Hidden (Book 1) (10 page)

The dancer’s hips flowed from side to side, lulling
the drunken men into a trance. Bastian sat with Tressa, forcing his gaze from
the woman’s legs. Tressa’s eyes were cast toward the rough-hewn table, her mead
untouched.

Bastian looked at Tressa again out of
the corner of his eye. He’d considered risking death more than once just to be
with her again.

Tressa’s lashes flitted up, her eyes
meeting his. “Are you thinking about Connor too?”

Bastian took a swig of mead. “Yeah,”
he lied. “I wish they would have let us stay with Connor in the infirmary. Who
knows what they’re doing to him.”

“Saving him, I hope.” Tressa traced a
knot on the table with her fingertip. “After he’s well, what do you think that
woman wants from you?” Tressa stared at his forehead.

Typical. Since they’d been uncoupled,
Tressa hadn’t been able to ask him anything important without burning a hole in
his forehead. She’d distanced herself physically and emotionally from him. It
hurt him every time, but he couldn’t tell her that.

Bastian shrugged.

“Don’t act like you don’t know.” Now
Tressa was staring at his hands.

“I’m not going to assume anything and
neither should you.” Bastian took another drink.

“Why do you suppose she was waiting
for us? Do you think others from our village have made it out here and never
come back?”

“I have no idea.” Bastian glanced at
the dancer. She’d discarded a few more articles of clothing since the last time
he’d looked. With Tressa sitting across the table, he felt nothing but
embarrassment. “We won’t get any answers by sitting here. Let’s go.” He tossed
a couple of coins on the table. The physic said he’d been instructed to give
them money and that they were to occupy themselves while Connor was examined.
Bastian wasn’t sure if it was too much, but it looked similar to what others
were leaving at their tables.

Bastian reached out for Tressa’s
hand, stopping just short of her fingertips. The closeness he’d felt earlier
dissipated after they’d stepped out of the fog. He wanted it back, but the
walls had been rebuilt.

They were alive. There was a chance
he’d get back to his wife and daughter. Reality resurrected the wedge they’d
discarded in the fog. Not just for Tressa, but for Bastian too. He’d spent
years perfecting the distance between them.

Tressa grabbed her bag. “Do you think
Nerak
will find us again?”

The owl. Weirdest damn bird he’d ever
encountered. He looked around the bar. Probably wouldn’t be the last strange
thing he’d find outside of Hutton’s Bridge. “Don’t know. Maybe she was lost and
is back with her family now that we’re out of the fog.”

“Speaking of family,” Tressa began.
“I know you’re anxious to get back to
Vinya
and Farah.
I’ll do everything I can to make that happen for you.”

He pursed his lips together. He knew
what the right answer was, but he couldn’t bring himself to thank her. Missing Farah
was a given. Seeing
Vinya
again wasn’t something he
was sure he wanted.

“Let’s get Connor healthy enough to
travel. We can ask the physic for medicine. Everything else comes later.” Bastian
led the way out of the tavern into the bustling street. He felt Tressa stand a
bit closer to him, but not close enough to touch. Her warm breath floated
across his upper arm, quick and uneven. She was nervous too. Not surprising.
Her incessant need to prove her independence concealed a delicate soul. He knew
better than anyone just how vulnerable she could be.

That was the reason he wanted to wrap
a protective arm around her shoulder, but he held back, knowing she’d never
allow it.

“Back to the infirmary?” he asked
instead.

“We were told to wait here for news.”
Tressa wrung her hands. “But I say, yes, let’s go check on him.”

“Let’s go.” Bastian cocked two
fingers at Tressa, urging her to follow.

Between jostled elbows and tiny, brown
furry animals on rope leashes with eyes as wide as saucers, he and Tressa
slowly made their way back to the infirmary. He paused outside the heavy wooden
door.

Tressa grabbed the knocker, letting
it thud against the dark wood. They waited moments before the door opened only
a crack, a bloodshot eye peeking out at them.

“Oh, it’s you two again. He’s not
awake yet. Come back in a few days.”

The door slammed shut.

Bastian balled his hand into a fist,
pounding on the door. “Let us in. We want to see our friend.”

The door opened again, but before the
man could slam it on them, Bastian stuck his foot between the door and the
frame. He pushed it open, sending the physic sprawling backward into the room.

Tressa strode in ahead of him.
“Where’s Connor?” Her head whipped around as she searched the room for him.

Bastian grabbed the man by his
collar. Then he noticed the bed Connor had been on when they left was empty.
The sheets were changed and tucked in so tight and cleanly it was obvious no
one had lain on them.

“Connor? Who’s that?” the man asked,
his voice practically a squeal.

“Our friend. The one you just said
wasn’t awake yet.” Tressa closed in on him, her nose only inches from his.

It was never a good idea to annoy
Tressa, particularly where Connor was concerned. Bastian gripped the man a
little tighter, letting the collar of his shirt dig a little bit more into his
neck.

“He’s been
moved. Temporarily.”

“Why?” Tressa bared her teeth at the
man. She couldn’t hurt a fly; Bastian knew that. Still, she put on a good show.

The other man didn’t. He trembled in
Bastian’s grip like a scared kitten.

“Tell us where he is and we’ll let
you live.” Bastian said it matter-of-fact. Tressa wouldn’t kill him, but Bastian
had no qualms about ripping his head off. His muscles quivered and his blood
rushed at the thought of finally unleashing the anger he’d tempered most of his
life.

It was hard being born a warrior in a
town where peace was paramount. Tressa understood that about him. Her hand
found its way onto his bicep, calming him. She knew the effect she had and had
exercised it many times throughout their lives. Not since they’d been
uncoupled. Those were the three hardest years of his life.

The man sputtered, a tiny trail of
spittle leaked from the side of his pursed lips. “I don’t know.”

Bastian squeezed his collar tighter.

“I don’t. The soldiers came back right
after you left and took him. I have no say in the matter. I would have saved
him if it were up to me. I don’t kill!” Tears slipped out of his eyes and down
his cheeks.

Tressa nodded at Bastian. So she
believed him. Bastian wasn’t sure he did, but he couldn’t kill the man for no
reason. Slowly he let go of the man’s collar.

He scrambled backward, putting two
arm’s lengths between him and Bastian’s unclenched fist.

“Can you tell us who took him?”

“Doesn’t matter.” The man shook his
head from side to side, his grey hair falling in stringy strands over his eyes.

“Why not?” Bastian asked.

“He’ll never be the same. Not after
they’ve taken him.”

Bastian’s heart thundered in his
chest. “What will they do?”

The man shrank farther away from
Bastian.

He could feel his cheeks taking on a
red glow as his anger swept through him. “What will they do?” he repeated.

“I don’t know,” the man stuttered.
His eyelids snapped shut, squeezing so tight his face turned into a melted of
wrinkles. His fingers pawed at his eyelids, trying to force them open.

“What’s happening to him?” The panic
in Tressa’s voice rose with each word.

The physic’s mouth wrenched to the
side. Garbled words mixed with vomit spewing from his lips. Bastian put an arm
in front of Tressa, holding her back. She ducked, slipping out from underneath
it before he could stop her.

“You don’t know what’s wrong with
him,” Bastian yelled at her.

She glared at him over his shoulder.
“I don’t care. He’s the only one who knows where Connor might be. I’m risking
it.”

Tressa slid into to a crouch,
avoiding the growing pile of vomit on the floor.

“Help me.”

“I don’t know how.” Tressa placed a
hand on his shoulder. Bastian shuddered, wanting desperately to yank her away
from the man. “Tell us where they took Connor. Please.” The desperation in her
voice got to the physic. Either that or he knew his time left was short.

“Seek absolution,” he said, his
speech garbled.

A large crack startled both Bastian
and Tressa, sending her backward into his waiting arms. The physic’s neck fell
to his shoulder in at unnatural angle, broken. His chest no longer lifted with
life-sustaining breath.

“Dead.” Bastian said. He rested his
chin on Tressa’s head.

“Magic,” she whispered. She pushed
out of his arms, the immediate shock dissipating.

“Does that surprise you, considering
what we’ve seen so far?”

Tressa shook her head. “What do you
think he meant about seeking absolution?”

“For his sins?” Bastian asked. “Or
for Connor?”

“Or for us? You were about to kill
him. I was threatening him. Maybe he thought we were in the wrong. It’s
possible he didn’t know anything.”

Bastian nodded. “I think he did,
though. He said no one ever came back the same. He was expecting Connor to be
like them, whoever they are. This isn’t the first time.” Bastian licked his
lips and cleared his throat. He’d stayed silent and stoic most of his life,
protecting everyone from his temper. He couldn’t do it to Tressa, not now, not
when Connor was missing.

“That’s right. He did say that.”
Tressa tapped a finger against her chin, gazing at the dead man. She whirled
around, her hands on her hips. “Then we have to seek absolution. Find the
nearest holy place. Maybe they’ve got Connor there. Or someone there knows
something.”

“Agreed.”

A knock at the door startled them. “
Rangar
, are you in there? I need some herbs for
Mahina’s
cough.”

Bastian nodded toward the back of the
room and a door. He hoped it led outside. Tressa ran toward it and flung the
door open. Bastian tried not to let out a sigh. He would have checked carefully
first, before exposing them to whatever lay on the other side. Luckily it was a
door to a back alley, just as he’d hoped, and no one jumped in to apprehend them.

Tressa waved to him. Bastian took one
last look at the dead man. Regret cut through his chest as he bolted toward the
door. They might’ve gotten answers out of him, if only someone, or something, else
hadn’t intervened and ended the conversation forever.

He didn’t say it to Tressa as they
ran down the alley, but if someone had purposely ended the physic’s life to
keep him from talking, it meant someone knew Bastian and Tressa had discovered
Connor was missing.

Buildings flashed past her vision, but Tressa didn’t
stop to marvel at how different some of them were from Hutton’s Bridge. Only
Connor mattered. She picked up her pace.

“Tressa!” The strained whisper came
from behind her.

Tressa slowed down, allowing Bastian
to catch up.

“We can’t leave the alley in a run.
Maybe if we slow down, we’ll fit in,” he said.

“Fit in?” Tressa held back a snort of
laughter. “We’re not dressed like anyone else out there.”

She looked down at her rough, woolen
dress. Her breeches were still hidden underneath. Tressa grabbed the waistband,
her fingers fumbling with the ties holding her skirt tight around her waist.

“Do you need some help?”

Tressa looked at Bastian. Memories
flashed in her head of the night they’d been coupled. The night he’d first
undone the ties of her dress. A blush spread over her cheeks. She looked down,
her hair covering her flaming cheeks like a veil.

“Of course not. I can take care of my
own clothes.” Her fingers finally found the knot. She deftly released the
ribbons from their balled prison. The skirt slipped easily over her hips.
Tressa stepped out of the skirt, balled it up, and put it in her bag. “At least
I look somewhat like the other women now. I haven’t seen one woman in a skirt.
Have you?”

She looked at Bastian, who opened his
mouth, then closed it without uttering a word. Tressa remembered the dancer in
the tavern. She’d been wearing a skirt. At least she had when they walked in.
Tressa was pretty sure she’d taken it off before they left.

“And you…” Tressa reached up, running
her fingers through Bastian’s hair. He tensed under her touch, but she didn’t
stop. “The men here comb their hair back from their face. Yours is too messy.”

Bastian didn’t respond again.
Typical. He’d grown more and more silent with her every year past their uncoupling.
That was why they’d stopped talking to each other. Tressa didn’t believe in
one-way conversations. Once she’d stopped addressing him directly, he’d never
taken the initiative to communicate with her. If it weren’t for Connor, the two
of them might never have spoken to each other again.

She stepped back and looked at him.
“Okay. You look a bit better now.”

“We both look like outcasts,” Bastian
mumbled. “They’ll know.” His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, hanging from
his hip.

A loud clanging startled them both.
Bastian and Tressa peered out of the alley. “Can you see anything?” Tressa
stood on her tiptoes, but the gathering crowds were blocking everything in the
distance.

Bastian strained his neck upward.
“No, probably not much more than you.”

He was taller than Tressa by a head.
Even that wasn’t enough. It looked as if the entire town was streaming into the
square. The crowd pushed, elbows flying in every direction as they all clamored
to get closer to the wooden building in the center of the square.

The bell continued, getting more
frantic with each clang. Tressa’s heart beat in time with the sonorous ringing.
The crowd fell to its knees, their heads bowed in supplication toward the
building.

Women began to wail, waving their
arms in the air. Men beat their chests, creating a thundering so intense,
Tressa had to wonder if they were actually hurting themselves.

She looked up at Bastian, her eyes
wide. “What is this?”

“I don’t know. Do you remember any
stories like this from Sophia?”

Tressa closed her eyes and thought,
trying to remember anything that might help them
know
what to do. “No.” She shook her head. “But we’re more conspicuous standing here
than we were a few moments ago worrying about our clothes.”

“You’re right. Let’s go.” Bastian
grabbed her elbow, steering Tressa into the crowd of people.

They dropped to their knees. Bastian
thumped his fist against his chest. Tressa threw her arms up in the air in
imitation of the women around her. She opened her mouth, but didn’t utter a
sound. The wrong noise at the wrong moment would mark her as an interloper.

The bell stopped. Silence draped over
the crowd like a blanket. Tressa dropped her arms to her sides, mimicking the
woman next to her. Bastian shuffled closer to her until their shoulders were
barely touching.

“Gaze now upon the glory!” The voice
came from the front of the crowd.

Tressa lifted her chin, only after
seeing the woman next to her do so, and glanced at the spectacle on the steps
to the building. The woman who’d plucked them from the edge of the fog stood on
the top step, her arms spread in the air.

Her braided ponytail hung to the
ground, woven with ribbons shining against the rays of moonlight. The blue
leather hugging her body looked recently buffed.

She grasped the large knockers on the
door, flinging them open. Her braid swayed to the side, glinting as if a
million stars were woven into it.

A puff of smoke preceded a loud
scratching noise.

“Are you ready to seek absolution?” She
screamed at the crowd.

The wailing and beating began again,
drowning out her words. People rose to their feet. The crowd closed in on them.
Tressa’s breath caught in her chest. The people squeezed in tighter, cutting
off her view of the building.

Bastian leaned down and whispered in
her ear, “Seek absolution? That’s what the physic said to do.”

“Then I guess we’re in the right
place.” Tressa jumped up, trying to see over the masses of people blocking her
view.

“Quiet,” the woman next to her
hissed. “Let Queen Stacia
speak
.”

Queen? Tressa mouthed it to Bastian.
The woman who’d captured them wasn’t just a military leader
,
she was their ruler
.

“Will he forgive the trespasser?” Stacia
shouted. She gestured to somewhere in the crowd.

Tressa could only see her arms and
head, the rest cut off by the crowd. More heads appeared above the crowd,
climbing the steps toward her. They held something between them, their muscles
bulging with the effort. A shock of sandy hair rested on the shoulder of one of
the men in back.

“Connor,” Tressa whispered to
Bastian. He didn’t need to respond. The automatic tightening of his bicep told her
he saw the same thing she did.