Spirit Binder Read online

  “If you will walk with me?”

  “Wherever you wish to go.” A bit of Hugh’s lighter tone seeped back and she almost smiled; it seemed she wouldn’t have to grovel for forgiveness.

  They took a few steps together, and really, honestly, she wouldn’t have fainted if Peony, followed by two guards, hadn’t burst into the room. Peony, it seemed, maintained a connection with those she’d recently healed, and through that connection she’d felt her waning. Again, it occurred to her, as Peony cried, “Lady Theodora,” that it didn’t feel right, to be called by that name, title and all.

  Trouble was, the sudden influx of energy was too much for her to shield and she had to just shut it all down.

  She heard Hugh swear — a series of curses better suited to laborers or tavern owners — and found she liked this unexpected roughness about him.

  She felt him reach to catch her, but was out before she knew if he’d caught her or not.

  So, that was a fantastic first meeting with her intended. First, be foolish and generally stupid, though, admittedly, her ignorance was not entirely her fault. Second, be snippy and arrogant. Then, third, faint — in his arms — absolutely brilliant.

  CHAPTER THREE

  She’d never noticed how gilded the ballroom was — not that she’d ever spent much time there — but the pillars, the massive crown moldings, and even the hardwood floor all glinted with gold leaf.

  Even she was woven with gold, from her dance slippers through her full-skirted ball gown, and into the leaves and flowers pinned in her hair. Her fingers and neck were laden with jewels. She felt heavy, compressed, like she couldn’t move any farther into the empty, vast room.

  It was then that she recognized she was in a dream. Dreaming of the afternoon — judging by the light streaming into the windows — of her sixteenth birthday party.

  She’d snuck away from the dressing room while her mother bickered with the Chancellor over whether or not she’d wear a crown, actually a coronet, and which one was appropriate. It seemed the Chancellor was concerned with the distinction it would place between her and his son … so Hugh had been in the castle that afternoon … she wondered what he’d been doing the moment before … this moment … this was the very last moment she remembered before the bloody tunnel and the Slurper and her mother’s library … she really should ask her mother about the demon in the basement.

  It was here … here in the ballroom … where the blank began …

  She turned, though her heavy skirts hampered her. How she was supposed to dance in them later was certainly a mystery, and perhaps should have been addressed during the hundreds of hours of painfully boring lessons.

  The room remained empty.

  Why was she here? She couldn’t remember why she’d chosen this as her reprieve that afternoon.

  Shouldn’t there be servants and decorations? Candles and such … Oh. Candelabra were set up around the perimeter of the room … except she was certain those hadn’t been there before, which only confirmed this was a dream, and one she had some control over … so why was she here?

  Something crinkled in her hand. Paper. It was a note. She stared at the lettering but couldn’t read it, though she knew it was a note written to her —

  Something glimmered off to one side, by the windows, and she turned to see a man slowly materialize while walking toward her. Magic seemed to almost boil around him, clearly marking him as separate from the dream.

  A dreamwalker?

  “We’ve broken through the wards!” a woman crowed, and the man looked to his right and nodded, as if answering the speaker, though she didn’t reveal herself to the dream. “Are you there?” the unseen woman asked, and the man glanced around.

  “Ballroom,” he confirmed, and something about him made her smile. He spoke as if the act of speaking was something forced upon him, a societal nicety, and that he’d rather be using the sword he kept a hand on as he surveyed the empty ballroom. His footfalls made little sound, though he was a large man.

  “Is she there? You’ve got to hurry; I can feel the wards fighting me.”

  “Just a child all dressed up.” His eyes had drifted by her, barely registering her presence. He ran a hand through his dark hair, and his gesture made him seem younger than before. He was perhaps twenty-nine or thirty, a few years older than her. His skin was tanned, as were his large hands. He looked like he could crush her without a second thought, but something about him made her feel like she might not mind being crushed. Yes, he felt dangerous and forbidden … and, oddly, thrilling.

  He was staring at her now, his eyes like ice as they raked over her. She lifted her chin and refused to drop his disdainful gaze.

  His mouth dropped open, just a little bit, in surprise. “Theo?” he asked, as if afraid of the answer. This name felt right, felt like it claimed her as it rolled off his tongue, and the idea that someone she didn’t even know had that power worried her just a little.

  “You’ve got her?” the female, who Theo still couldn’t see, asked.

  “There’s a girl who could be her —”

  “That’s her then.”

  “But she doesn’t look like —”

  “That’s how she sees herself, her dream self.”

  “Why would she see herself this way?” The man spat, his anger evident, though not directed toward Theo.

  “Stop talking to me. You’ll confuse her.”

  “I’m not confused,” Theo said. “You’re a dreamwalker.”

  “Not me,” he responded, just as the female voice said, “yes.” So the female was the dreamwalker and the man was … what? Her passenger? She had no idea that was even possible.

  “The wards must have a soft spot here, because this is the last memory I have from before, so whatever happened then must have happened here.”

  “I … I …” He seemed thrown.

  “Are you here to kidnap me again?”

  “Kidnap? Why … no, absolutely not.” He turned to address the unseen dreamwalker. “She seems confused. She doesn’t recognize me.”

  His image wavered. “I’m losing hold,” the Dreamwalker complained. “It’s hard enough carrying you, but the wards are almost impossible to hold open.”

  “Theo!” He reached for her; there was nothing icy or hard about him now. “Where are you? Here? Are you here in the castle that contains this ballroom? Has she got you? Are you hurt?”

  “Who are you?” Theo asked, even though she understood she was supposed to know the answer already.

  “She doesn’t know me,” he whispered, and dropped his hands as if sorrow had swept through his limbs.

  Then he disappeared.

  ∞

  She woke up with the name “Ren” on her lips and Peony’s concerned face hovering over her bed. “Oh! You’re awake! Good. How do you feel? Do you hurt anywhere?”

  “My brain. My brain hurts.”

  “I can’t heal you there. There’s no wound to close … you just have to wait.” Peony looked upset and turned away after pressing a cup of minty tea into Theo’s hands. She cupped the mug and sank back into the down pillows, not realizing that she’d been ready to spring forward … to where? After the dream man? And to what end? To fight or to follow?

  Peony puttered, tidying and sorting, over a table cluttered with herbs and liquids. She wasn’t accustomed to having someone so near all the time, even though, as adolescents, Peony had been the closest friend she’d ever had.

  “You’re not my servant,” she snapped, before she could correct her tone.

  Peony looked aghast. “I am forever in your service, my lady.”

  “That’s not … I’m sorry, but that’s not what I meant. It’s just you’re cleaning.”

  Peony straightened to her full height, and, though she was making eye contact with Theo’s left shoulder rather than her eyes, said firmly, ”I, Peony, daughter of Jamin, counsellor to the Apex, and healer of Lady Theodora, spirit predestine
d … and … and …” Peony faltered over the many titles used to describe Theo, not sure which ones to add.

  “It’s fine, Peony. I’m sorry. I don’t want … could you just call me Theo?”

  “Theo?” Peony clearly wasn’t a fan of this informality.

  “Yes. We were once friends, weren’t we?”

  “Absolutely, my lady … Theo … sorry.”

  “I’m going to see my mother,” Theo sighed, and changed the subject to what had been nagging her since she’d woken from the dream. She was going to have to go to her mother, who was obviously not going to come to her. She wondered if she had to formally request an audience with her own mother, though that would probably cross some line, and Theo had never been completely sure where those lines were drawn.

  “Oh. Really? Well … if you think that’s best.”

  “Obviously you don’t.”

  “Your mother … your mother is …”

  “Formidable?”

  “Yes.”

  “She won’t hurt me.”

  “Definitely not! That’s not what I —”

  “I know. I’m just reassuring myself.”

  ∞

  The scars were faded further this morning. Theo gathered that Peony was still working on correcting all her “bad heals”, as the blonde had put it, while pursing her lips prettily but disapprovingly. The clothes in the wardrobe fit this time, which made her wonder how much time had passed during this second black-out session, but, it seemed that, given enough money, even a princess’s wardrobe could be partly filled in three days. She selected the plainest dress she could find; a green, unadorned silk. She avoided a headpiece that was obviously designed to go with it.

  Thus girded, she headed off to confront, or rather, converse, with her mother. Mindset was exceedingly important when approaching Her Majesty, Rhea Ruden, Apex of Cascadia, who could crumple the strongest man with a single look. Though the look was usually accompanied by the magic of a mind mage, so that certainly contributed to the crumpling and fear-inducing reputation.

  ∞

  “And here I thought you were avoiding me.” Her mother looked up from the pile of papers on her desk. Though the glasses were new, the ten years hadn’t seemed to have touched her mother in any other way.

  “Yes, mother. All the healing was just a pretense.”

  Her mother always bit her lip — slightly — when she was upset, though there was a good chance that Theo was the only one who noticed such things. Well, her and the Chancellor; nothing got by Hugh’s father’s notice. Her intimate knowledge of her mother’s facial expressions wasn’t due to any keen observational skills on her part, but rather that she was probably the only person who didn’t automatically do the Apex’s bidding. As Apex, her mother had earned her people’s respect, but even respected spiritual leaders had rotten children, as it seemed to be in her case.

  “Theodora,” her mother resignedly breathed.

  “Yes.” She wasn’t ready to drop the testiness.

  “I am genuinely pleased you are home and whole.”

  “In body.”

  “Yes.”

  “And I suppose you have everyone working on my little memory lag.”

  “Unquestionably.”

  “Wouldn’t you be better suited to aid me? Or is it beneath you to help heal your own daughter?”

  Her mother, for all her stature and composure, started to play with the papers on her desk — busy work — this was so human, and such mundane behavior, that it unsettled Theo. It made her rethink her attack position. What could be so terrible to break her mother’s facade? What could shake the unshakeable?

  “I’m not going to get it back, am I?”

  “It’ll just take time, darling.” Her mother still wouldn’t meet her eyes, so Theo opened up her senses, just a little, to taste the truth of her mother’s words. Rhea’s head snapped up instantly, and invisible girders locked into place around her mother’s mind. These shields were so strong they might even enclose the immediate vicinity. Once again her mother’s power awed her, and she felt the need to apologize.

  “I was just trying to assess —”

  “I’m your mother. I tell you what you need to know, when you need to know it. I will not allow you to be compromised … not again.”

  Which was not the same as simply telling her the truth, but she didn’t say it … not with all of her mother’s direct attention on her … oh, she knew how it felt for others to be in her mother’s presence and that it wasn’t the same for her; she had a natural immunity, as all family members usually did, but still, Rhea was her mother, and the power of that title was also weighty.

  All of a sudden, she wanted more than just approval and pride from her mother. She wanted the comfort and solace that others found in Rhea’s presence. She felt a little of the ice shield, so firmly packed around her heart, crack.

  “Mom.”

  And then her mother was wrapping her arms around her. Theo remembered the smell of her neck and her hair from the precious moments of being held as a child, before her powers had made it difficult for them to touch. She cried and clung to her mother like a child … at least her tears were silent …

  “Mom,” she choked.

  “I know.”

  “Mom,” she repeated, and the sound came out as a sob.

  “I know. I’m here.”

  Then she was on her knees and all the pain was pouring from her. Her mother was taking it all, gathering it all up like she would tidy a messy collection of toys, and soothing it away, or as away as it could be when it felt like she was missing half her life.

  “There’s a block in my mind. You could take it away,” she pleaded between sobs.

  Her mother’s fingers stilled their smoothing of Theo’s hair, and she instantly missed the sensation.

  “No, darling. You know it will give way gradually —”

  “I don’t want to wait.”

  “It could kill you, to have it all back at once, even if I had the ability to break it.” Her mother pulled back, and with fingers so light they were barely touching, she smoothed the tears off Theo’s face. “Please, darling. Trust me?”

  Yes. She so wanted to trust anyone, but especially her mother. She wanted to feel safe, loved, protected … but how could she trust without a full understanding —

  “It’s a leap of faith, Theodora,” her mother answered her unvoiced question. “You must trust in the very spirit that is you. You must trust that that spirit will protect you, and you must let me guide you until you yourself are the guide.”

  There it was; the answer she’d known she’d get. The answer she always got to any of the monumental life questions; trust in your destiny.

  Destiny. Faith. Spirit.

  “So it was my destiny to be stolen from my home on my sixteenth birthday? To be held and treated in such a manner that my body is hardened and scarred? And then to have those ten years, as terrible as they must have been, stripped away in a single breath?”

  Her mother rose and crossed to the windows. These looked south, across the valley and toward the great rebuilt city beyond. She remained on her knees and didn’t take her eyes off her mother. No matter how childish it was, she wanted to lash out, to hurt her mother as she was hurting, to break through and take the answers she was certain her mother had and refused to share.

  “Just tell me. Tell me what you know.”

  Her mother sighed and slumped a little. She raised a hand to her face but then thought better of rubbing her eyes and in that moment, Theo saw what the missing ten years looked like on her mother; the changes were subtle, tiny lines around the eyes, maybe a slight thinning of the famous vibrant red hair and her hands, her hands looked almost fragile. Not how she remembered them …

  “Tell you what I know? You are as demanding as ever.” This last was said with a twist of a smile. “Come up off the floor. Is that carpet following you?”

  “No,” she lie
d, because she liked the carpet. Her mother raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, recognizing the obvious lie without needing any of her telepathy.

  She wiped her remnant tears, rose, and sat in a chair across from her mother’s desk. Future spiritual leaders of world didn’t wallow … much. It took a while for her mother to speak, as if she was formulating her thoughts, but Theo hoped it was more in an attempt to gain some emotional equilibrium, rather than time spent calculating her upcoming manipulation of the truth.

  “I know someone took you. Someone powerful enough to open doors in unbreakable wards, or at least wield the borrowed magic in order to do so. Someone powerful enough to hold you, and thwart my every ability to find you. Then someone trained you, as is obvious by your physique, and either turned you against me or compromised your mind, because you then, after being missing for ten years, led an assault against this castle, three days ago. Granted, I came to Hollyburn early this year, so perhaps the goal wasn’t the forfeit of my life, but still …” Her mother trailed off, as if consumed by her own thoughts. Theo itched to prompt her narrative, but managed to stay quiet. “Your fellow assassins, if that’s what they were, must have fled, for we found no trace of them in the tunnel. Though, perhaps I am leaping to conclusions. Perhaps you came alone. The castle is defended by intricate wards that predate me by hundreds of years.”

  “And there’s a demon in the basement.”

  Her mother turned to look at her, surprised but not surprised. “You saw him?”

  “He thought about eating me, but settled for slurping up all the blood.”

  This seemed to unsettle her mother for a moment, as if she now had to readjust her perception of the events. “I see. That explains the lack of … trace evidence. He came with the castle, and, ah, decided he’d like to stay when I asked him to leave. I am pleased he didn’t make you a snack, even as I must admit to being pleased he provided an extra defense, intentionally or not. His loyalty is not mine. It is disturbing that he consumed your blood.” Rhea started to wander over to a warded book shelf. “I should consult with Jamin.”

  “Then what happened?” Theo prompted quickly, so she didn’t lose her mother’s focus.