Page 34 of Swords of Soul and Shadow (Gate Chronicles #3)

The siblings laughed together as Harlan finished his dessert. Ezekiel then invited everyone back to the parlor where they could enjoy said coffees, heeding his wife’s advice.

It was customary for the men to enjoy a cigar away from the ladies after dinner, but Harlan found he liked the break in tradition.

The conversation stayed light and didn’t devolve into arguments, though Lady Celeste and Ezekiel continued to pick at each other good-naturedly.

The camaraderie between the two siblings was entertaining, but it wasn’t entirely easy to watch.

Even if Michael had lived, Harlan didn’t believe they would have been so close.

Neither Ezekiel nor Lady Celeste had been forced to deal with the same hardships as Harlan.

After a few minutes, his headache crept back in, a throbbing that even the coffee and conversation couldn’t dim. He quietly excused himself to the lavatory, leaving his drink on the settee and exiting the room.

A servant closed the door quietly behind him. But instead of finding the lavatory, he leaned against the wall, his head resting against it, his eyes closed.

The pain radiated from the front of his skull to the back, then to the front again. He pinched the bridge of his nose, but it only offered fleeting relief.

He should see a medic about the headaches while he was in the capital. They had access to medicines and knowledge he didn’t have at the front. Headaches were simple compared to lodged shrapnel and amputation, after all—why waste resources on something inconsequential?

He pushed himself off the wall and wandered down the hallway a little. Standing still was only making his headache worse, though moving around might not help either. The reprieve for an hour or so had been nice, but fleeting.

He found himself back at the painting of the Nardens he’d glimpsed earlier.

He’d spent his first twelve years nestled in the peaks in a one-room cottage with a dirt floor and spent nearly twenty years trying to escape them, only to return to defend them.

They were a part of his blood and his bones, no matter what his surname might be.

“My brother says that painting doesn’t reveal the majesty of the mountains,” a soft voice said from his right.

He glanced aside to find Lady Celeste walking toward him, her deep blue evening gown swishing with her steps.

She was tall for a woman; when she halted beside him, the top of her head was level with his chin.

She nodded to the landscape. “I’d love to see them up close one day.

We can only see their shadows from the estate. ”

Harlan smoothed his mustache, debating what to say. Despite her prickles, he didn’t wish to upset her with his biased opinions of the mountains. He settled on something innocuous. “The sunrise crawling over the peaks in the morning can be breathtaking.”

She nodded, as if she knew exactly what he meant; then her eyes narrowed. “I was under the impression you spent most of your time on the eastern side of the range. The sunrise wouldn’t be over the peak.”

“You have knowledge of troop movements?” Harlan asked, neatly dodging the question hidden there.

She shook her head. “Not directly. I read a lot.” She held up her book.

“That includes newspaper articles. They don’t say much, but the news we do get is rather vague and useless—unless you can read between the lines like me.

” She glanced back toward the parlor. “Rose and I are both eager for Ezekiel to finish his term and return home. These aren’t a few isolated incidents, am I correct? ”

Harlan opened his mouth, but nothing came out of it. She’d proven herself astute already, but to deduce such information through research and watered-down news articles, with no firsthand experience being on the front lines?

And reading between the lines …what did that mean? He needed to look more closely at the news he’d scorned. If someone was leaking information, perhaps with some kind of code or otherwise…

He’d think on it later. For now, he turned back to the landscape. “Ezekiel has been a great asset to the medical corps, and it will be a dark day when he’s discharged.” He paused and tried to subtly rub at his aching temple. “He’s a light in the midst of a brewing storm.”

Hesitantly, she laid a hand on his upper arm. A very personal touch for someone so adamantly against him in the beginning. They were also alone without a chaperone. She seemed to realize as much after a moment and pulled back her gloved hand. “Thank you. Perhaps you’re not as hopeless as you look.”

Then she went back to the parlor, leaving Harlan a little confused, a little insulted…and more than a little intrigued. He didn’t know what the future held, but maybe it wasn’t as dark as he’d assumed.

Clara

FOR TWO DAYS, PRAYER HAD been Clara’s constant companion. She’d prayed for peace, for strength, and for her heart to keep beating.

Everything hurt. Her feet, her back, her shoulders, her very soul. Samuel’s hunger was constant. Even with Zelda’s help, she barely slept at night. Her dreams were full of screams and fire and a dark hole she would never be able to climb out of.

Most of the last two nights had been closing her eyes and hoping her pitiful pleas for peace would be enough.

She just needed to be enough .

It was the missive clutched in her hand that had finally given her a surge of strength. It wasn’t until she’d read the words on the parchment—the ink dark like night itself had formed into words and summoned her—that she had begun to believe everything would be okay.

Her father-in-law was alive. His sins were reprehensible, but he’d been spared like her. Who was she to say he wasn’t deserving of a second chance if she was? She tucked Samuel closer to her chest. Harlan would know where to find Jove, Les…maybe even her mother.

She prayed harder.

Masses of people fought to get to the tent, and overworked, bedraggled soldiers pushed them back.

The discordant, echoing shouts woke Samuel.

Clara smoothed his hair and kissed it, but he didn’t calm at all.

Some people shouted vile things at the tent.

A man with crazed eyes threw mud. A soldier arrested the latter.

Her own escorts formed a tighter ring around her.

“Enter the tent, Lady Shackley. Hurry,” one said gruffly, all but pushing her through the flap.

The canvas walls did little to block out the sounds from outside, but at least it was calmer inside.

A few mismatched chairs sat in the middle, a small cot pushed to the other side.

Two men stood conversing near the chairs.

The Yalven man was tall and willowy with raven-black hair done in a braid.

The other was the Stradat Lord Kapitan, his cheeks slightly sunken.

He’d lost weight since Clara had last seen him—which, other than the flash portraits in the paper, had been nearly a week ago.

The last true interaction she’d had with him was before Samuel’s birth.

Jove had told her that he’d visited the night Kase ran away and had met Samuel while she was asleep, but that was it.

He’d aged nearly ten years in a week.

She wanted to hate him. She wanted to spit in his face and walk right back out, but she couldn’t. Not until she knew where her husband was. Not until she knew why he’d been spared.

“Lady Clara Shackley,” one of her soldier escorts announced.

Harlan stopped speaking with the Yalven man; he turned his haunted eyes on her immediately, an unexpected warmth rippling across them when he spotted Samuel in her arms. That flicker of life went out as quickly as it had come upon him, however.

He bowed stiffly and gestured for her to take one of the chairs.

“I am relieved to find you well and whole.”

The Stradat Lord Kapitan had never been outright rude or cruel to her, but the sentiment still took her off guard. She gave him a small smile. “I am grateful as well.”

She had a thousand questions, but she didn’t want to push him. Taking a seat, she adjusted Samuel in her arms, shushing him softly. He clasped one of his hands around her finger and squeezed. Soon, he breathed easily.

The sound outside the tent never changed.

Harlan took one of the other seats, and the Yalven man followed.

Harlan gestured to the other man. “This is Lord Saldr of Myrrai, the Yalven emissary who returned with Kase and Miss Walker a few months ago.” He crossed his arms, holding them close to his chest. “Lady Clara is Jove’s wife, and this is their son, Samuel. ”

Clara nodded. “Good to meet you, Lord Saldr.”

He bowed his head, suddenly appearing nervous, though Clara wasn’t certain as to why.

She took a second to breathe before asking, “Have you seen Jove? Or Lady Les? My own searches have proved fruitless.”

Harlan smoothed his mustache, looking at his scuffed and muddy boots. The silence was quickly filled with Clara’s pounding heartbeat. With each second that passed without an answer, the sound thundered in her ears.

It drowned out the people’s shouts just outside, railing against the man who sat before her.

Give me strength.

“Jove survived the attack on the city, but upon arriving at the Catacombs, we believe he fell into one of the chasms that have begun opening up.” Harlan’s words were stiff like a forgotten paintbrush. “We have not found Lady Les. I fear she may have…perished before she could reach the tunnels.”

Strength.

Clara’s chest collapsed in on itself as the burning tears in her eyes slipped down her face and sprinkled her baby’s blanket.

It was the other man, Lord Saldr, who spoke next.

“Lord Jove fought bravely in the fight for the city, and we hope to search for him soon as we are able. My people and any spare soldiers are trying to find a way down into the depths of Yalvara to search, but it may be best to prepare your heart for the worst. I am sorry, Lady Shackley.”

Clara could barely comprehend the words coming from the man’s mouth. All she could think was of her husband and the pain he was probably in, if he was even alive to feel it. She was here, safe, and he was either suffering or…or…

She took several shaky breaths, trying to calm the storm raging within her. “So all is not lost? There is some hope he may have survived?”

Harlan cleared his throat and smoothed his mustache again.

“We believe so, but without electricity, we must find the right equipment and personnel to search, which isn’t a priority at the moment because of the crisis on our hands.

” He leaned forward and ran a hand through his hair, mussing it in a way Clara had never seen.

“As for Les, we have not been able to interview enough survivors who may know her fate. Our reconnaissance to the Manor only showed Thoreau and Zuri did not survive the initial attack.” Clara gasped; he paused after naming the butler and the maid, allowing her a moment to recompose herself before he added, “But we found no evidence to suggest Les had also been killed. She may have been kidnapped, particularly if the Cerls were aware of who she was, but we must not rush to conclusions just yet, not until all avenues have been trod.”

Clara closed her eyes against the tears that continued to fall. If she hadn’t been at the gates, if she had waited or had been on her way, she might have suffered the same fate.

“It is a great relief to have found you, Clara,” Harlan said, gruffly.

“And once we are able to assess our current situation, I will do everything in my power to find them both. Until then, I will assign a rotation of guards to secure your location and person. You may go about as you have done, working in the ward and helping out where needed, but please do not put yourself into harm’s way. ”

She wiped away her tears and sniffed. “And my mother? I’ve been told she was outside the city when the gates were closed.”

“I have a lead, and I will bring her to you if we do indeed find her.” Harlan rose from his chair and offered his hand. “I apologize for how little information I have to give you, but I would not lie to you, for that would be a much greater disservice.”

She stared at his offered hand, uncertain, before taking it and rising as well. “Thank you.”

He let go of her hand and cupped the back of Samuel’s head. “Stay safe.”

And then he turned away.

Clara left after that, her guards escorting her through the masses once more. She was numb from the information he’d heaped upon her, and she didn’t know what the next day held, but her father-in-law’s behavior distracted her from those worries.

He’d been indifferent in the past, but this was almost kind—especially in the face of such terrible news.

Everything happened for a reason, and while she hated that it had taken the destruction of the capital to wake Harlan Shackley up, she was grateful something had. If it truly had.

If that was the case, she prayed it worked—for his sake, for Samuel’s, and for Jove’s.