Medalon

guiltily.

“It’s only me.” R’shiel stood in the entrance to the stables, her shawl pulled tight around her. He shoved the note into his pocket hastily.

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s just a bit stuffy inside.” She walked over and sat beside him. She seemed so distant. As if the shell of the old R’shiel remained, but the spark of life was gone. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing important,” he replied. “Are you all right, R’shiel?”

“Something has happened to me, Tarja, and I don’t know what it is. I can’t even describe it.” She pulled idly at the fringe on her shawl for a moment and then looked at him. “I didn’t kill Loclon, did I?”

“No.”

“Did you? I can’t remember.”

“I kicked him in the face. But I doubt it was enough to kill him. I’m sorry.”

“Not half as sorry as I am.”

They sat in silence for a moment, each lost in his own thoughts. Eventually she looked at him, her expression curious. “Who is Brak?”

“I’m not sure.”

“He’s been telling me about the Harshini. I think he’s worried about me, so he’s telling me fairy stories as if I were a little child, to take my mind off things. It’s a nice thing to do, I suppose.”

“Well, Brak can be very nice when he wants to,” he agreed, faintly amused to find himself complimenting a man he was still debating whether or not he should kill.

“I’m sorry, Tarja.”

“For what?”

“It’s my fault you got mixed up with the heathens. Maybe it’s even my fault you deserted. You only did after you learned the truth about me.”

“It’s not your fault, R’shiel.” For some reason he was intensely aware of her, sitting so close, almost but not quite touching.

“I still want to apologize, though.” She reached out and placed her hand on his arm. He could feel her warmth and had to consciously fight the desire to take it in his hand.

“If it makes you feel better.”

She was so close that he stood up abruptly and walked to the door. He leaned against the frame and studied her from a safer distance.

“What are we waiting for, Tarja?” she asked, a little hurt at his sudden withdrawal. She cocked her head, as if she couldn’t figure him out. “Do you think Brak is still with the rebels?”

“If he is, then I suspect Brak was sent to kill me, not rescue me.”

“I’m glad he didn’t kill you.” She stood up and came to stand before him. “If he had, you wouldn’t have been there when I needed you.”

She leaned forward to kiss his cheek thankfully, lingered for a moment, her cheek touching his. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before he turned his mouth to find hers. For a timeless moment she did not react, then she pulled away from him.

“I’m sorry,” he said automatically. But as he looked at her, with her dark red hair, indigo eyes, and her golden skin, he suddenly saw what had been in front of him all along. Saw what Zac had seen in her. R’shiel looked at him uncertainly in the moonlight, unaware of the direction of his thoughts. Totally ignorant of who or what she was. Fairy tales, she had called Brak’s stories. How could she even suspect the truth? That was why Brak wanted her. She was Harshini.

“Tarja?”

He pulled her to him. Kissed her as he had the night in the vineyard, except this time there was no regret, no surprise. Only the certain knowledge that this was meant to be.

“Well now, isn’t this just cozy?” a voice said from the darkness, accompanied by a hiss of unsheathing steel.

Several figures detached themselves silently from the shadows, all carrying naked blades that menacingly caught the moonlight. R’shiel pulled away from him as the rebels surrounded them. The owner of the voice moved into the faint light thrown into the stables by the inn. Tarja recognized the wild-eyed, fair-haired young man, with a rush of despair.

“Ghari!”

“See, lads, he hasn’t forgotten us,” Ghari told them, as he moved closer to Tarja. As soon as he was within reach, he shoved him against the wall roughly and raised his blade to Tarja’s throat. “You lying, treacherous, son of a bitch. I can’t believe you had the gall to show up here. Back in uniform, too, I see.”

“Ghari, I can explain—” Tarja began, trying to sound reasonable.

“Explain what, exactly, Tarja?” Ghari hissed. “Why you betrayed us? Why you left us to fend off a whole freaking company of Defenders while you were living it up with your mother in the Citadel?”

“They tortured him in the Citadel!” R’shiel cried as Ghari’s blade pressed deeper into Tarja’s neck, drawing blood. Her cry brought two of the rebels rushing to her side. They pulled her back roughly. “He never betrayed you!”

Ghari turned to look at her as he eased the blade from Tarja’s throat. Tarja took an involuntary gasp of air.

“You think I’d believe anything that came from you? Though I must admit, I’ve not seen such devotion between siblings before. I knew the Sisterhood cared little for morals, but I hadn’t realized incest was so popular.”

“I’m not his sister!” R’shiel snapped, shaking free of her captors. “And Tarja never betrayed you! Even when they tortured him.”

“R’shiel, don’t—” Tarja began. Ghari had been one of their most ardent supporters. It seemed that he was now one of their most bitter enemies, his disappointment turned to rage.

“Someone’s coming!” a voice hissed from the darkness. Ghari began issuing orders via hand signals to his men. His anger was a palpable thing.

“Let’s go somewhere we can discuss this privately,” he told Tarja, then turned and ordered the men to grab R’shiel. She had no chance to cry out as a hand clamped firmly over her mouth.

“Don’t you—” he warned, but he never had a chance to complete his threat. The last thing Tarja saw was R’shiel struggling against her captors as Ghari brought the hilt of his sword down hard against his head and he swam into a black pool of unconsciousness.

When he came to, he was lying in a wagon, tied hand and foot, and loosely covered with straw. R’shiel was beside him, similarly bound. She had been gagged, but had worked the gag loose and it now hung uselessly around her neck.

“Tarja?” she whispered, as soon as his eyes opened. The wagon hit a bump in the road and his head slammed against the wagon bed, but he fought off the black wave that engulfed him and managed to remain conscious. “Are you all right?”

“Any idea where we are?”

“I think we’re headed for the vineyard. What will they do to us?”

“I really don’t know, R’shiel,” he lied, and then he gave in to the blackness and lost consciousness again.

part five THE RECKONING