The Singer - Hunter Elizabeth (мир книг .txt) 📗

“You need our help. You burst Damien’s eardrums when your mate was killed.” Astrid’s voice was no longer soothing. She stepped closer to Ava, and though the woman was even shorter than Ava, Astrid’s presence dwarfed her. “You hurt yourself, three Irin, and countless Grigori—”

“You’re worried about the Grigori now?”

“I’d kill every one of them if I could,” Astrid said calmly. “But that is not the issue.”

Maybe Astrid wasn’t so unlike Sari after all.

“Maybe it is,” Ava said. “Maybe I don’t want to hide in a village somewhere and lick my wounds. Maybe I want to fight with the scribes instead of—”

“You have no idea what we do here.”

“And maybe I don’t want to!”

She stopped shouting when Damien put a hand on her shoulder.

“Sister,” he said quietly, brushing a hand down her arm.

Ava felt the calm immediately. She took a deep breath and tried to focus on the peace she’d felt that morning, but it was wrapped up in dreams of Malachi and it hurt as much as it helped.

Astrid had backed down, too.

“Stay, Ava. We can’t force you, but we can help you. I promise.”

She said nothing, but relaxed when she saw Astrid smile a little.

“So, you want to kill Grigori?” the woman asked.

“They killed my mate.”

“And how do you know we don’t kill Grigori?”

Ava frowned. “But the scribes said—”

“Irin scribes say many things, hidden away in their scribe houses or lecturing in council meetings.” Astrid glanced at Damien and winked. “But they can be frightfully blind when it comes to reading things other than books.”

Ava hadn’t considered it, but it was true. Most of the scribes she’d met had admitted to not seeing an Irina in two hundred years. Why on earth was she taking their word for anything?

“So, what you’re saying is—?”

“Have you seen how the scribes fight?” Astrid asked, stepping closer.

“Yes.”

“They are the world’s finest warriors. None can match them in strength or grace. They are ruthless. Strong. Fast.” There was a fierce pride in Astrid’s eyes when she spoke. “Their talesm is like a living armor around them. A trained scribe could take on a dozen Grigori soldiers and walk away with their dust on his shoulders. Do you want to fight like that?”

She wanted to scream, Yes! But Ava flashed to the image of Malachi as he battled Grigori in the alley in Kusadas?, the graceful thrusts and twisting combat. The powerful way his muscles moved under his shirt. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to match that. What was she thinking?

“I… I don’t know if I—”

“You can’t.” Astrid cut her off. “You never will. You are not Irin. You will learn physical fighting—we learned our lesson two hundred years ago—but Irin have their strengths”—her eyes flickered to Damien—“and we have ours. To fight as an Irina, you must learn to use magic. And we can teach you that. The scribes think we withdrew?” She shrugged. “That just shows you how well we can hide.”

A surge of desire shot through Ava. The dark voices whispered in her mind and a ripple of power teased her lips.

Kill them, they whispered. Take them. Hurt them as they hurt you. Hurt them more…

“You want that,” Astrid said.

“Yes.”

“I can see. But before any of that happens, you must do something else.”

“What?”

Astrid’s voice softened. “You must rest, sister. You must grieve. And you must heal.”

The Irina’s words were sour in her ears. An ache rose in her heart, and she tried to push it back.

“I’d rather just kill something,” Ava whispered.

“You try to forget him, but you can’t. You never will. He is the other half of your soul.”

“Astrid,” Damien said softly, but the Irina ignored him.

“Half of you died with him, Ava.”

“Shut up.”

“Half of you died, but you must understand, half of him still lives.”

She could feel the tears welling. Tears she’d shunned. Tears she forced herself to battle back. If she let them loose, they would fall forever.

“He lives in you.”

“Shut. Up.” She choked on the lump in her throat. “You have no idea—”

“I have every idea.” Astrid took a hand and put it to her throat. Then a whisper came from her lips in the Old Language, and the marks on her skin began to glow. Her mating marks were intricate, like gold lace covering her skin. When she pulled her hand away from her throat, Ava saw a band appear. Duller than the other marks, it crossed her collarbone and disappeared over her shoulders.

“What is that?” Ava asked.

Damien put his hand on Astrid’s shoulder, leaning down. “Too soon, sister.”

Astrid blinked and her mating marks disappeared. “Of course. Forgive me, Damien. I forget myself.”

“A rare occurrence, if I remember correctly.”

“Not so rare as before,” she said with a smile. She turned back to Ava, all friendly business again. “Shall we meet in an hour? That will give you time to dress and eat some breakfast. Did Karen bring a basket?”

“Yes, it’s in the kitchen.”

“Good.” Astrid nodded brusquely. “Eat something, dress warmly. Good shoes. I’ll be back in an hour to show you around.”

“I’ll be ready.”

“And if you need anything, if you’re not sleeping well… Just know that’s very normal when we lose a mate. I can help if you wish it. I’m the resident healer here.”

Damien stepped to the door as Astrid walked toward it. “Thank you.”

Ava saw him grasp Astrid’s hand in both of his. Saw the gentle hold she knew must be easing some of the other woman’s tension. Then Astrid smiled sweetly at him and left.

“She’s a widow,” Ava said a few moments after the door closed. “Astrid. She’s a widow.”

Damien nodded. “Yes.”

“What was that band around her throat? Does that happen when…”

“No,” he said softly. “Nothing has changed with your mating marks, Ava. Astrid wears a mourning collar to show respect for her lost mate, but it’s not permanent like a mating mark.”

“How long?”

“He was killed during the Rending. He was a good man. A friend.”

Ava looked out the window. She could still see Astrid walking along the pathway to the large colorful house where most of the Irina lived. Her soft brown curls bounced cheerfully and she saw her stop another woman and exchange some words that made both throw their heads back in laughter. Would she ever laugh like that again? Would she mourn for two hundred years, as Astrid had?

Half of you died with him.

Only half? It felt like more.

As if he could read her mind, Damien said, “You will take your own path to healing, Ava. Don’t ever look to another to rule your grief.”

She didn’t want to think about Malachi. Didn’t want to think about her dark dreams and the dull pain that lived in her chest.

Ava slid on a facade and turned from the window. “I heard someone brought breakfast?”

Hours later, she was walking through the valley with Astrid, drinking in the beauty of the water and the sky. The hills rolled softly up from the fjord, and the houses dotted the green meadows that rested in the shadow of the mountains. The retreat was far from just a collection of houses. There were greenhouses, workshops, even animals the community kept for milk and eggs.

“We’re mostly self-sustained. We try to keep to ourselves. The people in the nearest town think we’re hippies.” Astrid smiled. “They leave us alone, for the most part.”

“How many women?”

“It varies. Some of the older Irina, those Sari trusts the most, come and go. Living here full time, there are probably fifty or so.”

“The ones who come and go, what do they do?”

“Various things. Some maintain ties to the human world. A few have mates in active service in a scribe house somewhere relatively close. Most do other things that protect this haven and a few others like it around the world. So much of the world is run on the Internet now. We’re hardly isolated at all.”