day. Shortly after Kaden and I turned to Elôm, Sam took us out to the forest outside of Valcré to perform the sacrifice with us. Even though this was my third time, it’s still overwhelming.”

  Jace gave her a small nod, biting down on his own emotions. His first instinct, from the time he was a child, was to hold things in. People often saw such emotions as weakness. Rayad had been the one to help him begin opening up. Now Kyrin did the same.

  He glanced at her as she waited patiently for him to speak. His tongue stuck in his mouth, holding fast to old habits, but, at the same time, a deep desire to share rose inside him. He trusted Kyrin more than he trusted anyone besides Rayad, yet it was still difficult to lay bare such painful aspects of his life.

  He opened his mouth, but had to clear his throat before any words would form. “I never feel at peace after… never feel like my guilt has been covered.”

  Kyrin breathed out a long breath, and her gaze moved through the trees in contemplation before resting on him. “I don’t know if any of us truly do. I still feel guilty too.” A raw, almost sad honesty overcame her expression. She shrugged. “Maybe, after your faith has a chance to grow for several years, but not right now.”

  Jace tried to let her admission comfort him. After all, neither of them had believed in Elôm for more than a couple of years. They couldn’t expect to know and understand everything.

  Silence came for another minute before Kyrin broke it again.

  “Timothy has been showing me all of the verses in the King’s Scrolls that talk about the ultimate lamb sacrifice. It would be amazing to be alive to see it and know that our sins are washed away completely.”

  Her voice carried a longing and a hope that vibrated in Jace’s own heart. But what lamb’s blood could ever take away everything he had done? He stared at the blood on his hands again, a reminder of the past. He had felt the life leave a body with these hands—had been the cause of it.

  “Jace?”

  He jerked from his thoughts, but couldn’t look at her. “I don’t know if all of mine can be washed away.”

  The words came out in a hoarse whisper as the tears that never fell stung his eyes again. He finally looked at Kyrin when she pushed away from the tree to sit facing him. A determined but compassionate light shone in her eyes.

  “I don’t believe that.”

  He gripped the canteen hard. Kyrin knew of the darkness in his past, but he had never discussed it in detail with her before. Only Rayad knew of all the death and suffering he had experienced. What if sharing such horrors with Kyrin led her to believe the same things he believed about himself? He didn’t think he could survive her rejection, yet something urged him to speak.

  “What about murder?” He watched her reaction, trembling inside.

  Her expression sobered. It was a weighty question and one she probably hadn’t expected, but, unlike his own conscience, he saw no condemnation.

  Her voice was quiet, yet sure. “Yes, even murder.”

  Jace hung his head. Why couldn’t he be so sure? His spirit broken, words tumbled out before he could weigh whether or not he should speak them.

  “I was only about fifteen . . .” He lifted his gaze to her, having to blink the moisture away. “Only fifteen the first time I killed a man.”

  Lines appeared in Kyrin’s forehead as her brows drew together, and fear ripped through Jace’s stomach. However, he found only growing compassion and concern in her eyes. She said nothing, and he continued before he could lose the nerve to speak.

  “I was sold to a man who treated us all like cattle. Living conditions were poor and we were only fed well enough to keep us working. One of the slaves, Dane, would go around every night and demand half the rations from each of the weakest and newest slaves for himself and his men.”

  Jace licked his lips and drew a shaky breath, still able to see the slave yard in his mind—bleak, dirty, and filled with the reek of unwashed bodies as they had huddled around small fires for warmth.

  “The first night… I refused to give mine up. Dane beat me up as a warning.” Jace rubbed the groove of a small scar on the side of his jaw and winced. “After that, I became his prime target. Over the next couple of months, I grew stronger working in the fields. Then, one night, I refused to give up my food again, but this time it wasn’t a one-sided fight . . .”

  He let his words trail away, unable to voice the rest, though the scene played through in his mind. That day had changed the course of his entire life, burdening him with the guilt of taking another man’s life. It was the first time he had felt the driving rage of his ryrik blood take over. It had finally shown him what he was and why everyone had always held such fear around him. Any chance to claim that his ryrik blood did not define him had died that night as Dane lay dead at his feet, his neck broken.

  Jace could not bear to look at Kyrin, unable to face what thoughts might be evident in her eyes. Yet, now that he’d come this far, he had to finish his story.

  “After I killed him, I was punished and thrown into confinement. I was there for a day or two… I’m not sure, but when they pulled me out, I was sold to Jasper, who made me a gladiator. I faced thirty-eight opponents.” He clenched his teeth. “Thirty-eight… and nineteen times it was to the death.”

  Every one of those fights seared his conscience. For the first time in years, a sob rose up in his chest, but it stuck there, refusing to come any further. His voice broke as he said, “I’m only twenty-one years old, and I’ve already killed more men than Rayad has.”

  The shame of that admission consumed him and held his head down. He had never started out to share so much. What must Kyrin think of him? He was a monster next to her gentle innocence.

  Silence stretched out, punctuated only by the loud, painful thud of his heart in his ears. He couldn’t bring himself to raise his eyes.

  Her hand closed around his. He recoiled. In that moment, he felt that his touch would sully her, but she wouldn’t let go. He finally looked up. Tears glistened on her cheeks and sparkled on her dark lashes. Jace still could not find an ounce of condemnation in her eyes.

  She leaned closer, her expression earnest. “Killing someone when they are trying to kill you is self-defense.”

  Jace shook his head. He couldn’t escape guilt that easily. “I
could have refused to fight for Jasper. I could have refused to even learn how. And deep down, I had every intention of killing Dane. I wanted to stop him, permanently. I am the one who started the fight.”

  Kyrin breathed out, her attempts to console him deflated, but she went on just as determinedly. “Then you made a mistake. We all make mistakes.”

  Jace grimaced. Murder was more than a mistake. Mistakes could usually be fixed in some way. Death could not.

  “I don’t believe you would make that mistake again now,” Kyrin continued, trying her best to reassure him. “And in the arena, you had no choice. You were forced into those fights. You weren’t in it for glory or for the sport of it. You didn’t choose it. You didn’t know Elôm at the time, and you did what was only natural—fight for your survival. But you’re not that person anymore, and I believe you would make different choices were you to face Dane or even the arenas again now.”

  Would he? He shuddered at the thought. If he had one fear that rose above all others besides losing those he cared about, it was finding himself back in the arenas. He didn’t think he could face the horror again.

  Forcing such contemplations away, he shook his head. “I am guilty of murder, Kyrin.”

  Her mouth opened partially, but he stopped her this time. “Whether it’s just Dane or the men in the arenas too. There’s no excuse for that.”

  Her mouth closed. As difficult as it was, he didn’t regret what he had said. She needed to know exactly what he was.

  Silently she processed it, unspoken thoughts flitting across her expression. After a moment, her soft fingers squeezed his hand. “The one thing you seem to keep overlooking in all of this is the power of Elôm’s love. I won’t argue over your guilt, but I will argue that His love is greater than that guilt.”

  Jace stared at her as his doubts and hopes fought over what to do with her words—such a frustratingly familiar battle. He was growing weary of fighting it. Finally, he gave a slow nod and made a request. “Will you pray that Elôm will make it clear, one way or another, whether that’s true for me?”

  A bright smile blossomed on Kyrin’s face, bringing a little light to the conversation. “Of course I will.”

  Pushing to her feet, she brushed off her coat and tipped her head. “Are you ready to go back? My mother and Lenae have meat pies waiting at the cabin.” She lowered her voice and grinned. “If my brothers haven’t eaten them all by now.”

  The lighthearted jest managed to draw a slight smile from Jace, and he let her pull him up. As they followed Tyra back to camp, he hoped that, if his own prayers weren’t answered, Kyrin’s would be.

  “. . . Kyrin… Kyrin.”

  She snapped from her thoughts with a jolt. “I’m sorry, Meredith, what is it?” She looked at the little girl, who stood on a stepstool at the table, her dress and arms powdered in flour.

  “It’s sticking.” Meredith wrinkled her nose and held up her dough-covered hands.

  “That means you need more flour. Here, let me help you.” Kyrin sprinkled more flour on the bread dough and helped her scrape it off her fingers. “There you go.” She smiled as the little girl dutifully went back to kneading. “You’re doing very well.”

  Meredith beamed, and Kyrin watched her for a moment before glancing across the table, where her mother and Lenae worked on their own loaves. She caught Lenae’s questioning look.

  “Something on your mind?” she asked.

  Kyrin’s mother looked up at this, curiosity in her eyes as well.

  Kyrin shrugged, not sure what or how much to say concerning her distraction. “I was thinking about Jace . . .” Their conversation had lingered in her mind during the last couple of days. She’d had to come to terms with it. She knew he had experienced horrible things in his past, but she hadn’t expected him to admit to murder. It was a weighty thing to consider. Still, it didn’t change her view of him. If anything, her compassion and desire to help him had grown. He may be guilty of murder, but he was no cold-blooded killer. Of that, she was certain.

  Her mother and Lenae still watched her, and Kyrin cleared her throat. “I’m worried about him. He’s been struggling lately.” She kept the specifics to herself. Jace had shared deeply painful confessions, trusting her—only her—with the truth. “I don’t think he’s sleeping well. I suppose it reminds me of when we first met. I don’t want him to have to go through that again.”

  Lenae nodded knowingly. “The sacrifice seems to have affected him quite a bit.”

  “It was difficult for him.”

  “Well, give it a few days before you worry overmuch. I’m sure the days leading up to it were stressful. Once the emotions of it wear off, I think he’ll be all right.”

  “I hope so.” Kyrin drew her brows together. “It can’t be easy, especially with those suspicious looks Mister Hagen gives him all the time.”

  The old man and his daughter had shown up a few weeks ago, half-starved and frozen, from a village to the south after getting into trouble with the emperor’s men for unpaid taxes. The man wasn’t quite right. He acted far more like a small child than a grown man, needing his daughter Alice’s almost constant care and supervision. She said it had been like this ever since he had suffered a severe blow to the head a few years ago during a ryrik raid on their village. The marauders had carried off his wife, leaving him with a rabid hatred for anything even hinting of ryriks. Anytime he and Jace crossed paths, the man looked ready to grab the first weapon within reach and run him through. No matter how many times Trask tried to reassure him, the man never seemed to grasp it.

  “I know it sounds unwelcoming of me, but I can’t help looking forward to when they move on,” Kyrin admitted. Jace shouldn’t have to live under such suspicion. This was his home, after all.

  Lenae offered a look of gentle understanding, but the conversation ended with a knock at the door. Wiping her hands, Lenae crossed the room to answer it.

  “Good morning, Lenae.” Warin’s voice came from outside before the big man stepped into the cabin at Lenae’s invitation. He smiled at the women and Meredith before his gaze refocused on Lenae. “I was out near the supply shack and found these for you.”

  He gave her a small handful of delicate white flowers with a splash of pale blue and gold at the center. A bright smile lit her face.

  “They must have just opened this morning.” He seemed to have trouble deciding what to do with his hands now that he wasn’t holding the flowers. “I thought I’d bring them in so you could enjoy them.”

  Kyrin shared a discreet look with her mother.

  Lenae smiled up at Warin. “Thank you. I will enjoy them very much.”

  “You’re welcome.” His sparkling eyes lingered a moment before shifting to the table. “What are you working on, Meredith?”

  “Bread.” The little girl puffed herself up proudly. “I’m doing it all by myself.”

  “Really?”

  Meredith nodded, but then hesitated. “Well, Kyrin is helping me.”

  “Just a little,” Kyrin said with a grin.

  “I bet it will be delicious,” Warin told Meredith, making her beam again. “Do you think you can bring me a piece when it’s done? I love it when it’s warm and buttery.”

  “Sure!”

  “I can’t wait.” Warin’s gaze slid back to Lenae. “I’d better be going. I have to give Trask a report on our supplies.”

  “Thanks again for the violets.”

  He nodded, smiling, and turned to let himself out. Lenae watched until the door closed before turning to the table. “Meredith, why don’t you get one of the small vases from the shelf? We’ll put the flowers on the table so we can all enjoy them while we’re working.”

  Meredith hopped off her stool and quickly retrieved a vase. “Here, Mommy.”

  She handed the porcelain container to Lenae. Kyrin smiled at how quickly the little girl had adopted Lenae as her new mother. The two of them were perfect together.

  “Thank you, sweetheart.” Lenae fille
d the vase with water and arranged the flowers.

  Glancing once again at her mother, Kyrin cleared her throat lightly. “I didn’t know you liked snow violets, Lenae.”

  “They’re my favorite,” she responded. “I look forward to them every spring.”

  “Then it’s a lucky thing that Warin found them and thought of you.”

  “Not really luck. I went for a walk yesterday to look for some. I met up with him and told him.”

  Kyrin caught her mother’s eye again. Clearly they both sensed the same thing.

  “What are you two smiling about?”

  They looked at Lenae.

  “Nothing.” Kyrin tried to hide her smile without much success. Her mother didn’t do much better.

  Lenae gave them a suspicious look, but a smile lurked on her own lips. They said no more about it, but the interaction between Lenae and Warin told Kyrin more than any words would.

  A couple of hours later, Kyrin set one of the finished loaves on the table to cool. She had just turned to get another when the door opened again, letting in a string of excited male voices.

  “—see that?”

  Kaden walked in first, laughing a breathless chuckle fueled by adrenaline, and flashed a grin at Talas.

  The crete shook his head. “I thought for sure you were going down!”

  Kyrin could tell by their windblown hair that they had just come from flying, likely another training session for their group of dragon riders. They worked with them nearly every day. The laughter and conversation died, however, when Kaden met their mother’s probing gaze.

  “What’s this about going down?”

  Kaden’s gaze shifted to Kyrin, looking for support. She lifted her brows. If he was being daring and foolhardy, he wasn’t going to get any support from her.

  His attention returned to their mother. “Ah . . .” A sheepish grin came to his face that Kyrin remembered him using as a child to cover up wrongdoing. “It’s nothing… I was just practicing a new maneuver and there was a little incident. That’s all.”