As the group dissipated—or, rather, as Maree, Vana, and Meres went off to talk alone—Ciardis decided to go unpack in a tent. They didn’t need her here.
“Hold a minute, Ciardis,” called Sebastian.
She turned back patiently as she waited for him to catch up with her.
“What else?”
“What else what?”
“I can tell that something else is bothering you,” he said, walking forward and standing face to face with her. “Is there something that you haven’t told Lord Kinsight?”
“I’ve told him everything I know.”
She sighed. “But Sebastian, this is personal. I don’t think this is an outside group. I think the Shadow Mage is the primary organizer.”
Sebastian frowned. “And the Duchess of Carne?”
“Had nothing to do with this,” Ciardis said with an irritated flap of her hand. “This goes deeper. The Shadow Mage has some sort of history with the area.”
Sebastian nodded. “That would fit with the story told to us by the survivor.”
“The question is who is his brother, and why now?”
“I may have found someone who can tell us how, at the very least,” Sebastian said. “The Ashlord has travelled with us. He might be able to give us some answers on the source of the Shadowwalker’s powers since their magical disclipines are similar.”
“Prince Heir Sebastian,” said Maree Amber respectfully from behind him, “we need to have further discussions.”
Sebastian nodded at her and looked back at Ciardis hesitantly.
“Would you like to join us?”
Ciardis waved him off. “I’ve had all I can stand this day. I will follow up with you later.”
Turning, she left him and Maree Amber behind as they joined the others. As she walked back, she heard some soldiers chatting. “You heard, right? We’re only here because Prince Heir Sebastian had an itch for his main squeeze.”
His comrade laughed and snorted. “Not even pretty enough to warrant it.”
“What?” his friend teased. “Not good enough for you?”
“Not skinny enough.”
Why were those soldiers talking so disparagingly about the Prince Heir, and what squeeze?
“Certainly powerful, though.”
“I don’t need power in a woman.”
It was then that Ciardis caught on that they were talking about her. As she strode forward to confront the lewd louts, she ran straight into another soldier. Stepping back with her hand upraised to ward him off, she scowled.
“Forgive my intrusion, Milady, but those are
Proudly, she said, “See that you do.”
She watched him turn to the small area where the soldiers stood and watched as he dressed them down in a way that would make the taciturn washerwomen of Vaneis proud. But she couldn’t help but be sad—sad that she wasn’t included, that she didn’t fit in anywhere. That she didn’t belong in the courts like Serena and Sebastian, in the forests like Terris and Meres, in streets like Christian and Stephanie, or, obviously, in on numerous secrets like Vana and Maree Amber.
She needed some alone time to think. Angry at herself for even being sad when she had things she could only dream of back in Vaneis, she stomped off alone in the forest.
Chapter 33
Walking into the woods, which wasn’t far from where they set up camp, Ciardis was beginning to regret her fit of anger. But she was tired and the people around her were bringing out the absolute worst in her. Christian caught up to her fleeing form with ease as he hopped onto a fallen tree and proceeded to walk up the steep angle parallel to Ciardis’s head.
“You know some people would think you wanted to be killed running away all alone like that,” he said.
She had to stifle a laugh when she looked up to see him holding out his hands to balance himself on the trunk of the tree.
“Some people would say I just wanted some quiet time alone,” she countered in amusement.
He snorted and flipped off the trunk to somersault in the air and land right in front of her. She stopped in astonishment.
“How’d you do that?” she said in awe.
“Practice.”
“Well, Mr. I-Can-Do-Somersaults-in-Mid-Air, how’d you like to be known for a talent that you can barely control?”
“I used to be, you know,” he said as he walked backwards in front of her.
As she stared at him she had to admire his beautiful face. But the smirk that was plastered on his mouth was definitely a feature she could do without.
“Really?” she said coyly. “I never heard that.”
“I’m a healer,” he said with a shrug, “You learn as you go. And at least you didn’t kill anybody.”
As she watched the shadows play across his face, she realized she didn’t know him very well at all.
“What do you mean?” she asked. “Who are you really, Christian of the Somersaults?”
He grinned and opened his mouth to reply, but then the snapping of nearby branches and curses in a familiar voice ended his reply. Out of the bushes emerged Stephanie, covered in bog water and stinking.
“What in the seven hells happened to you?” asked Christian.
Ciardis came over to tentatively touch what looked like slime dripping from Stephanie’s shoulders. She hastily pulled her finger back when the woman looked at her with a face that said she’d bite her finger off if it came one more inch closer.
“I fell in a swamp looking for the two of you,” she snapped.
“Oh,” said Ciardis guilty.
“Told ya,” said Christian. “People will worry.”
Ciardis sighed and pointed west. “There’s a clearing about three minutes’ walk west of here. There’s a brook nearby where you can clean your clothes.”
Stephanie gave her look bordering on crazy. Ciardis could physically see the struggle cross Stephanie face on whether she wanted to be clean or take out the dirtiness on Ciardis. Apparently her desire to be clean overrode the desire to hurt Ciardis for forcing her out into the woods in the first place. And so they began walking, Ciardis in the lead until they heard the sound of a babbling brook. Stephanie didn’t even wait until Christian and Ciardis were on the other side of the running water to start discarding her clothes. She took a bar of soap out of knapsack and dumped the tunic and pants in the water.
Before Ciardis disappeared on the other side of the shrubs into the open glade, she noted a curious tattoo on Stephanie’s lower back. Before she could investigate further, she was pulled into the clearing by Christian, who chided, “You really should ask to look at a girl’s goods first.”
Ciardis gave him a droll look and rolled her eyes.
Walking into the center and trying to forget the attack by the Shadow Mage, she asked him, “So what’s the tattoo?”
Christian looked up at her in surprise. “How would I know?”
“I thought you were lovers,” Ciardis said with a furious blush as she dipped her head.
He laughed. “No, we’d bicker night and day if we were. Kill each other in a week at most.”
She looked at him curiously.
