Forge (The Children of Man, #3)

By Elizabeth Mock

After the Tereskan massacre and the death of her son, Faela Durante thought she had nothing left to lose. Then she nearly died at her husband’s hands because of her need for vengeance. She survived, but at what cost?

Battered and bruised, Faela, along with Kade Hawthorn and Jair Rafferty, must now do the impossible. They must resurrect light magic, destroyed millennia ago in the Shattering, while the consequences of Faela’s mistake ripple across the world. Will they learn to work together in time? Or will Faela lose everything she’s gained?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth Mock
• Release date: Aug 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463857144

Elizabeth Mock

Elizabeth C. Mock lives with her spouse in Cincinnati, Ohio where they watch too many international shows and plot their next culinary adventure. She currently a grad student and continues writing The Children of Man series and other projects. Elizabeth is a fantasy author repped by Barry Goldblatt of Barry Goldblatt Literary.

Book preview

The Prophecy of Forging

Spoken by Mireya Pascal, 33rd Oracle of Nikela

Recorded by the faithful hand of Dathien Pascal, 33rd Grier of Nikela

in the 3096th Year of the Shattering

Seven shall come to undo what was done.

From shadow revealed, three destinies sealed.

Daughter of night shall succumb to dark sight.

He who walks time out of fire must climb.

Son of the earth shall steal from its birth.

Speaker of truth, guide you must be, trust in that which only you see.

Keeper of truth, watch and protect, never dismiss all you suspect.

Twin branches extend, a choice here resolved,

Either shall end betrayed or absolved.

From death shall be life; a world formed anew.

A promise was made; redemption pursue.

The Prophecy of Unification

The final prophecy spoken by Rivka ‘Peacemaker’ Breen, 32nd Oracle of Nikela

Recorded by the faithful hand of Dathien Pascal, 33rd Grier of Nikela

in the 3097th Year of the Shattering

Two alone will fail, but three will stand strong.

To pierce darkness’ veil, they must learn the light’s song.

PART ONE

SOME SAY it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. Those people have never watched loss fester until it rots someone from the inside out.

— Wymond Demir

CHAPTER ONE

MY SON is dead.

Eli Westington nodded. Yes. Nikolais is dead.

The warehouse district along the western docks of Lanvirdis, the capital of Nabos, was empty this late at night. So was the alley where the two men talked. Shadows cast by gas lights and a dilapidated roof partially hid the face of the older man standing in front of Eli. His sandy blond hair was woven with silver. He had the look of a Mergorian, sturdily built with rough, burly features and pale skin.

The man nodded, once, as if determining the impact of a lost shipment of iron—irritated by the loss but weighing how much would be required to balance the scales.

Gratien Baudin, the Head of House Nightmist, was a cold man.

Eli would never understand the Merchant Houses. The loss of his son should be met with disbelief, grief, horror, and rage—not calculations.

The memory of Faela Durante standing over him like a vengeful god of the Salju snows and ice flashed in his mind. He flexed his hand. Its newly-grown bones ached. Several Tereskan healers had worked an entire day to repair what Faela had crushed beneath her boot.

Baudin finally asked, How?

Not who. That would have been Eli’s first question. Then again, he wasn’t an assassin. Gunshot.

Baudin’s wiry eyebrows shadowed his green eyes his mouth, a tight line. Evensong.

Who else?

That is where he died, yes, Eli said.

Baudin pinned Eli with a gaze. Tomas Segar promised us Evensong if I sent my son to seduce the Durante witch. My son did his job. He secured a blood claim to Evensong. But the child is dead.

Grief simmered in Eli’s chest at the mention of Faela’s son. That was an appropriate response, he thought, at the death of a child. Eli had done what was required—the few for the many. Tomas Segar, Scion of the Daniyelan Order, the keeper of the flame of justice, would save this world from itself.

Now, Baudin continued, my son is also dead, and we are no closer to acquiring Evensong. An alliance with the Daniyelans has yet to benefit my House.

And there it was. Not an outright accusation, but close enough. Tomas had feared this reaction. Master Baudin, you will have it. In order to deliver you Evensong, we must ensure the Durantes lose support within their own House, so the rest of Evensong views them as too tainted by controversy to govern.

Baudin studied Eli. I presume your Scion already has a plan in mind?

Rafaela is a Gray, a heretic. She—

The religious spats of your Orders don’t concern me. Baudin’s visage hardened. And the rest of the Houses will not care.

Eli swallowed back his admonition. He shouldn’t antagonize the man. The death of Nikolais Baudin had been unforeseen, and Tomas needed Nightmist’s loyalty. She orchestrated the murders of the Nikelan Scion and her Grier as well as the massacre at the Tereskan Temple. She did so by making an alliance with Irondawn.

Baudin grunted his disbelief. That’s a lot of work for one woman. He paused. Although, she is the great-granddaughter of Hugo Durante.

Anger sparked in Baudin’s eyes at the name. Eli dimly recalled some old dispute between Evensong and Nightmist instigated by Hugo Durante. Baudin looked down, thoughtful. Then his head snapped up in realization, You want us to make a claim for Evensong. He cast a dubious gaze. How?

Eli smiled, pleased. We require your House’s specialized skill set. Two men must never stand trial, and there cannot be a whisper of our involvement. When it is done, Tomas Segar, Scion of the Daniyelan Order, will tell the world that Rafaela Durante and House Evensong are responsible. In Judgment he will revoke the Durante family’s claim to Headship and appoint you as interim Head as Rafaela’s father-in-law.

The quarry? Baudin asked.

Phineas Greyson and Gifford Beale, they await trial for colluding with Rafaela and her dissidents in the murders of the Nikelan leaders and attempted murder of the Daniyelan Scion.

Baudin crossed his thick arms across his chest. You want my House to assassinate the King and High Minister of Nabos.

Then Evensong is yours.

Baudin clasped hands with Eli. Orange bands of fire twined up their arms. Baudin looked in his eyes. House Nightmist will see justice done.

The wording surprised Eli. He never would have thought Nightmist, or any Merchants, were concerned with justice. The fire fell into ash. Binding them both to this path.

Neither saw the man with glowing golden eyes, cloaked in the shadows, retreat.

CHAPTER TWO

FAELA DURANTE sat beneath the glow of the Boundary between the countries of Nabos and Vamorines as she cleaned Jair Rafferty’s revolver. She’d been teaching him about its care and maintenance over the past weeks. Despite that, he hadn’t cleaned it. Not since he had shot Nikolais, had taken his first life, had killed her husband.

To save her.

Shame and guilt crawled inside her guts. She’d already stained Jair’s hands with Nikolais’ blood because of her recklessness. It was only right that she clean the weapon. Besides, what else was she going to do? She couldn’t sleep. So, she’d spent the night servicing and reassembling her rifles while studying the two Demir journals they had recovered thus far. Plus, firearms’ parts made convenient paperweights to hold down pages in the wind whipping in from the sea.

Despite her night of study, she didn’t feel any closer to understanding the journals. The Grays who'd come before her, pre-dating even the Shattering, had supposedly written the Demir journals—always three Grays. The previous Hands of Tallior, if the Deoraghan were to be believed. One more journal remained, and they had no idea where to look next. They’d found the first of the journals in the Shrine of Shattering, the place she’d sought for so long. The place she’d left her son Sammi to find.

She’d thought the Shrine would absolve her of her crimes. Instead, she’d found a graveyard dedicated to those very same Grays who’d died in service to the world and the first journal. Despite Mireya Pascal, a Nikelan oracle, prophesying at their first meeting, it was still hard for Faela to believe that she had a destiny. She’d made so many mistakes, and they’d cost her everything. What did she have to offer the world?

She pulled the oil-soaked rag through the cylinder’s chambers. She’d saved the revolver for last. She hadn’t wanted to touch it, not at first. But she needed to keep her hands and mind busy. Sleep tormented her. If she didn’t dream about Nikolais, she dreamed about Sammi. Not of his death. Her dreams were far crueler than that.

The grief of her sleeping mind rejected reality. Visions of her son at ages he would never be—ten, three, fourteen, six years old—taunted her. The sweetness of the dreams inevitably soured when she woke to his absence, to the truth she could not erase.

Her son would never grow up.

Faela’s grief ached as she rubbed her eyes and blinked away her exhaustion. She rotated her stiff shoulders. The right caught before it popped over the new scar tissue from its recent dislocation. An injury she’d received during her escape from her late husband after Eli Westington had delivered her to Finalaran. One of the injuries she’d received. She focused on the twinge of pain, ignoring the dark emotions roused by thoughts of Eli and Nikolais, and reflexively checked her barriers, still secure.

Even through her barriers, she could feel the pulses of Jair and Kade Hawthorn’s minds. Only a few months ago in Oakdarrow, she’d linked all three of their minds when she’d lost control of her red magic, her Tereskan mind healing magic. Had it only been months since she’d met Jair and Kade?

Kade.

She didn’t want to think about Kade, about how he made her feel, about what she’d done to him in Agoneth, about how she wanted to go to him now—how she couldn’t. She pushed away her conflicted feelings and checked in to make sure he and Jair were okay, habit and reflex at this point. Jair still slept. Kade was just starting to rouse. She closed her eyes and exhaled. Good. At least, she hadn’t disturbed their sleep.

Now, if she could make sense of these journals, and what they were supposed to do next. She should talk to Mireya. Faela needed the young Nikelan Scion’s preternatural discernment.

The information within each seemed little more than a curiosity. The thoughts and chronicled journeys of the Grays who’d come before. Those who’d touched black magic and then renounced it, who she’d believed were only legends, who the Orders taught were abominations against the Light. Grays like her and Jair and Kade. The Demir journals seemed nothing more than a record of their fears, their insecurities, their decision making, decisions which had had consequences.

As all choices did.

Faela’s hand halted, rag on the barrel, shaking with a slight tremor. She inhaled and held her breath. Back at the Evensong compound, she’d been moments away from death, ribs cracked, lung punctured, organs damaged. Oil-soaked rag still clutched in her fingers, she touched her side. Her whole torso ached if she breathed too deeply or suddenly. She looked down at the weapon in her other hand, such a small thing to end a life. Just the squeeze of a trigger and her world had changed. In a stammered rush, she released her breath.

Helpless, she’d watched Jair and Kade as they’d run toward her. She’d been trapped by Eli’s black binding. Her rage and fear had unleashed her gray magic, shattering Eli’s prison, freeing her and returning her voice. Those same emotions reached up from her gut once more, reaching for her throat. She swallowed them back.

In one last act of defiance against her husband, she had focused on Kade and had made another decision. She’d spoken the truth.

That she was in love with Kade. She couldn’t deny it anymore even if she wanted to, and there was no point. She loved him, a man she’d known for only a few months, a man who’d become as dear to her as her slain son.

She’d made so many bad decisions of late. Her need for retribution against Eli Westington—a compulsion fueled by her gnawing grief—had done so much damage to herself, to Kade, to Jair. Shame tangled and tightened in her chest. But telling Kade she loved him? Regardless of how complicated everything else felt, that had been no mistake.

At least, she hoped it hadn’t been.

Then her memory of waking in Wistholt pushed itself to the surface. Kade hadn’t tried to touch her again since then. Not after she’d flinched away from him, afraid, sickened by the thought of anyone’s hands on her.

The memory of Kade’s touch seemed to summon the ghost of Nikolais’ hands on her skin, fingers knotted in her hair, hot breath on her neck, cold anger in his eyes.

Faela had managed to keep these memories, these feelings at bay all night, but they’d been building, and she was exhausted.

All it ever took was a moment.

Her hands fell to her lap, her breathing quickening, snared by the memory. The revolver dropped from her limp fingers and rolled onto the tufts of coarse grass on the moor. Nikolais’ eyes boring into her. His rage as he yelled at her to scream. His kicks aimed at her soft tissue. The taste of blood in her mouth.

Steady hands descended on her shoulders, gentle, but firm. Faela froze. Nausea crawled up from her guts. Her breaths shallow and too fast. Light-headed, everything tunneled.

He was back. He was here. Nikolais wasn’t dead.

He had come for her. She would never escape. Never be free.

~~~

DARKNESS TAKE every Order, Deborah Durante, youngest daughter of House Evensong, said as she crumpled and threw the letter into the fireplace.

Evensong compound’s steward, Jehu, watched, his face grim. Deborah, this puts you in a precarious position.

The fact that Jehu had used her first name kept the acid response from leaving her tongue. He rarely called her by her given name, even in private.

Deborah sighed. Darkness take my sister. Her voice dropped, Faela takes everything that’s mine.

Jehu’s hand twitched behind his back as if wanting to comfort Deborah. He resettled his posture and said, You are the rightful Head of Evensong.

Deborah grimaced. That may be. The declarations of the Orders about Faela being some heretic out of legend coupled with Nikolais’ death were bad enough for the Durante reputation within, not to mention outside, Evensong. With Nikolais gone, securing the Headship seemed assured, despite the suspicious nature of his death. No one in the House approved of the way he took over after Faela disappeared. I believe I still have the support of the members of the House. What I fear are those families who would benefit from my, from a Durante, downfall.

Jehu seemed to study Deborah. She sighed, Speak your mind, Jehu. I value your opinion.

You are the daughter of Darius Durante, and you have quietly been securing alliances even while the Nightmist dog lived, he said. They will follow you.

Deborah quirked an eyebrow at Jehu’s refusal to use Nikolais’ name. The steward communicated, wielded power in a subtle way. She would need to remember that.

He continued, I do not deny that the accusations against Mistress Rafaela will complicate matters. Suspicions against the Merchants Houses run deep and having so many of the deaths linked to us—first, Irondawn’s Marion Lowe in Lanvirdis, and now Mistress Rafael’s ties to both the Lanvirdis and Tereskan massacres—is telling.

Deborah frowned. The youngest of her siblings, she’d been born into a world at war. But growing up far from the front, it had rarely touched her in Finalaran. She was a child when it ended, so she had grown into adulthood in a world scarred but recovering.

You think whatever is happening is trying to raise the ghosts of the War in people’s minds, Deborah concluded.

Jehu inclined his head in the barest of nods. The deaths of the Lanvirdis city council, the massacre of the Tereskans in Kilrood, and the death of Nikolais Baudin are not a repetition of the events which precipitated the War. However, they certainly rhyme with them. They are more than enough to destabilize the hard-won peace of the last decade. Old wounds do not heal so quickly.

Deborah placed a hand on the wall next to the fireplace. Only this time, it’s not the people against the Orders. It’s the Merchant Houses against the people.

With the Orders swooping in to protect the people from the chaos of another war. Jehu grimaced. "To protect them from the specter of Grays straight from Roland’s Legends or The Tales of Lusi Sangster. The most famous of whom is the eldest daughter of Darius Durante."

Deborah clenched her hand into a fist and stiffened. The Orders will not take what is mine. I have not fought this hard to gain control of Evensong for anyone to take it from me. Not my sister, not Nightmist, and not any thrice-blasted Scion.

Jehu’s cheek jumped, a shadow of a smile. What would you have me do, Head Durante?

Deborah pushed her hair back and adjusted her clothing. For years, Deborah had cultivated a non-threatening image. Most people underestimated her. The world was about to meet the real Deborah Durante.

Deborah looked into the fire. Send for Ethan. It’s time to find out who our friends are and to make some new ones.

CHAPTER THREE

CALLA KAFTAN, Scion of the Lusican Order, read the words again. She had to be misunderstanding them. The book on her desk was old, hand-scribed on vellum. Though she lacked Amserian training in the purple magics of space and time, she had spent the last decade tracking down and hoarding old and rare texts on magical theory. She might not understand why magic worked the way Amserian Scion Hewitt Lehrer did, but she understood the how and, more importantly, the effects of various magics more than the most studied Amserian.

She reread the last paragraph for a fourth time. What this book suggested seemed impossible, but Calla’s breath quickened. It laid out how to create an artificial Channel. Instead of a person who was born a Channel, it involved a matrix of green magic fueled by the rivers of lava beneath the earth. It required drawing complex diagrams using yellow magic to focus the nearly limitless energy into a person.

She frowned as she continued to read. It had been a failed experiment. Not only had the focus of the artificial Channel been killed, his magic had been unleashed. It had been unstoppable. Before the man had been consumed, body and soul, by his own magic, it had devoured every living thing within a half-league radius. It wouldn’t work, not for her purposes anyway.

An unstable Channel was too much of a risk.

Calla felt irritated. The journal had provided such useful information up to this point. Its discovery years ago had started her down her current path, had given her hope she could achieve her goal, had given her the means to do so.

She knew the necessary components. She knew what she needed to do. Its safe execution, unfortunately, still eluded her.

This latest line of research, like so many over the last decade, had gone nowhere. Calla needed to return to the laboratory and continue her research. There had to be a way around this problem. There was always another way.

She would not condemn herself to Tomas’ fate. She had yet to be tainted by black magic. She would find a way. There was always a way.

Calla was so absorbed in her reading that she didn’t hear Lucien Verloran enter. At a soft click, she looked up and saw Lucien, the orphan her brother Philip had found on the streets of Kilrood and brought home to Kitrinostow. The child had always possessed an uncanny gift for glamours. Now, she couldn’t look at Lucien without thinking of her brother who had been killed in that futile war.

Lucien’s hand was still on the floor-length mirror on the wall. He wore one of his hundreds of glamoured identities. This one was Tristan, the dock worker, if she remembered correctly. He stepped away from the entry of the secret passageway into her private offices in Kitrinostow’s Lusican temple. His wet boot prints led from the wall to where he stopped in front of her desk.

Whatever Lucien had learned must have troubled him. Otherwise, he would never have been so sloppy. Calla shut the book carefully and slid it to the side of her desk.

She tilted her head to the side. What news?

Lucien scrubbed his face, and with a golden shimmer, his glamour faded then reformed. Eli Westington approached Nightmist.

Calla’s attention narrowed to only Lucien. All thoughts of research gone. Explain.

Tomas has offered to give them Evensong if they assassinate the Nabosian King and High Minister, he said.

Calla sat back. She had been so sure she could clean up the mess Tomas and Eli had made. Nikolais Baudin’s death had been an inconvenience, but no danger to her plans. What had they done? And Nightmist refused? she asked.

Agitation bit into her breastbone. Nightmist would refuse. They had to. Something about Lucien’s appearance, however, eroded her certainty.

Lucien shook his head. They accepted. Gratien Baudin took a Daniyelan binding vow.

Calla’s breath caught in a frozen, timeless moment. It wasn’t possible. Nightmist would never have agreed after what had happened—unless. It was a feint.

At that thought, time unstuck, and she shot to her feet. I need to—

Calla never finished her sentence because someone knocked on her door. It pushed open without waiting for an answer. An older woman wearing a Tereskan healer’s crimsons entered, her teak cane rapping as she strode to Calla. Yuli Aritza had been the Chief Tereskan of the Lusican temple far longer than Calla had been Scion.

Jha’na, Yuli said, Wallis was just brought in with a report.

Calla paused again, stunned for a second time. Wallis couldn’t have gotten into the temple so quickly. He’d just left for Wistholt. Then faint gold light, nearly imperceptible, shimmered on her face and in her eyes, and she looked concerned—all in less than a heartbeat.

Unless a person knew what to look for, her yellow magic appeared as nothing more than shifting light. Very few could tell when a Lusican skilled in glamours used their magic. Lucien, however, was one of the few.

How serious? Calla asked.

Yuli stopped and handed Calla an envelope. Shadows clouded her dark amber eyes. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. Like someone sliced off his hand above the wrist with a Daniyelan blade, but it had no burns. Eyes hard, she met Calla’s gaze. It’s almost like the stories I’ve heard about popping gone horribly wrong.

Calla took it and groped her other hand blindly at Lucien’s arm. He moved closer to support her. Which hand?

His right, Yuli said.

Calla cursed. Will he live?

Yuli shook her head. It’s too early to tell. He was in shock when they brought him in. He had already lost a lot of blood, but I was able to stabilize him. She sighed and pierced Calla with her reddish-brown eyes ringed with gold. This is the fifth cyskia with serious and... odd wounding in as many days. Calla,—she dropped the honorific—what are you doing? There was a pity in the older woman’s voice.

Calla’s jaw tightened. She would send as many as she must to find what she needed. Glamours, clearly, couldn’t fool the Amserian barrier, but there had to be a way around it. There was always a way.

Then she looked beneath her aggravation to the powerlessness it hid. She used it as she sank into Lucien’s side. I need your help, Yuli. The Tereskan Order needs your help, your guidance.

Yuli studied Calla, wary. What do you have in mind?

Calla clutched the letter. The fear was stronger than she’d expected. The bite of the paper kept the fear from sweeping her away, but she sounded shaken. You’re needed in Kilrood.

Yuli considered this for several moments. She understood what Calla was implying, what she truly asked. Calla wanted her to fill Ianos’ absence. Yuli seemed to hesitate. No, she was waiting to see something in Calla.

After several stretched out moments, Yuli seemed to find what she was looking for because she said, Very well. I go where my Order calls.

Calla stood, squeezed Lucien’s upper arm, and laid her hand on top of Yuli’s. We will need your strength in these troubling times, Sister Aritza. Especially with Ianos still missing.

Yuli grunted. Then her gaze softened. Consider carefully your next moves, jha’na. She twisted her hand on the cane’s handle. After the end of the war, I thought we were done burying so many of our brothers and sisters. Yuli met Calla’s eyes, her own grieved. Don’t make me bury more.

Calla looked past the older woman to Lucien who had faded into the background. He had such a remarkable talent for making people forget his presence, just like Philip. When Calla looked at Lucien, she couldn’t help but see what she had lost, what had been stolen from her.

Calla’s grief tried to claw its way through her chest as she looked back to Yuli. I will see what we have lost restored.

Calla opened Wallis’ report in her hand. What could have happened in Wistholt? She would deal with this. Then she would return to the laboratory before she confronted Tomas, before that fool ruined everything she had sacrificed for.

CHAPTER FOUR

A DEEP voice, lower than Nikolais’, said, Rafaela, what is Tereska’s Vow?

Words? The words wouldn’t stick. Faela wanted to scream, needed to scream. She couldn’t. The sound died in her throat.

Hands. His hands were on her again. Get them off.

Get them off.

Suddenly, the hands were gone, and the voice repeated the same question. Words. Words. Words. What were the words?

Tereska’s Vow. She knew that. Didn’t she? She tried to focus. Why was it so hard to focus?

Faela knew the answer. When possible, help. When can’t, harm none. That was the answer.

Trying to force the answer into words felt like trying to run through chest-deep snow. After several attempts, she managed to get out a single word.

Help.

Good, the voice said. What did Ianos always keep in his pocket?

At this question, Faela blinked several times, seeing the details in front of her for the first time. Silver eyes looked back at her. Nikolais didn’t have silver eyes. The face had a dense beard. Kade and Jair didn’t have beards. Scruff, yes. This, however, was a thick, full beard.

She exhaled, sudden like a restraint had released. Stone. His pocket. She squinted, trying to focus. Fishing village. His. Born there. Its beach.

The face nodded. Good.

Hands moved back to her shoulders and squeezed. Different hands. Not Nikolais’. Can you tell me what you see?

Faela’s mouth jumped. Beard.

Silver eyes crinkled. Yes.

Her eyes strayed from the face for the first time. Blue.

What is the blue light?

Faela frowned. She stared at the curtain of blue light. Slowly, she said, Boundary.

Can you move your fingers?

Faela looked down at her hands, limp in her lap. Her brow furrowed. Her body felt far away. This felt familiar. She focused on the physicality of having arms, hands, fingers. After a few intolerably long moments, her fingers twitched. Then more sensations stirred and woke: the aches of her ribs, her cheek, her scalp, her shoulder. The dull pains of healing wounds. She looked back up, and the fragmented features coalesced into a person. Tobias?

She’d known Tobias Gresham nearly all her life. He’d taken her, at four years old, to Ianos Wilkerson, the Tereskan Scion, to live as his ward. She had not seen Tobias in years until a few months ago when she had tracked him down in her search for the Shrine of Shattering, where she had discovered that he, too, was Gray. That he was a previous Hand of Tallior along with his wife, Valaria Sagewind, the Gresham.

Tobias smiled with a gentle sadness, There you are.

Then, with a gasp, Faela felt everything. The sudden awareness of her entire body overwhelmed her. Emotion crashed into her like a wave, and she crumpled before the onslaught with a sob. Tobias drew her into his broad chest. She went willingly. He was so much larger than Nikolais. She felt like a small child in his arms, safe, protected. He rubbed her back and whispered reassurances as she wept. She held nothing back.

The tears came violent and free, like rain washing everything clean. Pain throbbed in her chest as if each sob were a weed being ripped out to make room for something new to take root and grow. Something better. Maybe even something good.

After a time, Tobias said, He’s gone.

Faela shook her head as her cries transformed into sniffling hiccups. No. I feel him.

As a mind healer, you know better than I, Tobias said, what just happened. Can you explain it to me?

What had happened? She knew this. It had felt familiar, like her childhood attacks. Like her mind healing work during and after the war. Her stomach dropped. Like Oakdarrow. Had Oakdarrow been one of her attacks? It couldn’t be. She hadn’t had one since early adolescence.

She drew in a few shuddering breaths until she could speak. Her thoughts came out jumbled. Yes. Before. At Mahlah Sanatorium. Where I worked.

As her mind woke, a distant part of her recognized what Tobias was doing—helping her anchor to the present moment, a technique she’d used with patients. She added to the chain he’d asked her to forge by focusing on academic details, not the emotions or the memories.

Ghosts, she said.

She gulped in more air. Some say these attacks are the restless ghosts of the dead. They haunt those who have wronged them.

Faela closed her eyes, clinging to Tobias’ shirt. Darkness, I understand why. It felt so real. He was here. She shook her head. No, not that he was here. I was back there. Like stepping. She frowned. Not exactly though. I’ve seen stepping from Kade’s mind. This was different.

This was what had happened in Oakdarrow. Shame spread like ice in her gut. She couldn’t speak those words yet. She breathed slowly through her nose, bringing calm.

Tobias rubbed her back. Oh, Rafaela.

More tears gathered in her eyes. As the emotion rose again, she added the next link in the chain.

This time is fragmented. It’s shattered. Her fingers tightened in the fabric of his shirt. Fear. There was so much fear. I couldn’t move or speak. I was certain he was here.

Tobias smoothed her hair. It sounds like the tales of possession out of the Salju and Pargos Mountains. No wonder people believe they are haunted by the dead.

Faela’s exhale was measured as she nodded her agreement. She looked up at Tobias, shame twisting around her again, but she found the words. Voice barely audible, she said, Darkness take me, this is how I forged the link. Her fear bubbled back up. What if I do it again? She sounded like a small child.

Calm, Tobias smoothed back her hair. When you had these attacks before did you forge a link like the one you have with Jair and Kade?

No. She bit the inside of her bottom lip. The pain helped. Ianos always separated me from anyone else until my barriers were strong enough to keep my gift from lashing out during my attacks.

Pain stabbed her chest. Ianos was still missing, taken by the Daniyelans who had massacred everyone at the Tereskan temple, including her son.

Did you hurt me with your gift just now? Tobias asked.

She blinked. She hadn’t hurt Tobias. The answer seemed to flip a switch inside her, like a train changing tracks. Her shame, her helplessness uncurled and dissipated.

No, she said.

Tobias nodded. And now you know what this is.

She dragged her hands down her face. Darkness, I’ve helped so many heal from attacks like these. Why couldn’t I recognize the symptoms in myself?

Tobias’ smile was a little sad. He didn’t mention the shame and guilt Faela had carried since Oakdarrow, and how those emotions clouded introspection. He didn’t need to. This revelation was freeing her of that burden. Instead, his smile turning wry, he said, How often do healers miss their own symptoms because they’re too busy taking care of everyone else?

Faela barked a mirthless laugh as she sat back on her heels and wiped away her tears. Tobias’ hands dropped to her knees.

Too often, she said. Then she looked at Tobias, earnest. My thanks. I wouldn’t have made this connection on my own. The fear was too much. I just wanted to get away from it, not think about it.

Tobias smiled, soft. We can’t know something before we know. He looked over at the journal still held open under the firearms parts and back to the darkness shadowing Faela’s eyes. Have you slept?

Faela shrugged. I had work to do.

Tobias’ cheek twitched. I don’t need to tell you how important sleep is to healing. He touched the bruises that covered her from cheek to jaw to neck. And you have a lot to heal from.

Faela began to reflexively dismiss his concern as she recalled his pointed comment about healers ignoring their own health. He was right. She wouldn’t be able to help anyone else or stop herself from hurting them if she didn’t take care of herself. So, why was it so hard to do?

She nodded in grudging agreement but doubted her capability to heed his advice. Where will you go next?

Tobias looked uncertain for a moment. His gaze swept to the Boundary and back to Faela. I think I’ll stay with you and the other Hands. For now.

Faela blinked. What?

Tobias’ smile was sad. Rivka and Vaughn are gone. He paused, grief heavy in his eyes and thick in his throat.

Rivka and Vaughn Breen, the previous Nikelan Scion and her Grier, had been slain by Tomas Segar and his Daniyelan fanatics along with the Lanvirdis city council. Their funeral had been held here at the Boundary just a few nights before. Rivka and Vaughn had watched the centuries pass with Tobias.

Despite everything Faela had lost, she couldn’t imagine the pain of such a parting. She had only been with Kade and Jair for such a short time in comparison, and she couldn’t imagine losing them, much less after so long together. She immediately rejected that possibility. She had just regained her stability.

Shifting her focus back to Tobias and the Nikelan leaders, Faela’s mind gravitated to Wes. The young thief from Lanvirdis who had witnessed their murders and been sold to slavers by Tomas. Faela and her friends had freed Wes from those same slavers on the Blackfoot Road not long ago, and she traveled with them still. The poor girl had been through so much, too much. Hadn’t they all?

Tobias cleared his throat and, voice hoarse, repeated, Rivka and Vaughn are gone, and Ianos is missing. I find myself—he paused again—alone.

Faela’s confusion must have been visible on her face because Tobias said, I’m a drifter, so aren’t I always alone anyway, right?

I wouldn’t have put it quite that bluntly, Faela said, but yes.

When you’ve lived as long as I have, Tobias said, trust me when I say, there is a difference. And I believe I can be of help to you and the other Hands. Tobias’ eyes flashed blue and faded. I feel I’m supposed to.

Faela still had a hard time trusting blue magic. It was so foreign to her own, even her gray magic felt more reliable. Weren’t you the one who said you couldn’t interfere in our journey?

I like to think of it more as advising, and less as interfering.

Faela’s mouth quirked to the side. Then help me understand the Demir journals’ purpose. They’re filled with personal stories, which are interesting, but don’t exactly tell me what we’re supposed to do next. She pushed her hair away from her forehead and exhaled in a gust. All I know is that we’re supposed to find the last Demir journal, but I don’t know where to even look, and I don’t know how it’s possibly going to help.

Before Tobias could answer, something metallic crashed nearby. Faela and Tobias turned at the noise in time to see Kade righting a bucket he’d knocked over. Faela checked her barriers. They were still up, but they must not have been thick enough.

Kade stopped when he spotted Tobias and slowed his approach. He wasn’t out of breath, but he was breathing hard. He had been running. His eyes found Faela’s, and his concern looked back at her.

You’ve been crying.

~~~

MIREYA HOVERED her hand just above the surface of the Boundary. Its blue light flickered like sun-lit water as its energy tingled against her palm. She lowered her fingertips and trailed them against the magical barrier. Like disrupted water, it rippled in waves away from her.

A leap of welcome came from the Boundary, not unlike a dog bounding to greet its master. She smiled. The Boundary had missed her.

She had missed it, too. It was hard to describe, in a manner others understood, what the Boundary was. It was magic, a construct. A construct which had been given life, consciousness; a consciousness bound to the Nikelan Scion.

Mireya recalled what Sheridan Reid, a powerful Amserian popper, had asked after Mireya had bonded with the Boundary and Felicia Miller, the twenty-sixth Nikelan Scion, had emerged from within Mireya. Sheridan had asked if Felicia was the Boundary. Felicia had denied this and described the Boundary like a bog creature that leads its prey into a trap. That it wasn’t a person.

That hadn’t been entirely true or entirely false. The reality was far more complicated.

Nikela had given the Boundary life to protect the secrets of Gialdanis and of light magic. To do so, it needed to be capable of repelling any magic user. It needed to be able to respond to any attack with its own ability to problem-solve. It had needed its own mind.

So, Nikela had given it one.

Nikela had bound herself to the Boundary. When she’d died, a part of her had remained. While the Oracles of Nikela inherited the memories and echoes of all their predecessors, Nikela’s had always been the most difficult to summon. Mireya wondered if it was because a piece of her soul lived within the Boundary.

It saddened Mireya to keep this secret from her companions. This, however, was a sacred trust. One she could not betray, not even to her friends.

Powerful magic resided in all life. It was the very source of magic. Nowhere was that power and life more concentrated than in a person’s soul, and any magic which used the everlasting being of a person was forbidden. What would the world do if they learned what Nikela had done?

To use a soul was considered the darkest magic that existed. Mireya understood why. It trod too closely to the work of Sterren, the originator of dark magic. He had tried to bind the soul of his dead wife to a new body and used the original inhabitant’s soul as well as many others to fuel the spell.

Mireya shuddered, remembering the tale. He’d succeeded, and the results had been horrific. The vessels, Sterren had called them, could not house a foreign spirit for long. They began to decompose after only one cycle of the moon. Then a new body was required.

Mireya didn’t know how to explain why the Boundary was different. Nikela hadn’t used anyone else’s soul. Only her own. She had sacrificed herself to stand guard, vigilant, for eternity.

It sounded lonely to Mireya.

She sent a somber greeting to Nikela. Her mind was no longer a person’s, not anymore. More animal than human now. Felicia hadn’t been wrong about that. Warmth seeped into Mireya’s palm along with a contented pleasure at her presence.

Nikela liked when her Scion’s visited in person. Mireya understood why. The sensation of unity and connection was strongest when she was physically present with the Boundary. It anchored her.

Since inheriting the mantel as Nikela’s Oracle, traveling past the Boundary had worn on Mireya. She hadn’t expected the distance to create such an absence, like she had left a part of herself behind. She was coming to understand why Nikelan Scions rarely ventured past the Boundary.

Mireya wondered if the memories and echoes of her predecessors were channeled through the Boundary. If that was how the line remained unbroken. It had been her bonding with the Boundary that had propelled Felicia Miller to the surface. She had never had the opportunity to ask Rivka. Mireya had never imagined she would be the next Oracle. She had never expected to carry this burden.

Rivka had left her unprepared, and Rivka agreed. She had confessed her failure to Mireya on the day of Mireya’s installation. She had spoken to her many-times-great-granddaughter through Nikela’s Mirror. The only way Mireya could talk to her face-to-face again.

Now, alone, Mireya faced a world that did not believe her. That did not accept her. That did not want her. Somehow, she had to be the woman Rivka had been.

Mireya was only nineteen, just beginning her life. She was no esoteric sage. She was clumsy and absent-minded and too earnest. Her husband’s voice echoed in her head. Dathien, her Grier, believed there was no such thing as too earnest, but he loved her. He had to say things like that.

To help with her new role, Dathien had begun reading from the Nikelan Chronicles, starting with the oldest, at night after dinner. Mireya wasn’t sure how all those old stories were going to help. All they did was make Mireya feel inadequate, remind her of how much she had to live up to. How she wasn’t enough.

Mireya pushed her fingers into the Boundary. They felt dipped in sunlight. She focused on the pleasant sensation as she wondered, Did Rivka ever feel like this? Did you, Nikela?

From the Boundary, Mireya got a questioning confusion. She sighed. She knew better than to ask the Boundary a direct question. Along with the confusion, she felt the Boundary wanted to help.

Mireya shut her eyes and wished the Boundary could. Then a door appeared in her mind’s eye, and it opened.

CHAPTER FIVE

IT HAD been a while since Kade had surprised Faela. Not that the link made him predictable, but it did give her advanced warning of his thoughts and actions. She had expected a worried question or a demand to know what had happened. That would have made sense given her attack. It was rare for Kade to state something as apparent as: You’ve been crying.

At Kade’s sudden appearance, she thought to check on Jair again. He was still asleep, seemingly unaffected by her attack. The younger man seemed able to sleep through anything.

Before she could respond to Kade’s blunt declaration, Tobias stood. I’m going to find Pavel. He usually has some breakfast started by now, and I’m starving.

As Tobias walked away, he gripped Kade’s shoulder. Faela couldn’t see the look he gave Kade, but the tightness left Kade’s eyes.

Kade reached the edge of Faela’s coat and crouched beside her, careful not to get to close. Not to touch her. Faela felt instinctual relief, but it also stung.

Her earlier nausea and fear of being touched had disappeared when her attack had ended. She just felt emptied and exhausted. She now understood what was happening to her, and avoidance would only make it worse. She needed good memories, new ones to replace the old.

She decided. Felt able to decide. A decision not driven by fear or shame or guilt for the first time in a long time. She took a steadying breath as she reached for Kade’s hand. He went still. Slowly, she twined her fingers with his.

I’m not okay, she said, her voice soft as she looked down at their linked hands, unable to look at him. Speaking these words aloud made her feel exposed, even more than the link did. Words that felt like they should be easy to say, but she had been unable to do so for too long.

Kade’s confusion at the admission bumped against her, but she kept her barriers thick between them. She didn’t want him to experience her memories of her attack. He shouldn’t have to suffer through another.

She clarified her last statement, I’ve been pretending I’m okay for too long. I’m not okay.

Her mind returned to an earlier question: How had she not seen the signs before? They had been right there. Faela knew. As Tobias had pointed out, healers were notorious for dismissing their own ailments, and she was no exception. Had Tobias not asked the questions he had, she wasn’t sure she’d have recognized the signs even now.

Faela closed her eyes and focused on the warm feel of Kade’s hand in hers, the calluses of his palm and fingers on her skin. He was safe. This was fine. Nikolais had never held her hand. She was safe. Faela put her other hand on top of Kade’s and opened her eyes as she looked up at him. Deep in her belly, something fluttered as she met his gaze.

Usually so intense, and at times standoffish, Kade looked at her with a surprising hesitance and gentleness. He was quiet as he waited, but she could see the question on his face.

I know I said this before, at Wistholt, after—she broke off—after I woke up, but I mean it differently now: This will take time. What happened with Nikolais.

She took a breath. She chose to speak his name aloud. Her heart beat faster in fear at his mention, but she couldn’t heal if she kept avoiding it. It will be a hard road back, but thanks to Tobias, I know what I need to do. She looked into his eyes and opened her barriers enough to show her sincerity. "What I want to do."

She wanted to say more, about what she wanted. She wanted Kade—to be with him. A truth as unchangeable as the seasonal flooding of the Ilan and Vilitsa Rivers. Here he was, right in front of her. They were alive and, for now, safe, but she couldn’t say those words again. Not yet. Not while the fear and the memory of Nikolais were still so close. So, she tightened her barriers.

Kade swallowed and nodded. He sank back on his heels and squeezed her hand in return. As if needing to clear something from his throat, he coughed. I came because I felt—he paused—I don’t know what I felt. Is that what you’re talking about?

Faela nodded and explained the attack and how Tobias had helped her realize what was happening to her, and what had been happening to her. Kade listened without interrupting.

When she was done, he said, Hauntings. I’ve seen it before. During the war.

I’d imagine so, she said, voice soft as she wondered what Kade had seen. Many of my patients at Mahlah had fought in the war or were refugees.

Kade looked worried and paused before he said, Most people who experienced them turned to drink or nathair, anything to numb themselves from seeing their ghosts. But you’re saying there’s a way to heal it? Through mind healing?

Faela nodded with a shiver. She was suddenly so cold. She rubbed a hand up and down her arm, trying to warm herself, I’ve helped heal it before. It takes time. Like all mind healing, it’s complicated and messy, but it can be done. If the patient wants to get better. And I do want to get better.

Kade noticed her shivering. The slight jump of his shoulder was the only indication that he’d stopped himself from putting an arm around her. Instead, he ran his thumb across her knuckles of her other hand. And this? This is okay?

Contentment spread like a warmth in her chest at the contact, but it did nothing to dispel the physical cold gripping her. Yes. But it might not be tomorrow.

She sighed and cut her eyes to her coat, still trapped under the firearms. I wish I could tell you what will be okay and what won’t, but I can’t know before I know. Anything might be safe, and nothing might be. Her gaze was heavy with experience and knowledge. But you can’t stop me from having an attack. If it’s going to happen, it’s going to happen.

Kade had seen enough Hauntings to know she was right. Whatever you need, I’m here.

Faela smiled, soft and sad. This is okay.

He squeezed her hand. Kade was hyperaware of the space between them. So was she. You feel different, he said. You feel...

Stable? She removed her hand from Kade’s and wrapped both arms around her stomach, trying to warm herself.

He cocked his head to the side like he was trying to solve a puzzle. You’ve never felt like this before, but somehow you feel more like you. If that makes any sense. He frowned slightly. Also, you’re freezing. Do you want my coat? I can go get it.

Despite her efforts, she was now visibly shaking. The sharp, late autumn winds of the moor weren’t helping anything. Kade moved to stand, but Faela pulled him back down. She started saying, You don’t need to—

But Kade hadn’t expected the sudden resistance. He fell toward her, interrupting her thought, but he had quick reflexes. Instead of crashing into her, he caught himself on the ground on either side of her hips. For an endless moment, they stared at each other, his face inches from hers, his warmth radiating against her body.

A-apologies, she said, heart racing, but not from fear this time, not what I meant to do.

Kade looked into her eyes. This is okay?

He was so close. Despite how close he was, he was still careful not to touch her. The space between them felt like a tangible thing, and she wasn’t afraid. Nikolais had never made her feel like this. She just wanted him closer and not just for his body heat.

She swallowed and nodded. But I can’t imagine this is comfortable for you. She groped next to her and patted a tuft of grass beneath his arm.

His mouth quirked, and faster than Faela would have thought possible, he pivoted to sit beside her. With a deep breath and a reminder that she was safe, that Nikolais was gone, she leaned against Kade’s side under his shoulder. He curled his arm around her back, gauging her reaction. She wanted to relax into him to show him she was okay, but she couldn’t. She was aware of everywhere their bodies touched in a way she never had been of someone before. She absently wondered if it was because of the link. Or just because if was Kade.

Slowly, as his heat melted into her, Faela stopped shivering. As the chill left her body, it relaxed a little. Bands of sunlight warmed her raw face as she rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of Kade’s arm around her, his body against hers. It was okay to feel this. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. She was safe.

After several quiet moments, Kade took in her dark-ringed eyes. Why didn’t you sleep? His tone contained no hint of condemnation, just concern.

Faela sighed but didn’t tense at the question. Earlier thoughts of ghosts returned. The usual.

The same nightmare? he asked.

Her last dream had felt so real. She could feel Sammi’s arms around her neck, hugging her close.

No, she admitted. I just didn’t want you or Jair...

She opened her eyes and watched the faded grass ripple across the rolling hills. Someone needs to get a decent night’s sleep.

We’ve been sharing dreams for a while now, Kade said without any accusation. You need to sleep.

Maybe I can now. Her smile pulled tight. Even with this new knowledge, it wouldn’t stop the relentlessness of her sleeping mind.

Kade looked down at her face. Soon.

Faela felt his trepidation and lifted herself off his shoulder, twisting toward him. Kade’s eyes trapped her.

What happened? she asked.

Nothing, he reassured her. But we aren’t on the road. We can’t put it off any longer.

Her fingers tensed as she heard what would come next before he spoke, their thoughts intermingling as she had relaxed.

You need to use the vial Ianos left you in Kilrood.

Faela’s eyes fastened on her coat that held the vial of her

Reviews for Forge (The Children of Man, #3)

[Amanda Schwabe · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I really like this series. The world, the characters, the humor. It's all so engaging and full-bodied, a whole fully realized world and history and intrigue, but with really personable and likeable main characters. I find myself re-reading the books while waiting in anticipation for the conclusion to the series. I really want to know what will happen next! The twists in the third book here are great.